The Lover Beneath Me(18)

“Screw you, Daimon, and all the money you have. Good for you that you’re rich and powerful. I hope the years you had screwing around with a poor little girl satisfied your sadistic need. Are you done now? ‘Cause this girl is done with you,” she growled and left. I stood there stupefied. A minute ago, I was going to tell her I had fallen in love with her and now Addie had walked out on me. Obviously, she thought I did it. I fucked it up from day one with her. There would be no way I could ever win her over. Ever.





After Graduation


“This is your mother’s address. Do what you want with it. My suggestion is leave her be. If she wanted to see you, she would have,” my grandfather said to me as I sat across him in his office.

“I’ll decide what to do,” I said as I leaned over and took the tiny piece of paper and folded it up, putting it into my leather jacket. “See you later, Gramps.” I stood up and started to leave.

“You haven’t been home the last few days,” he said sternly to me.

“So what do you want?” I asked sarcastically, wagging my eyebrows.

“Get your ass home,” my grandfather ordered. I hated his rough tone. Guilin, my father, was being such an asshole lately that I just couldn’t be around him.

“Sure whatever,” I said as I waved my grandfather off and left. I stepped outside his building and I looked up as I put on my sunglasses, my building will be bigger than his. I smirked as I headed to my Kawasaki Ninja bike and headed to where I wanted to be.



I walked out of the elevator and headed to PH400. I stood outside the door, my stomach in knots, my blood boiling. I was already fucked up even before I set foot inside. I hadn’t seen her in years. Would she recognize me? Would she even care?

I knocked once and waited. I could hear the sound of something crashing. I let out a sigh as I took a guess and pressed the numbers. Maybe she didn’t forget about me. I opened the door cautiously, her lavish apartment probably paid for by my grandfather.

“Who’s there?” I heard a woman ask, her voice shaky. I stepped closer inside and found her in the kitchen with a bottle of alcohol in her hand. “Daimon? Daimon honey, is that you?” she asked, her words slurring as she stumbled forward, rushing to me. I leaned back a little, hesitating. “My baby boy,” she crooned. She had aged and her makeup was disheveled.

“M- Mom,” I said cautiously.

She stumbled into my arms, collapsing, unconscious. My mom, who I hadn't seen since she left, had passed out from her drinking. I picked her up carefully and carried her to the couch.

“My baby boy, my son,” she murmured to herself as she slept.

I watched her carefully, wondering what she had done these last few years. I was going to ask her, before she passed out. I wanted to know about what was going on in her mind and how could she have abandon me to that fucker called my father. Was her alcohol that more important than me? Was I worth so fucking little to her? I sat down beside her, not able to look at her anymore. It hurt too fucking much. I laid my head on the arm and rested, my eyes slowly closing.



The soft sounds of a piano playing awoke me from my lackluster sleep. Opening my eyes, my gaze travelled to my mother playing on her baby grand. I stretched my arms taking off the soft throw she must have put on me. I sat there mesmerized, lost in the all too familiar sound of my mother’s music. Its warm happy notes, much like a beautiful sunny day. She was happy. I stirred, hitting one of her empty wine bottles.

“You’re finally awake,” she said, scrambling as she stood up from her seat and came close to me. She stood only a few feet away, as she looked to the ground, fidgeting with her hands.

“Sorry if I came at a bad time,” I said awkwardly.

“No, Daimon, no, it's me who should be sorry…I- I–” she stuttered.

“I should go,” I muttered as I stood up.

“Daimon, please stay. I’ve made some food.” She extended her hand to the table beside her.

The last time I saw my mother, she was tall and so beautiful in my eyes. Nothing in this world made me feel so loved and cared for, like she had, but I was finally able to see her and all those happy memories were replaced by this lowly person, a shadow of her formal self. I walked over to the table and sat down, the chair scraping the marble floors, the only sound that filled the eerily quiet room. I sat there waiting, while my mother hesitated, not knowing how to react to me.

“I made your favorite food. Macaroni and cheese.” She smiled nervously as she sat down. I looked down at a bowl filled with cool, congealed noodles.

“I don’t eat this anymore,” I said coldly. From the moment she left, I never let anyone ever make it for me. It just reminded me too much of her. When I was younger, I’d sit on the large counter waiting happily as she told me stories, making me laugh with her impressions.