“He—He told us that you needed space. That you were seeking help, at a place that would make you mentally stable again.”
Mentally stable?
Fuck, I wanted to kill this man.
“I knew it wasn’t true,” my mother added quickly. “I was sure when he said—”
“Bullshit,” I cut her off. “You believed him.”
The abruptness of the accusation cut like a knife. But not the accusation itself.
“That’s not true,” she shot back, almost immediately. “I thought… I thought maybe—”
“He was paying you.”
My words should’ve landed like a boxer’s uppercut. Instead, she only flinched a little.
“I… I don’t…”
“You took his money,” I seethed. “To push me toward him. To keep me there.”
The color drained from her face, and I found myself studying it with renewed sadness. I saw every line, everywrinkle. Every deep-set tire track, that made up the road map of her life.
“You sold me.”
Tears flowed, spilling down her painted cheeks. I couldn’t tell if they were real or not.
The worst part was, I didn’t care.
“I—I was scared, Peyton,” she sniffed. “You don’t understand who he is.”
“Oh, I knowexactlywho he is,” I spat, acidly.
“No, I mean, I tried to stop. Taking the money, that is. But whenever I pulled back, he let me know there would be… consequences.”
“And what were the consequences of feeding me to the lions?”
She had nothing to say to that. Her world was spinning, falling away before her well-mascaraed eyes. Music played, and voices chattered, and the lights from the chandeliers glimmered down over hundreds of beautiful, ugly people.
And my relationship with my mother was over and done.
There was no anger, surprisingly enough. Instead, I felt nothing but a deeply profound sadness. One that was monstrous in its totality.
“W—What are you doing here, Peyton?” she eventually sniffed.
“You’ll see.”
She looked worried, all of a sudden. No, not worried.
Terrified.
“What are you planning to do?”
“I’ve come here to end this,” I said, coldly. “To endhim.”
My mother’s eyes went horrifically wide.
“No!” she cried. “Peyton, you can’t!”
