Текст книги "Rock Bottom"
Автор книги: R. K. Lilley
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TRISTAN
I cut the engine, staring with trepidation at my mom’s house.
Danika gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulders. This had been her idea. My inclination had been to stay away forever, but I knew she was right. This needed to be settled. Whether I liked it or not, my estrangement from my mother had been weighing on me.
“You coming in?” I asked her.
“I’ll wait out here for a bit. I think it’s for the best. Don’t you?”
Did I? I wasn’t sure. If I was honest, I really didn’t want to deal with any of it.
I needed a drink, but I tried not to break out the booze at ten in the morning, when I was with Danika.
“Wish me luck,” I said with a heavy sigh, getting out of the car.
“Good luck,” she called out encouragingly just before I shut the door.
I knocked on the door, then rang the bell, waited a full minute, then tried again. Finally, I used my key, dreading what I’d find.
The place was trashed, top to bottom. Pictures were knocked off the walls, a colorful vase from the entryway table smashed to bits on the floor. My mom was on a bender. I wasn’t even a little bit surprised.
The kitchen was covered in filth, dishes with rotting food filling the sink. I figured it hadn’t been cleaned since the funeral. I had to cover my nose and mouth to keep from retching as I made my way through.
The rest of the house that I saw wasn’t much better, though none of the rooms were as ripe as the kitchen, they’d all been through hell. I’d seen her do this before, after particularly bad break-ups, but never this extreme.
I found her in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, wearing sweats and a robe, an open bottle of tequila within easy reach of her open hand.
She was conscious, and just coherent enough to recognize me at a glance. “You,” she began with a sneer, “you’ve got a nerve, showing your face around here.”
I had to remove a pile of clothes to take a seat in the armchair across from her. I met her malevolent gaze squarely, though it was an effort. “I came to check on you. Danika thought you might need some help. I see she was right.”
“Don’t bring her into this! This is atween you and me!” she slurred.
I sighed. I’d hoped giving her time would make her see some reason, but it was apparent it had not. She was determined to blame me for this. “What’s between you and me? Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”
“You killed my baby! You and your friends and that stupid band. Always out partying, always drinking, and whoring, and corrupting my baby boy.”
I shook my head, glancing around the room. If she wanted to blame someone for her youngest child overdosing on a combination of drugs and alcohol, she hadn’t had to look beyond herself. I tried hard not to tell her that, though. I’d come to try to help her, not make her worse, but it went against every instinct I had not to go on the offensive when I was under attack.
“I loved Jared, Mom. You think this isn’t killing me, too? I’d do anything to undo what happened to him. Can’t you see that? I wasn’t even with him when it happened—“
She started sobbing. “My baby boy was all alone when he died. How could you let him die all alone?”
“I’d have been there if I could have. I’d have stopped it.”
“You got him hooked on those drugs! This was your fault!” She grabbed the nearest object, well almost nearest. I couldn’t miss the fact that she didn’t harm her precious bottle of tequila, instead going for the lamp, one of the few intact items in the room.
I dodged it easily, and tried to ignore her.
I ignored her vague curses.
I ignored her specific insults.
She began a diatribe about how I’d been the one to introduce Jared to drugs, and that I could not ignore.
I pointed across the room, at the huge bong that she’d left out in the open on the buffet that connected into the kitchen. “Are you kidding me right now? Are you really too drunk to remember who you’re talking to? How old was I when you started handing me your joints? How old was Jared?”
“Fuck you! You’re the one that got him drunk when he was thirteen!”
I felt myself shaking with temper, and knew that I needed to leave, but unfortunately, I stayed. “Are we pretending that’s the first time he had a drink? Is that what we’re doing? You, the mom who thought it was funny to get her little boys drunk at parties, you, are going to blame me for this?”
She was crying even as she started across the room, grabbed a glass vase off the floor, and threw it at my head.
I ducked.
She followed, pummeling my chest with her fists.
That I didn’t duck. I let her beat on me. I never had the energy to fight with her for long, because the sad fact was, none of our fighting would bring Jared back. If hating her would have brought him back, I could have done it easily, and forever, but since it didn’t, I couldn’t hold onto it for longer than it took me to vent my rage aloud.
“You bastard,” she bawled between punches, over and over.
