“The key is not to let your heart get involved. That’s when you lose your head and it all goes to shit, and next thing you know, you got a snot-nosed brat, and you’re wondering how you’re going to make the rent for a trailer, let alone catch the eye of a rich guy.” She sucks hard on her filter, trying to get the last of the tobacco from the cigarette butt.
“Wait a minute,” I say, turning from the closet. My heart does this weird thing in my chest that it does when I have to remember anything about the Dolce boys. “Are you talking about John Darling?”
“Yeah,” she says. “How’d you know about that?”
“So it’s true,” I marvel. “You dated some trailer park junkie who’s actually a Darling.”
“Oh, you talking about JT?” she asks.
“Who are you talking about?”
We stare at each other for a minute, and then a loud knock interrupts us. My heart drops like a stone, and for one breathless half a moment, it’s the last day of spring break, and Duke’s pounding on the door. My head swims, and I have to grab the closet door to keep from buckling.
“Get cleaned up and come on out,” Mom says, heading for the door. “You made all this happen, I figure you’re old enough to party with us.”
Sure, now she’s fucking proud of me. I shake my head and turn back to the closet. I have nothing better to do, so I put on a dress and heels and go out to meet Mom’s friends. A couple of the guys try eye-fucking me, but Mom smacks one of them across the back of the head and tells him I’m too expensive for him. I sit in the cloud of smoke in the living room, taking an occasional sip of my drink and watching my mother get progressively more and more wasted.
She keeps trying to get me to smoke, but I saw them sprinkle some crystal in with a joint, so I don’t even want to smoke that, despite her aggressive insistence. It’s like she has to prove to herself that I really am like her, or maybe under her pride, she’s still pissed at me for ruining her life, and she wants to bring me down with her. Either way, I pass on the joints and just watch the party unfold.
One of the reasons I’ve never truly hated my mother is that I understand her. Studying her made me want to get in people’s heads, see what makes them tick. Seeing into someone else’s life let me be someone else for a moment, see everything from their point of view. It taught me to sympathize with every single person, no matter what they’ve done, because if you go deep enough, they have a reason. There’s always a reason. You just have to be willing to see it, even when it’s terrible, or being inside their head makes you sick.
I leave the party early, returning to my room, but I sleep with my brass knuckles on and my knife in one hand. I’ve almost forgotten Royal’s request the next day until the texts start.
Royal: Slaughterpen 10 pm. Dont ghost again.
BadApple: not in the mood
Royal: I’ll pick u up
BadApple: No
Royal: wear something comfortable
BadApple: I’ll drive
I don’t know why I still care if he comes here. But I don’t want to be in his car. Even when he drove the truck, I didn’t feel like I was at his mercy. Not completely.
Despite my decision to drive, at quarter to ten, my mom yells back that I have a visitor. Shit. I start to be ashamed of my house, but then I remember I have no reason to care what Royal thinks. I toss my phone and my keys in my purse, slide my feet into the steel-toed combat boots Preston got me, and head out of my room. My stomach clenches when I see Royal Dolce standing in the middle of the living room, inside my ramshackle house, with party detritus still scattered over every surface.
My mom is standing too close, hanging on Royal’s arm in that flirty way she does where she constantly touches the man she’s hitting on. I feel a little sick. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. He already knows I’m trash. Why do I care what he thinks?
“Look who it is,” Mom says to me, still clinging to Royal’s bicep. “You know they say he could have played college ball anywhere, but he chose to stay right here in Faulkner.”
I almost snort out loud. My mother cares about sportsball exactly as much as I do.
“Is that so?” I ask, giving them a tight smile. “I said I was driving.”
“It’s on my way,” Royal says, the lie slipping off his tongue so easily you’d never know it wasn’t true if you didn’t know where he lives. “Besides, it’s nice to catch up with your mom.”
Mom giggles sickeningly.
“Catch up?” I grind out.
“Oh yeah,” Mom says, batting his abs. “We’re old friends now. He came around a few times this summer, when you were too busy for your lonely mom. Kept me company.”
I want to vomit. She’d never turn down dick that good. And Royal likes older women. If he fucked my mother—
It doesn’t matter.