She’s a fucking bitch.
Sometimes, at night, or in the day…I’m always drunk. Sometimes she lies beside me and she grabs my wrists.
Behind the thick veil of wine and Xanax, I can feel my heart pound. Dread. I hope she doesn’t do it tonight.
I should have run when I first got here.
Sometimes when she sleeps I watch her tits and I jack off.
I cup my hand under my balls and jiggle them around and watch the ceiling move. She’s saying something. Something with the water. About Mother Goose and children. Fairy’s tales children. Drunk kids.
I laugh.
“You’ve had too much wine,” she says from the tub.
I laugh again.
“’S all too much.” Right? I’m fourteen. “Not legal.” I grin. “I like Xanax.”
What I don’t like is those dreams. I’m lost for a little while, trying to outrun them.
“Hansel?” She stands over me, stark naked. She’s a lot of woman. Red lips move.
“Umm hmm?”
“What do you think? Would you like a brother or some sisters?”
“Foster brothers suck,” I tell her, sitting up. I fall over on my elbow. It’s the sore one. Wrist is sore.
Why does it hurt me even though I’m wasted?
Shouldn’t…this protect me?
She sinks down beside me. Her breasts are in my face. “Would you like a brother, or a sister first?”
My eyes roll back into my head. She grabs my wrist. It’s healed…but there’s a scar. I…wish she wouldn’t touch it.
“What?” I open my eyes, and she’s smiling.
“I think we need a girl here, or a young man like yourself. I would like this house to be The Shoe. So many children, I won’t know what to do.” She smiles and twirls a strand of her damp hair. “Do you think I make a good mother?”
No.
I can’t say that or she’ll… I’m gonna keep the peace. I nod a little. “Triplets,” I offer.
“You think I should have triplets?” She laughs. She leans over me, her breasts almost touching my lips, and ruffles my hair. It’s damp from the steam in here.
I pull away from her. I try to let her do what she wants, but…no touching. I blink a few times, trying to convey this.
“I’m too old to be a biological mother, but adoptive moms can be special as well. Isn’t that right?”
“There were triplets.” Three girls—younger than me. They looked just like Shelly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Leah
We drive from the MGM Grand to The Forest without a word. I don’t know how long it takes in minutes, but in my mind, it takes like…years.
I’m hyper-aware of him. Every time he slides his hands around the steering wheel, every time he leans forward to see around a car, the motion vibrates somewhere deep down in my throat. Everything about him is so vibrant now: his wavy, dark hair; his hazel eyes; his face, which is still bruised from last night.
His hand has stopped pouring blood, so that’s good. I wonder if it needs stitches. I wonder if he’s really taking me to Mother’s house. When we park in the employee lot behind The Forest and he gets out without a word, I wonder if he’s coming back. He does. This time, I watch the clock, so I know it takes sixteen minutes.
His hand is wrapped in fresh, white gauze, and he’s carrying my luggage, plus another black gym-looking bag. He opens the door to the back seats and sets the things inside, and then he’s sliding into the driver’s seat again. I’m startled by the width of his shoulders. By the scent of him. I swear he has a scent, and it’s a good one. I can’t even explain what it is, but there’s a subtle richness to it.
He pulls out of the parking lot, and I reach around to get my purse. He reaches back at the same time. My arm bumps into his. He jerks away.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“It’s fine.”
I grab my purse and pull it into my lap. I go through my phone as he drives us out of downtown Vegas. Somehow it’s only just now occurred to me that it’s a long drive to that house. I’m not sure how many hours, but definitely a few. Maybe more than a few. Will we stop somewhere for the night? I guess it depends on how far Denver is from Vegas. It’s been a long time since I lived in Colorado. As soon as all of “Mother’s children” were rescued, my dad took a transfer from Boulder to Atlanta. Before my kidnapping, I didn’t really drive around the states nearby. I’m guessing it’s maybe seven hours. We’ll be stopping for the night, or getting there late.
I inhale deeply.
I can do this.
It’s something my therapists have suggested in the past, but I just never was that interested. It’s hard to think of going back.