I took the abuse, over and over.
She’d always been a volatile drunk, but she didn’t hit that hard, so I’d never complained about it much.
This was the scene that Danika walked in on; my mother pounding on my chest and screaming curses at me.
She didn’t so much as pause, approaching us, pulling my mother off me.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned my mom in a low, mean voice. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she put her hands on Danika, but I knew that none of us needed to find out.
Fortunately for her, for all of us, she went with her quietly, turning and sobbing into the other woman’s neck.
Danika tugged her gently to sit on the couch, patting her softly on the back. She shot me a sympathetic look, but I could see by the hard set of her mouth that she too was reining in her temper. I knew how she felt about my mom, how angry it made her that she’d placed the blame on me for Jared.
Danika’s tone was kind but chiding when my mother finally quieted, and she could speak and be heard. “You need to stop this, Leticia. He is your son, the only person left on this earth that is your child now, and you must stop treating him like this. He is not to blame.”
I had to turn away, fists clenched. No one could make me so emotional with just a few words. No one but Danika.
“He blames me, Danika,” Leticia sobbed. “Why don’t you tell him to stop blaming me, while you’re at it?”
“He doesn’t blame you,” Danika told her, a world of patience in her voice. I was glad she could say it. I wasn’t sure just then that I could have gotten those words out. “He’s hurting and you’re hurting, but you are his mother, and you need to stop this. He came here to make peace. Will you turn him away, and open all of these wounds you share even wider? No, no, you won’t. You need each other. You can’t keep going on like this. You’re killing yourself, Leticia.”
I turned back to look just as my mother pulled slightly back from Danika. Leticia was not a large woman, was in fact a few inches shorter, but she dwarfed my tiny Danika. It was amazing how much comfort my girl contained in those toned little arms of hers.
Leticia stroked her cheek, giving her a very affectionate look. “Oh, my pretty girl. I remember the words you spoke at my baby boy’s funeral. You said just the perfect things. You brought me such comfort. I felt like my Jared was standing right next to me, when you spoke about him like that. Where’s my comfort now, though, Danika? I don’t know how to deal with this. I can’t live with what’s happened to my poor, dear Jared. Please, please, find some words to comfort me again.”
Danika pulled her close again, her eyes on me. There was an apology in their pale gray depths that I couldn’t understand. Not until she spoke. “Not long ago, Tristan and I eloped,” she confessed to my mother, shocking me. We hadn’t told a soul, until now.
Leticia sobbed and clutched her, naming her daughter, calling her our beautiful girl, finally sending a few kind words my way, admitting that I had good taste, if nothing else. I’d take it. There was nothing I was more proud of than having Danika love me.
And Danika wasn’t done. “And, Leticia, I’m telling you this because I need you to work on getting better, okay? I need you to be strong for me. I need you to sober up, because I have a very important job for you.”
Leticia straightened, wiping her eyes, looking earnest, and finally, a little sober. “A job?”
“Yes. A very important job. I’m…pregnant, and this baby will need a grandma, Leticia.”
That news did all we could have hoped for, making Leticia gush and cry, happy tears now. She rubbed Danika’s flat belly and gushed.
We hadn’t planned to tell anyone for a few more months, but I saw right away why she’d done it. She’d given my mother something to live for, and my mother held onto that something like a lifeline.
“Will you name the baby Jared, if he’s a boy?” Leticia asked, still rubbing Danika’s taut belly.
Danika didn’t hesitate. “Of course we will.”
“And Leticia, if it’s a girl?” my mother continued, ballsy as ever.
“What else? Yes, Leticia for a girl, and Jared for a boy. But, Leticia, and I’m very serious, I need you to get your act together. This is our first baby, and we’re going to need you to be there for us, to answer our questions, to show us what to do when we’re clueless. Will you do that for us? Will you get healthy again for your grandbaby?”
There were more happy tears, and apologies, some sent my way, to my shock. Effusive reassurances that, of course, yes, she would be better, because she had a grandchild to prepare for.
“Let’s go out and celebrate!” my mother proclaimed later. It was a different woman speaking then than the one I’d witnessed when I’d first entered the house. Danika had managed to transform her. It was official; she’d gotten every Vega to fall in love with her.
