“What?” Cat repeats, turning to look at me with eyes the same color as my own. “Is that how you talk to me now, girl? Learn some respect.” Fortunately, the presence of my mother in his lap keeps him from doing anything but snapping at me. “Come sit down and be quiet for a minute.”
With a long, suffering sigh, I do, moving over to sit on the chair opposite him. While I’m waiting, he places his hands on my mother’s hips, stroking his fingers over her with reverence. I’ve seen worse from the pair of them. Together. With other people. But I’ve never seen this … this whatever-it-is that they’re doing?
Showing each other love? Affection? How are you shocked by this, Gidget? How broken are you?
I shift uncomfortably in the chair and clear my throat. Leaning back on my palms, I cross my legs, my plaid miniskirt moving halfway up my thighs.
“That’s the shit right there that pisses me off,” Cat says, curling his lip at me and then tossing over a beach towel while Nellie watches. “Cover yourself, kid.”
“Kid?” I query back at him, sitting up and resting my elbows on my knees. Who is this guy telling me what to do? He never taught me to tie my shoes or how to cross the street, never sat down with me and scribbled crayon drawings on big sheets of paper, never combed or braided my hair. Queenie did all of those things. All of them. If she told me to change my clothes, I’d listen to her, assume she had some wisdom to impart. But Cat? Cat, of all people. Freaking Cat. “What was it you said to me at the party a few weeks ago? If the little twit wants to be a whore when she grows up, let her.”
Not to slut-shame or anything, but my sister, Posey, she took on the mantle of groupie from age eighteen and never looked back. She was always at the clubhouse, hanging on men, flirting with them, drinking and partying and fucking. My parents didn’t give a shit then, so why now?
“Yeah, well,” Cat begins, moving my mother to sit beside him. He flicks a look her direction.
“Things are going to change around here, baby girl,” she tells me, reaching out for my hands. I pull away from her, maintaining my nonchalance as best as I can, acting as if I don’t see the flare of hurt in her blue gaze. The gaze she shared with my sisters, with Queenie and Posey, the gaze that I somehow missed out on. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve been making an effort—”
“You want things to change now?” I quip, knowing that I’m pushing my limits, but not caring. Because I stopped caring. Because caring hurt too damn much. “Gaz is already a loser, and my sisters are dead. Who gives a shit what happens now?”
Cat backhands me then, just hard enough for stars to flicker in my gaze, and my teeth to cut the inside of my lip. Blood. It’s hot and coppery; it makes me dizzy. It transports me to a memory that I struggle every day to forget.
Queenie, the marble tiles, her wide eyes. The blood, the blood, all of that blood …
“Girl, you pop that mouth off again, and you’ll see what real hurt is.”
I can hear Cat talking, but I’m shaking so hard, and I’m tasting blood, and I wish with all my heart that I had someone around to hold me. Someone to protect me. Someone that’s on my side.
It never truly occurred to me until that moment how completely and utterly alone that I am.
My head turns slowly, as if of its own accord, until I find myself staring at Nellie and Cat again. The former is upset, wringing her hands in her lap, as powerless and helpless as always. Ever the brute’s bride. I will not allow myself to become my mother. I swear it. I swear it on my soul.
“You are done with the makeup, done with the clothes, done with the clubhouse.” The words sound garbled at first, and I realize it’s because my ears are ringing. He hit me so hard that my ears are ringing. The look I throw him is pure venom, and he knows it. He can sense it, leaning forward and mimicking my pose, his elbows on his knees. “You’re going to stop with this rebellious shit. You will go where I tell you, when I tell you. You will ask permission to do things. Mostly, you’ll stay away from boys.” He points a hand at me. “Highschool creeps in particular, but don’t think I don’t see that wild streak in you. Take a note from your dead sister and keep your hands off the Daybreakers.”
Does he know? I wonder, still holding my hand to my cheek, still tasting blood. Does he know I fucked four of his officers in one night? And that I loved it? That I’d do it all over again if I had the chance.
