“Ma’am.”
I’m about to close my eyes and succumb to the pressure, but blink when my mother suddenly lets go of my throat.
An unintelligible sound leaves me as I try to take in as much air as I can, and when I look toward the door, I notice Steven standing outside my room.
“Ma’am,” he addresses my mother again, who seems enraged upon being interrupted.
She hastily turns to look at him. “What?” she spits.
“We have to go –now,” Steven says, then taps his wrist watch to emphasize his point.
She gets off me, pushes me to the side, and struts over to him.
He opens the door further for her, and when she walks out of my room and into the hallway, Steven and I lock eyes. I’m not even remotely surprised when he gives me a poker, all but emotionless look, right before lowering his gaze, turning around, and following my mother up to her floor.
I wait until their footsteps have receded, then dig my nails into the carpet in order to pull myself forward.
I grunt against the pain, against the soreness in my limps, but continue to push. I take open-mouthed breaths because even the smallest effort I put into moving forward, makes me feel winded.
I know why Steven took my mother away, and why she let him. I know why he was here. It wasn’t for me, no; it was because of…
I hear footsteps again, but this time, they are the approaching kind. They are sure and steady at first, but they slow down a little as they get closer.
There’s a pause, so I take that time to draw myself forward one last time, and when I’m finally where I want to be, I place the side of my head on the foot of my bed, and lean my body against it for support.
I swallow against the lump in my throat, and keep my eyes trained on my wide-open bedroom door.
Any minute now…
Any damn minute.
The footsteps resume, but they sound rushed. I can feel their impact on the floor beneath me, just as a figure charges into my room and falls on his knees in front of me.
“Nettie…”
Thisis why Steven was here – to prevent a confrontation between my mother and the man in front of me.
I let go of a sigh, and choke on a sob as my eyes meet expressive grey ones.
“Mave…” I whisper.
The anger and concern on his face are palpable. “When?” He doesn’t have to ask ‘who’, because him and I – we’ve been in this situation several times before.
“She…just left,” I manage to speak. My head is spinning, and it’s painful to get even a few words out.
Mave’s gaze turns misty. He grits his teeth and makes to stand, but I quickly, albeit feebly, grab his hand, resulting in him to pause.
“Please…” I urge, then slowly shake my head. “Don’t.”
“I wanna hurt her, Nettie,” he says darkly.
“I know.”
“I wanna fucking…” He lets go of an audible breath. “I wanna–”
“Kill her,” I finish for him, then give him a faint smile. “I…know that, too.”
Mave knows what’ll happen if he so much aslookedin my mother’s direction the wrong way. Uncle Chase wouldn’t think twice before putting a bullet in his head. To him, he’s just hired help, but to me, Mave is comfort. He’s my safety; my shield against the hailstorm that is my life.
