Chapter Nine
Unfortunately, in theweek without Ryder, Morgan fell into her usual pattern of drinking herself into a stupor. She had lost Ryder through her own stupid actions, and figured she might as well lose herself, too. She had no idea what day it was, and she didn’t give a fuck. She had just gotten out of bed to grab another bottle of vodka when her bedroom door opened. She stared at her mother, her dark hair choppy and her dress yellow and short.
“Why in God’s name are you here?” Morgan snarled.
Betty just kept walking as if she were in her own home. “I need you for a show, of course. You know how the buyers love seeing mydeardaughter all dressed up in my designs.” Betty’s gaze tracked around the room, and she wrinkled her nose.
“No.”
“Honestly, why does your bedroom smell so nasty? Have somebody get in here and fumigate, seriously.”
“Go away, Betty.” Morgan went to the door and stood by it, gripping the edge for support.
“Now, now, don’t be selfish. This is important for both me and your father.”
“I’mselfish?Iam? You had a child you never wanted, and you let your staff raise me. The two of you have never been there for me, and you callmeselfish?” She could feel herself growing hysterical and tried to calm down.
“You are entirely too dramatic. It’s a show, not a death sentence.” Betty flicked her hair out of her eyes.
“It sure feels like a death sentence every time I have to walk in that goddam room in your house where I wasmolestedand you never did anything about it!” She was gasping for breath now, the way she always did when she tried to confront her parents. They simply didn’t care; it was no use.
Betty waved a hand like she was trying to clear the offensive words out of the air. “As I said,dramatic. We’ll see you on Sunday, or you're cut off.”
As Betty turned to leave, Morgan stuck her foot in her path. With no idea why she did it, she felt complete and undeniable satisfaction as her mother tripped and landed face first on the floor. Ignoring Betty’s cries of pain, Morgan squatted and grabbed a fistful of black hair, raising her mother’s furious face to hers. “I will not be there on Sunday, or ever again. I’m done with you and your bullshit.”
“You need me to take out the trash, Morgan?” At the sound of Owen’s voice, Morgan looked up gratefully.
Her mother started shrieking at the top of her lungs. “You savage bitch! You are my flesh and blood, how dare you?”
“The only time being related matters to you is when you want me for something,” Morgan said derisively.
Owen grasped Betty by her upper arms and hauled her up. "Get out of my house."
“Get your handsoffme! You have no right—”
“Actually, I do have the right. I didn't let you in, and you've outstayed your welcome. Now, shut your vile trap, or I’ll cold-cock you myself.”
Morgan laughed, and it felt damn good. She laughed again just to hear the sound reverberate in her own ears. She was out from under the oppressive thumb of her parents, finally. It was a step in the right direction.
Owen returned to the room alone. "Are you okay?"
"I think I will be. Thanks for stepping in."
"I don't know why she thinks she can just come inside without even knocking."
"She feels entitled. Always has." Morgan looked around the room, then picked up the vodka bottle. "Here."
He took it from her with raised brows. "Uh, thanks."
"I think I'm going out. That visit sobered me right up."
"All the same, don't drive, Shorty."
His concern made her face heat. "I'll just go for a walk."
Once again, she'd been too stubborn to ask for help. She hadn't gone to Carter's lately, even though Ryder should have been back at work. Instead, Morgan had fallen back on her old ways to get through the pain. Most of her life had been spent trying to find the right vice to cure the ache in her soul, but none of it worked fully.
She'd made it pretty far into town when her cell phone rang. Fishing it out of her pocket, she saw a local area code on the screen. Biting her lip, she decided to answer it.
