“Don’t you dare call me that.” I pushed the paper on his chest and glared at him. “Tell. Me.”
“Mia, I…” He closed his hand around me, his eyes roving over my face. “I was reckless. I was drunk. My mom was driving and…” His lips quivered, his hand tightening around my hand, but I pulled away.
“Did you…?” I choked on the question. I didn’t want to think about it. I couldn’t even imagine him getting in the same accident that killed my mom.
“I got drunk and started fighting. My mom picked me up, and she was scolding me and then… I remember sobbing and apologizing to her,” he said, pulling out the file and showing it to me. “I tried to get your mom out of the car, Mia. I swear. I really tried, but her belt was stuck and…”
A sob tore out of me and I fell on the floor, covering my face. I knew what happened next. He didn’t have to say it. The car had blown up, and they still kept her bruised body in the bed, trying to make her breathe while my dad cried, holding my hand. My mom died in the same car accident. So did his mother.
“Mia, please, look at me,” he whispered, his voice straining, kneeling across me.
“She went out to buy me a present—” I choked, fat tears rolling down my face. “I was being stubborn about not receiving any gifts, and she kissed me and Dad, promising me… promising me she’ll come back with presents.” My dad was smiling so affectionately at her, tucking her hair behind her ear and whispering her to drive slowly while I grinned at them. I remembered Dad baking a cake, talking to me as we patiently waited for mom. And kept waiting. For hours. Until Dad got anxious when she wouldn’t answer her phone.
“I’m sorry.” I glared at him through the tears, my heart breaking all over again. “I’m sorry, Princess. Please believe me—”
“Dad knows, doesn’t he?”
“Clyde was the only one who didn’t blame me.” His hands were shaking, clenching them into fists. “That fool asked me why I had been drinking and paid for my car and tuition.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. That sounded like something Dad would do. Show kindness, offer it even when he was breaking apart. I reached out and touched James’ hand, holding his cold palm in my hands, stroking his cold knuckles.
“Why were you drinking?”
He took a sharp breath. “Because my dad was hitting my mother.”
41
OWN GOOD
JAMES
Saying the words out loud felt like my skin was ripping apart and my body was on fire. The sound of my mother’s wail after the harsh smack kept echoing in my head. What horrified me the most was that mom was keeping it a secret for years wearing turtlenecks in summers and wearing heavy foundation when she wasn’t going anywhere.
“H-he didn’t stop,” I managed to say through my gritted teeth. Her warm hands caressed my hand as if I deserved it. “I remember punching him. There was a lot of yelling and shouting. Mom locked herself in a room when he finally left the house to get more drunk in a bar. I followed him, getting into a serious fight until my mom picked me up.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes.
I chuckled grimly. “That was my Christmas, Mia. I grabbed a bottle—fuck, I don’t even remember what I had been drinking. I was just angry. At everyone. And then Mom scolded me the entire ride. Not that piece of shit who hit her—” I swallowed when her small fingers entwined with my hand, squeezing it.
I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve her pity, sympathy, care, love, anything at all. Even her hatred felt too precious for someone like me.
“After the accident, Clyde helped me. I got away from my father—he didn’t even care that Mom had died, but Clyde was there for me. I was finally glad to live. I didn’t want to study, but your father was stubborn, so he put me in college. He was the first person I called when I got my first pay-check, when I got promoted, when I bought this penthouse.”
I finally tried to meet her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks as she stared at me. “Your mom made me a promise to look after Clyde and her daughter, who had the biggest sweet-tooth, Mia.”
More tears rolled down her face, and I leaned closer to wipe them away, her hand clutching her heart-shaped necklace. I pulled away, resisting the urge to hold her in my lap and apologize to her.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head and stood up. Her legs were shaking as she turned away from me, getting dressed in her jeans and sweatshirt. “I-I need to go.”
I stood up, my heart aching. I understood her. I did. But fuck it, I just wanted to hold her and never let her go. I clenched my hands to stop myself and asked, “Do you want me to drop you?”
She raised her eyes at me. Her lashes were wet with tears and she was biting her bottom lip from quivering. I held myself back from taking a step towards her and protect her. But I couldn’t protect her from myself. Because I was the reason she was crying with such a vulnerable look on her face.
“I-I need to get away from you, James.” I stiffened, waiting for her to hurt me but she never did. “I need some space. To think and process all of this. I’m sorry.”
“Goodnight, Princess.” My voice was barely audible.
My entire body was rigid and tense as I watched her leave, walking out of the room without saying another word. Maybe it was for her own good. She deserved better. Someone who wasn’t the reason of her mother’s death. Someone her age. Someone who wasn’t her fucking teacher.