Page 91 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

I’m shocked to see how much weight she’s lost since I last saw her. She was always a pretty woman, never flashy but took pride in her appearance. Now her dark shoulder-length hair is lank and greasy, and her clothes don’t look or smell very clean.

She blinks slowly, reaching out to touch my face with bony fingers. “Sammy?” she whispers.

“Yes, I’m here.” Sadness sweeps through me. “Christ, Ma, you’ve been sober for sixteen years. What…” I close my eyes, knowing the answer even as the question leaves my lips. “You started drinking again after I was attacked, didn’t you?”

She stares at me for such a long time that I think she’s not going to answer. Then she blinks, and her eyes are wet with tears.

“It was only a little one at first,” she admits, her voice slightly slurred. “You were so badly hurt. Seeing you in that hospital bed, thinking that you were going to…” She swallows hard. “I never meant for it to get this bad. But the longer you were in hospital, and then the therapy…” She shakes her head. “And then you finally came home and said you couldn’t stay here in Leeds. Next thing I knew, you were gone. Moving to London to start over without so much as a glance back.”

“Ma…” The guilt crushes my chest so bad I almost can’t breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” She frowns. “Why? I’m the one who should be sorry. I promised you when you were fourteen and you found me–” She breaks off. Neither of us particularly wants to relive the day I found her in such a state I thought she was dead. “I promised you, and I broke that promise.”

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have shut you out. I was so hell-bent on getting away from here, I didn’t stop to think how it would affect you.”

She grasps my hand as the first tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “No, don’t do that, Sammy, this is all on me. I didn’t mean to start drinking again. But seeing you in that hospital, knowing how close I came to losing you, I just figured I could take a little something to numb the pain. Please don’t hate me.”

I pull her into my arms and hold her as she cries.

“I could never hate you,” I murmur as I let her cry herself out.

There’s so much more I need to say, that we need to talk out, but not now. She needs to sober up, and she looks like she could do with some sleep. When she finally slumps against me, all cried out, I help her up to her room and tuck her into bed despite the early hour.

For a moment, I’m a teenager again and all those old fears and pains come roaring back. I shouldn’t have left her the way I did. I hate that needing to save myself by leaving meant I didn’t see her pain or register that she needed help too.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her as she drifts off into sleep. She’s going to need more support than I can give.

Once I’m sure she’s resting peacefully, I head downstairs. After sending Harrison a quick message to let him know I’ve arrived, my phone pings a second later.

Don’t forget, you can call me anytime you need to talk.

I want that more than anything right now. I know he’ll listen without judgement, even though this whole mess feels like it’s my fault. I want to hear his voice, but I can’t. Not yet.

The first thing I do is open the curtains and windows to let in some light and fresh air. Then I systematically go through the house and clear out the booze. It’s been sixteen years, but I still remember all her hiding places.

Once that’s done, I empty the kitchen bin and start cleaning. Keeping busy helps. By the time the place is looking clean and tidy once more, I’m exhausted, both physically and right down to my soul.

This is not something that can be fixed in a few days, and I can’t walk out on her, not again, not until I know she’ll be okay. I’m going to have to cancel my clients for the foreseeable future, which may be the end of my fledgling private investigation agency, and that stings. More than that, the thought of losing the tentative friendship and the hope of being able to build something more with Harrison hits hard. I’m not sure I can start something with him when my future is back to being so uncertain.

With a heavy heart, I sit down and start searching for the nearest AA meetings.

21

It’s been a week of constant doctor’s and therapy appointments since I’ve been home.

Turns out my mother had been hiding some pretty serious medical problems as well as the drinking from me.

Even though Harrison and I have been messaging almost every day, I haven’t told him everything, but I want to. While I don’t want to burden him with all the guilt I’m feeling, I could really use someone to confide in. And I have a strange yearning just to hear his voice. I like all of his tones, from prim and snarky to droll and inquisitive, but most of all, I like when his voice softens and drops a degree lower. That’s when I know I’m getting the real version of him.

I reach out in the darkness of the room and fumble for my phone on the bedside table. Tapping the screen, I sigh at the time. It’s too late to call him now. He’ll be asleep—or he should be since it’s three in the morning. Although I’m not expecting him to answer until tomorrow, I still tap out a message to him.

Hey, Prickles, I almost called you but realised the time. You probably won’t pick this message up until the morning, but…I don’t know, I’ve got so many things going on in my head it feels like I’m drowning. Guess I could use a friend right now. And if I’m being honest, I miss your voice and your face. Which is crazy. I’ve only been gone a week… Ignore me. Probably sound like a stalker.

I hit send, and a few moments later, to my surprise, my phone lights up with an incoming video call. Guess he can’t sleep either.

Hitting the accept button, I watch as Harrison’s face fills the screen, his red hair sticking up in all directions, his head resting against a pillow.

“You’re pretty low-key for a stalker. I mean, you did drive just short of two hundred miles in the opposite direction of where I am.”