“Tell me about her.”
“She was beautiful, with long dark hair and dark eyes. Willow’s going to look just like her.”
“So you look like your mother?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I tried to recall as much of my seven years with her as I could. “She smelled like apricots because she loved to wear this apricot lotion.” A shaky laugh rumbled through me at one particular memory. “One time she didn’t have the money to get any lotion. So being a scrappy five-year-old, I stole some off the shelf. I couldn’t understand why in the hell she dragged me back there. She made me give it to the store manager along with an apology. But then, in her own patient way, she made me understand how wrong it was to steal. More than anything, she said, she wanted me to be better than my father.” Reaching into my pocket, I tugged out a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. Alexandra didn’t protest when I lit up. After a long drag, I said, “After all her hard work, she probably wouldn’t be too proud of me today.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“And you’re obviously too naive. What part of my world don’t you understand? I told you I killed my fucking father.”
“Why did you kill him, Deacon?” she repeated. Although she had asked it before, it seemed to be addressed in a different way. She must’ve known how I felt perfectly justified in killing him, but she still wanted more. She wanted to make me dig up that emotional grave where I had long buried the reasons that drove me to murder my bastard of a father when I was still practically a kid. After all, I was seemingly loyal, and the greatest breach of loyalty was killing your own blood.
Even though I should’ve ignored her question and stalked out of the room, I decided to give her what she was after. Then maybe she could once and for all know what an unimaginable bastard I was.
“Because he killed my mother! He tracked her down and tortured her like a fucking animal. He couldn’t just slit her throat or shoot her. No. He made her pay for running from him. He beat her until she died from internal bleeding and a fractured skull that sent bone fragments slicing into her brain.” Shaky hands brought the cigarette to my lips so I could take a drag. Sometimes late at night, if things were too quiet, I could hear her screams … hear her begging for her life. Then finally her pleading for my life.
“Where were you when your mother was being killed?”
“Why do you have to ask so many fucking questions? Are you some kind of morbid freak that gets off on shit like this? A masochist for emotional pain?”
Instead of cowering back at my verbal assault, Alex stood firm. “Where were you?” she repeated.
“Why do you need to know? What could you possibly get by fucking knowing?”
“It isn’t for me that I’m asking. It’s for you.”
I tossed the cigarette onto the ashtray on the table, then lunged at Alex. Taking her by the throat with one hand, I glared into her eyes with enough venom that she should have cowered in fear. “If you were a man, I’d take you down for fucking with me like this.”
“If hitting me makes you feel better, frees you of the pain, then hit me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Answer my question.”
“You got a death wish, woman?”
“He tied you up, didn’t he?” When my nostrils flared with anger, she said, “He didn’t just leave you in the car or another room. He made you watch what he did, but you couldn’t do anything to help her.”
Squeezing tighter on her throat, I willed her to shut up. She was too close. She knew too much. She could see me too well.
Her fingers came to my hand, her nails digging into my skin. But as I stared into her eyes, there was no panic or fear in them. Easing back, I dropped the hand from her throat. I eyed it with contempt before dropping it beside me. What the hell had I been thinking to manhandle her like that? “I’m sorry,” I croaked.
“No. I’m the one who is sorry.”
“You damn well ought to be after pulling the shit you just did.”
“I’m not sorry for that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry for the helpless seven-year-old little boy who has been forced to carry around such a burden, such guilt, for something he couldn’t control.”
I practically leaped off the bed to get away from her. “Don’t you fucking dare start that pity shit with me!”
“I’m sorry that you’ve never been able to open up to anyone before for fear that they won’t love your darker parts.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Although I wanted to march straight for the bar and down a few shots, my boots remained rooted to the hallway floor.