“Yes, let’s, but lay off the tequila, please,” Danika agreed, managing to sound both warm and wry at the same time, as only she could.
“Yes, yes, no more tequila for me. That stuff is poison.”
Leticia seemed to remember the state she was in, patting her hair, her expression horrified. “Give me twenty minutes! I would hate to embarrass you when we’re out!” She rushed off.
Danika stood and immediately began to straighten up the house.
“What are you doing?” I asked her, moving to the bottle of tequila. I took a long swig.
“Get rid of that. Dump out any alcohol you see.”
I saw her point. I moved to the kitchen. I had to hold my breath, the stench was so bad near the sink. I emptied the remaining contents, tossing the bottle into the trash.
“Find all of her liquor, get rid of it all,” she told me as I walked back into the living room.
“Okay, fine, but what are you doing? You don’t have to clean her house for her.”
“When she comes back here, and she’s all alone, what do you think she’ll do when she’s sitting around in all of her filth? You think she’ll clean it or you think she’ll go on another bender? Trust me, a cleaner house will help.”
I knew she was right, and I began to help her, cleaning and throwing away liquor. At Danika’s insistence, I even tossed her bong, grimacing slightly at all of the wasted weed. She was ruthless.
We’d cleaned a good deal of the main floor by the time Leticia made it back downstairs, looking as improved as her cleaned up house.
She made noises about how we shouldn’t have, but I could tell she was pleased. She’d needed this visit, needed to know that someone on this earth cared if she lived or died.
Danika could be bossy as hell, but she was usually right.
We went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant just down the street that my mother claimed couldn’t match her homemade food. None of us mentioned that she’d had nothing but rotten food in her kitchen.
When the waiter asked us what we wanted to drink, Danika loudly butted in, ordering for us all. “Just waters tonight.”
I wanted to grumble about it, but I knew she was right. My mother needed to avoid alcohol for a while. I highly doubted she’d been sober in months, and she’d never been a good drunk.
We shared a long, joyful meal, making plans for the baby, my mother happily squeezing my arm every so often in her excitement. This wound had been healed, all thanks to Danika.
We left my mother with a clean house, and a hopeful heart.
All thanks to Danika.
She was the one. If I’d ever had a doubt, I didn’t now. She was the one I’d be thinking about, longing for, until I took my last breath. If I lost her tomorrow, I’d pine for her like a lovesick fool. This was the kind of love that only hit you once in your life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DANIKA
I’d called my sister several times after I’d gotten her number. When I had no luck reaching her, Jerry offered to use the number to track her down for me, and I’d let him. He was resourceful like that.
He’d found her living in L.A. She was a waitress and an aspiring actress, and she was willing to drive all the way to Vegas just to meet with me.
I was ecstatic.
Jerry had set up the meeting, but it had taken her a very long time to pin down a date. I’d been more than willing to drive to see her in L.A., but through the filter of Jerry, she’d insisted that she’d prefer to come see me. I was more than willing to take what I could get, even when it took her months to come.
We were supposed to be meeting in the bar and grill on Maryland Parkway, right across from the UNLV campus. I was hurrying to the meeting, running ten minutes behind because of my long-winded Political Science professor, when I saw her.
I stopped in my tracks.
It had been years since I’d seen her, but I recognized her instantly. She’d changed so much, but she was still the beautiful girl I remembered.
My mother said she didn’t look like me, but that was wrong. She had light brown hair, which was different, and it fell long and wavy down her back. She’d gotten blonde highlights, which set it off nicely. She was much shorter than me, and even my mother, and built thin, almost waif-like. I looked voluptuous in comparison.
But her face, down to her pale gray eyes, had always been very similar to mine. There was perhaps just a touch less of an exotic tilt to her eyes, but not by much. Even with her light brown hair, she barely passed for Caucasian, on close inspection. For some reason, this had always made my mom think she was plain. But she was wrong. Dahlia was stunning.
She was dressed very preppy, with a pleated gray skirt, white silk top, and a pale pink cardigan. Black Mary Janes and white knee-high socks completed the look. She looked like an adorable schoolgirl. It was not the look I’d been expecting her to adopt, being an actress/waitress living in L.A., but it looked great on her.
