Page 26 of The Addict

Damian led us through the house, rounding the corner of the kitchen into the sitting room. My mother sat on the sofa a few feet away.

My heart sank when I saw her. Her beautiful face was covered with bandages, swollen. I saw where Damian must have patched her up; dried blood was smudged all over her cheeks and forehead.

“Mom,” I breathed her name as I walked into the room, running to her and cradling her face in my hands.

“Noah, sweety, when did you get here?” she asked quietly. She was calm, gently cupping my hand closer, and I knew that she had been crying. Her eyes were not quite dry yet, the wet streaks stained her face along with the fresh bruises.

“My god, I’m so sorry,” I whispered into her ear. “I should have been here.”

She pulled me into a hug and patted my back. “I’m fine dear,” she lied.

Her eyes fell to Delane. “Who’s your friend, Noah?”

Delane stepped forward with a pitiful little wave. She was completely out of place here, and I felt for her. Instantly, my mother noticed Delane’s wounds and her disheveled presentation. She leapt to her feet to assess.

“What happened to this poor girl?” she exclaimed, touching Delane’s swollen eye softly.

Delane bit her lip from the pain and looked at me. “Well, my name is Delane,” she said first.

Her words seemed to catch in her throat. I watched, in near amazement of her bravery. She had entered my home without a second thought, introduced herself to complete strangers, walked with a strange tallness, despite her bruises and her scantily clad form. I observed her, awestruck. From across the room, Damian stood, crossed arms, spectating as well.

I could tell he felt the same as I did.

“Your son saved me today,” Delane finally managed, with only a slight quiver.

Damian seemed to lean in a bit closer at that comment.

My mom’s eyes widened, and she turned to me, searching for an answer that I couldn’t give. Even if she had asked, I couldn’t tell her why I did. I didn’t know what made me turn around tonight. Maybe it was her screams. Or maybe, I wanted to make up for what I couldn’t do long ago.

So that history wouldn’t repeat itself on a never ending cycle.

My mom’s hand inched forward, tentatively, and rested atop Delane’s. She gave me a brisk nod, saying nothing, but understanding everything without further elaboration. Because she had been there before. This was a scene from her playbook she knew too well.

“Let’s get you more comfortable, and then you can tell me what happened if you want to.”

Chapter eight

Beneath the Surface

DELANE

Iknew that I needed to take a shower and to change my clothes. Noah’s clothes. The remnants of my underwear.

I was afraid to look at myself in the mirror.

Seeing the damage would timestamp reality. I’d have to accept that I was a victim. Or survivor. I didn’t even know anymore. The Hansen’s were nice enough. I was grateful for their hospitality, because I wasn’t sure where I’d be without them. I tried Chelsea two more times since I arrived, but to no avail. The fact that she left me stranded made my blood boil, but at the end of the day, I blamed myself. What was I even thinking? I knew I shouldn’t have drank so much. My drunken stupor finally wore off and I was unsure if I was happy about that. Now, I viewed myself in a more critical lens.

Mrs. Hansen took me upstairs so that I could use the shower and make myself comfortable in the guest bedroom. From sculptures, to paintings, the sheer amount of beautiful items that they had in their home was astounding. I felt very out of place, like a thorn or rotted leaf on the side of a flower that needed to be plucked. I was a strange blemish in their immaculate home, and I wasn’t sure how to get over the feeling of inferiority. I wasn’t the most confident girl, and I knew that I had my flaws, but currently, surrounded by objects and rooms that I’d only seen on TV or in my books, and things I knew I could never dream of affording, I felt especially insignificant.

On another, more positive note, Noah had followed us upstairs to make sure I had everything I needed. Something warmed inside me with that.

I couldn’t figure Noah out. And there was something both exhilarating and frightening about that. His interaction with his brother—pulling a weapon suddenly—none of it made any sense to me. But after what I had experienced tonight, I wished a gun had been used sooner. The weapon itself hadn’t made me uneasy. It was the sheer look of fear spreading across Noah’s face in the moments before he drew the gun, that sent chills into my bones.

I tried not to think about it anymore. I needed to focus on one step at a time.

Clean up. Remove the stench of the alley. Sleep. Get home. I’d repeat these steps to myself until they were done, and then I could forget this night even existed.

Except…