Page 62 of Now Their Starlet

So this is why she’s freaking the hell out.

“Mom, Jonathan has a full-on mate.”

He’s not going to pick you.

I barely manage to bite back the words. They’re true, but I don’t have a death wish.

“Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to just... get a boob job on a whim.”

“On a whim? On a whim?” She’s practically screeching now.

She rips open the tie of her robe, swaying on her feet. She’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath the thin fabric.

It’s a shocking sight.

Even though she’s seen me undressed and nearly naked plenty of times for as long as I can remember, considering the modelling jobs I’ve done over the years have required that sort of thing, it’s been a one-way street. She’s normally a lot more conservative.

Understandably so. Her crippling insecurity is the kind of thing you can probably smell on her, though her wine scent is always twisted and acrid because of the chemical unbonding procedure she underwent. The twisted bondmarks along the crook of her neck are a mottled black. It’s no wonder she keeps them hidden all the time.

“What the fuck,” Ezra mutters, his eyes going wide with disgust before they fly to the ceiling.

What the fuck is right.

“Mom, what are you doing!” I say, my jaw dropping. “Please put your robe back on. Why in the world are you getting naked?”

“Look at them!” she slurs, pointing at her own breasts.

I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at. She’s rail-thin, so there really isn’t much there.

“Before you sucked all the life out of me, I had tits too! Now look at me!”

“Mom, I think⁠—”

“Shut your mouth!”

Something inside me snaps. Maybe it’s knowing that the burner phone is recording a few feet away. Maybe it’s from seeing Cameron and knowing that my guys are waiting for me, or maybe, it’s just me getting sick and tired of her bullshit.

But there’s something about how pathetic she looks, screaming in my face, in the state she’s in.

I’ve always been a little terrified of her. Actually, scratch that—a lot terrified of her. I’ve been scared of what she’ll do to herself if I fuck up badly enough. I’ve been scared of her ridiculous emotional reactions. I’ve been scared of the person she turns me into when we get into fights like these.

But maybe I shouldn’t be scared of any of that.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice tight. “I don’t. I don’t understand a lot of the things you do. Like why you threw yourself down the stairs.”

“Threw myself?” she laughs in my face, the acrid smell of alcohol in her breath mixing with her own perfume. “You pushed me!”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” I snap. “You tell yourself these fucking lies over and over again until you actually believe them, but that doesn’t change reality! What you’re doing is wrong, Mom.”

Ezra stands stock-still beside the garment bag, his eyes wide. Having a witness for this sort of fight makes it feel more real. Like I’m not hallucinating the fact that I’m actually talking back to my mom.

“Wrong?! I’m doing this for you!” She’s so close now that some spit flies from her lips and lands on my face, making me flinch back. “Everything I do is for you! You have everything you could ever fucking need. You have no idea what it’s been like for me. None!” Her voice trembles as she breaks down into a sob that I’d find gut-wrenching from anyone else. “I’ve protected you!”

“Protected me?” I scoff, the words leaving my lips in a sharp, bitter exhale. “You’ve locked me away in here!”

“I did what I had to!”

“So you faked me pushing you down the stairs so you could do this to me!”