She didn’t smile when she saw me, but she waved, big white sunglasses hiding her expressive eyes from me.
I waved back, moving to her. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when we reached each other, just staring. I would have hugged her, but I wasn’t sure she’d want that, so I kept studying her, taking in this new, grown up version of my sister.
She seemed to do the same. I’d worn a little mod sheath dress that I’d borrowed from Bev. It was light blue, and I had flat ballet slippers that matched almost exactly. I’d been going for conservative but feminine, wanting to make a good impression on my kid sister, and be the polar opposite of how she’d last seen me, in that dark trailer that held so many dark horrors for us both.
“Hey Dahlia,” I finally spoke, finding my voice, if barely. Setting eyes on her had me choked up. “You look wonderful. L.A. seems to agree with you.”
She nodded shortly, still not smiling. “It’s better than here. I can’t believe you stayed here. I hate this town.”
I couldn’t blame her. We’d had a hell of a childhood in Sin City. Somehow, though, I’d made my peace with it. “I’m going to school here. I’m on a decent scholarship, and I work for a great family. I haven’t felt any desire to leave. Everything I need is here.”
She just gave another short nod. “Can we go sit down somewhere?”
“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry I was late. My professor wouldn’t stop talking.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I never even finished high school.”
That made me stare unhappily down at my feet. “I’m sorry for that,” I told her quietly.
“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault. We never did have any good odds in our favor. It’s amazing one of us even made it to college.”
There was something in her words that gave me hope, some inkling I could hold onto that she didn’t blame me for everything.
We got a booth, ordered two waters, and then had another long staring match. It was something akin to an awkward silence, although it wasn’t quite that.
I studied her hands. They were so tiny and delicate. How had such a tiny, delicate thing like Dahlia fared against the big bad world all by herself, from such a young age? She’d survived, obviously, but what had she had to go through?
I shuddered to think.
“So how are you?” I asked her quietly and seriously.
That got the tiniest smile out of her. “I’m all right. Waiting tables. Still trying to catch my big break. I can’t complain.”
We shared another long, studying silence.
“So, I um, met your boyfriend,” Dahlia finally began, her lips pursing. I had a hard time reading her, but I thought her expression was displeased.
That had my eyebrows arching in a very curious question. I’d heard nothing about it.
“You’ve met my boyfriend? Tristan?”
She laughed nervously. “Yeah, Tristan. Unless you have more than one?”
I smiled and shook my head. “Not a chance. Just the one. How on earth did you meet him?”
“Your boss, Jerry. He invited me to come see the guys record their album a while ago, and I took him up on the offer. They’re amazing.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes they are! Wow I’m jealous. I still haven’t had a chance to come hear them recording.”
She shot me a small, sheepish smile. “I actually went and saw them several times. I couldn’t seem to stay away.”
My mouth twisted wryly. I could see the appeal of five hot guys to a nineteen year old girl. Hell, I doubted any age woman would be immune to them.
“So…you and Tristan. Are you two actually serious?” There was something that I really didn’t like in her tone, as though she weren’t just idly curious.
“Yes,” I said simply. I didn’t feel the need to share any more. I was still feeling her out.
“He’s…a really great guy. I can see why you fell for him.”
“Thanks,” I said slowly, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. I tried to put my finger on it, but there were no definitive red flags. She was hard for me to read, which was sad, because we were sisters, and we’d been inseparable as children.
“So what made you decide to pursue acting?” I asked her, changing the subject, though I was curious. It would have been the last choice I’d have guessed for her. She’d always been such an introvert.
She shrugged, fidgeting in her chair. The question made her uncomfortable, it was clear. “A combination of things. I did one small role, and realized I liked it. Also…it runs in the family.”
I had to think that one over for a while before I gave up. I had no idea what she was talking about. There was just us and our mother, no other family, and none of us were actresses. “What do you mean?”
She cleared her throat, then looked down at her hands. When she spoke, her voice was barely loud enough for me to catch. “Our father is an actor.”
The silence wasn’t awkward this time, but it was long. I sat there, stunned, and tried to understand what she’d just said.
“You know our father?” I finally asked her. It was a mystery that had disturbed me for most of my life. Only in the last few years had I finally made peace with the idea that I would never know who he was. My mother had been stubbornly close-mouthed on the subject.
