“You have to,” she wails, her nails biting into my skin. “If you knew what it was like, Harper…”
“I don’t,” I say, peeling her fingers off. “For the last time, I’m not interested in finding out. I’m sorry, Mom. But you’re going to have to get it through your head and stop taking shit from him if you don’t want to owe him. You took everything else I have, Mom. I’m not giving you my car, too.”
“He’s coming back for it,” she says. “It won’t be enough, what I gave him. Not after this weekend. I had friends over. I don’t even know how much I owe. But he said if I didn’t have it next time I owed him, he’d take…” She breaks off, her jittery gaze bouncing around the room.
“What, Mom?” I ask. “He’s going to cut off your nose? I’m sure you already fucked him. He’ll just stop giving you drugs.”
She shakes her head. “You have to give him the car.”
“I’m not giving him my car,” I say, exasperated that we’re back to this. “So what is he going to take?”
“My daughter,” she says, finally meeting my eyes. “He said if I didn’t have money next time, he’d take you.”
thirteen
Harper Apple
I stare at my mother a long minute, my heart thudding in my chest. “What did you say, Mom?” I ask quietly.
“I didn’t have nothing else to offer,” she says, dropping my arm. “I said I’d get him the car, of course. What do you take me for? Always acting like I’m the bad guy. Have I ever let any man touch you?”
“But you told him you’d give him my car,” I say. “Knowing that if I wouldn’t give him that, he’d take me? And you still took drugs from him? You still fucked him, knowing he’s that kind of man?”
“I needed them,” she wails.
“And I needed my mom to protect me,” I say, my throat aching as I turn away. I walk out of her room, hating that I still love her somehow, because she’s my mother and I can’t help it, even though I know her fucked up version of love did more harm than good. I grab a handful of t-shirts from my bedroom floor, not paying attention to what I’m picking up. I need to get out, need to leave, but my brain feels numb, stunned with shock. I don’t have anywhere to go.
I grab a small switchblade Maverick gave me one night when I left his house after dark, then give up on finding anything else in the mess and leave my room. I stop in Mom’s door. “I need my birth certificate,” I say. “And any other papers you have of mine.”
“What for?” she demands, turning on her heel from where she’s been pacing.
“I’m moving out, Mom,” I say.
“You can’t move out,” she says with a sneer. “You don’t have nowhere to go.”
I snort and shake my head. “That might have worked three years ago, but you know it’s bullshit now. I lived with Preston all summer. I’m eighteen. I don’t have to stay here anymore.”
She stares at me a long minute. I don’t drop her gaze even though I’m lying through my teeth. I don’t have anywhere to go. Blue’s not an option. Preston moved and won’t give me his new address. I’ve already taken way too much from Royal. And I can’t just crash into Gloria’s life, besides the fact that they don’t want to feed an extra mouth, either. I have friends, but not the kind I need in this moment.
“Fine, whatever,” Mom snaps at last, turning away. “I don’t want you here anyway.”
“You should get some help.”
“I don’t need help,” she snaps. “I just need one more pearl, just to help me come down.”
I sigh. “Where’s my birth certificate?”
“In the drawer,” she says, turning and pacing, her thumb tapping at her screen as she tries to find another supply. I pull out the drawer where she keeps important stuff, sorting through until I find a folder with my birth certificate, social security card, and shot record. Along with the important stuff, there’s a diploma from middle school graduation and an honor roll award from the same year.
She saved them. She was proud of me.
I swallow hard, looking up at Mom. But she’s busy snapping at someone on the phone, too lost in her own craving to notice anything else, even her daughter.
I sigh and turn away, calling goodbye as I head down the hall. I climb into the Escalade and just sit there. My suitcases are still in the back, two big ones full of brand-new clothes that cost thousands of dollars. I could give them to Mom to get her dealer off her back.
But I don’t have anything else.
I pull out of the driveway and drive aimlessly through Faulkner, quiet on a Sunday evening. At last, I pull up to Willow Heights, using the side parking lot. I get out the jacket that Royal’s sister-in-law pointed out when I said I needed a warm jacket while we were up there. It’s not cold here—a hoodie would be plenty. But it’s always chilly where I’m going.