“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Rory reminds me.
“I know, but something might be wrong.”
There’s an ache in my gut, this deep foreboding trying to pull me under. It’s an overreaction. It must be. I keep telling myself that as I answer the call, but the soft, broken, “Shai…sweetheart, I fucked up,” muttered before I even say hello, tells me everything I need to know.
Those five words cut my anchor, sever the ties to what’s been keeping me steady since this whole thing with Rory started, and now I’m lost, adrift. I don’t even know what happened, but it’s bad. I feel it on a level I can’t explain.
“Where are you? What happened?”
I hear the tears in the way she’s breathing, the fear in each sharp intake as she tries to speak. “I’m sorry. Why do I always do this? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she keeps saying over and over again.
“Mom. Where are you? What did you do?” I can’t keep still in the seat, feel like my body is going to break apart, and then I feel it, Rory’s hand on my nape, steady and strong, letting me know I’m not alone, while he pulls over into a parking lot.
“I was so lonely,” she says, her words a sharp stab into my chest. That’s all it takes for me to know.
“Are you fuckingwithhim?” She must be talking about my father. Is she back in Texas? It’s been days since I talked toher and even longer since I’ve gone to see her. I’m so fucking stupid. What was I thinking? I should have been with her. She’s my responsibility.
“We’re at this house…ahhhh…fuck!” She screams out in pain.
“Don’t fucking touch her!” I yell into the phone. “Keep your fucking hands off her!”
“Shai. What the fuck is going on?” Rory cuts in, voice sharp.
I ignore him, not knowing what to say, not wanting to drag him into my shit. Did I really think I could just walk away from her? Live my own life? That’ll never happen.
There’s a rustling sound, my mom cries out again, and then he’s there, his heavy breathing so fucking familiar to me. Hate rises like bile in my throat.
“Hello, son.”
“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your son.”
He impregnated a child, then let men pay to fuck her for years. He’s a monster.
“Now, that’s no way to talk about your dad, is it? I missed the two of you. You took something of mine away from me, and I want it back.” His voice is as smarmy as ever.
“Speakerphone. Now,” Rory orders.
“Who is that?” Jagger asks.
“None of your fucking business! You don’t get to know shit about him. He’s fucking mine, and I’ll kill you for even speaking his name.”
Jagger tsks. “So rude, though I guess you always were. Your mother said you have a boyfriend. That him?”
“Fuck you,” I spit out.
Before I realize what he’s doing, Rory grabs the phone from my hand and tells me softly, “You and me. Always. I’ll fucking fix this,” then hits Speaker, holding the cell betweenus. “I feel sorry for you,” Rory says, and for a moment, I think he’s talking to me, but the coldness in his tone says he’s not.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jagger growls.
Rory’s voice is calm, detached, steady when he says, “The man who’s going to kill you. The last face you’ll ever see. You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.”
Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s another way Rory and I are fucked up, but at least we’re fucked up together because every one of his words fills me up, builds me up, makes me crave exactly what he’s speaking about. His power is mine, the only inaccuracy being, the last face Jagger sees will be mine. I’ve never killed a man, but nothing will stop me from doing it now. Jagger is mine.
“Who are you?” Jagger asks again. He must be able to tell Rory isn’t a normal boyfriend.
“I already told you who I am, and if Kat gets hurt, it’s going to be a lot slower and more painful for you. I rarely get to play that way, to take my time. I have so much fun when I do.”