She ducked her head, flushing. “I do, yes.”
I swallowed. I didn’t know what I was feeling, couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was manifesting itself as a knot in my throat, and a burning in my chest. Why on earth would anything to do with this man, this person who had never been in our lives, had literally abandoned us from the start, bring up some strange emotion inside of me? Emotion that made the smallest news, the tiniest inkling that I might have some answers about him knock the breath out of me. I was angry with myself for feeling wounded that my sister somehow knew him, and I did not, but there it was.
Finally, “How do you know him? When did this start?”
She never looked up. “When I left that trailer with that sick old man, I found Mom. She was in bad shape, as she usually is, but I asked her if I could move back in with her. I didn’t know where else to go. She said no, but she finally told me who our father was, and she gave me his number. So I went to L.A., and met him.”
Her lip curled into an expression of distaste, but her eyes stayed down. “He was nothing like I’d hoped for. He’s known about us the whole time. He was giving Mom money, but he wanted nothing to do with us. He met with me, and gave me some money, enough to live on for years, but he made it clear he didn’t want to see me again.”
I was overwhelmed.
I just stared at her, trying to figure out where I should start with the questions.
She began to speak again, “He has a family, has four legitimate kids. The oldest is four years older than you, and the youngest is three years younger than me. He’s been a busy guy, but he’s still married. God only knows how many other children he has hidden away. I don’t imagine we’re his only dirty little secret.”
“He’s very famous, and he’s loaded, like mega-loaded.” She looked up, saw my expression, and continued, “He paid my way for a while, when I was underage and had no resources. I guess I’m thankful, in a way, but it does little to soften my resentment. I stopped taking his money as soon as I was able to get on my feet. He won’t even have a phone conversation with me. He has his assistant talk to me. There are no real ties there, and so it didn’t feel right to keep taking his money. Now all I want is to become more famous than him, more famous than his family, so I can show him what he threw away.” Her voice was passionate by the end, and I felt for her.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, to be grossly neglected by one parent, and completely rejected by the other.
It took me a while, but I finally asked the question that I had to ask. “Who is he?”
“Bronson Giles.”
I’d heard of him. He was a dramatic actor, and critically acclaimed. He was large-boned and handsome, with blond hair and striking pale gray eyes. I recalled that he’d won an Oscar a few years back, and that I’d seen him in several movies, and thought he was good.
“Is that his real name?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “It’s his stage name, but he’s not listed on our birth certificates, and Mom tells me that he never told her his real name.”
I didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Should I be proud that my biological father was famous? I wasn’t. I had no kinship with the man, but finally I had a face, and a basic backstory. Now I wanted to pretend I’d never heard of the man. There was nothing else for me to do.
“I’ll give you his number, if you want it, but I doubt you’ll get any closure on meeting him. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask him for more money soon, which I’m not looking forward to. It’s just…I don’t know what else to do.”
“Why?” I asked, troubled by her tone. She sounded so forlorn.
Her face crumpled, and she buried it in her hands. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
I wanted to go to her, to walk around the table and embrace her, but I didn’t know that I should. I still didn’t think she’d want me to touch her.
She stopped quickly, straightening. Her face was wet, but her expression was composed again. She took a very deep breath before she spoke. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t know what to do.” She buried her face in her hands again.
I sat frozen, not knowing what to do, or what to say. I didn’t know anything about her. She seemed too young to have a baby, but she could have been married, for all I knew.
Finally, when she composed herself again, I asked carefully, “Who is the father?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She paused, looking devastated. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t point out that those were two drastically different things.
“Well, if there is anything I can do to help, anything at all, please tell me. I’d love to become a part of your life again. And your baby’s, too. My heart is always open to you,” I had to blink back unexpected tears, “it always has been. I’ve missed you every single day since you left. I’m here for you, however you need me.”
Her face crumpled again, and she looked away.
She reached across the table, not meeting my eyes as she put her hand over mine. “I’m sorry. What happened to us, it was horrible, and I know I made it worse for you. I wish I could take it back. I’m ashamed at how I treated you. I was shocked by what I saw, and I just reacted. I was so broken, so torn apart by all of the things that happened in that fucking trailer, that I ran and just kept running. That’s my only excuse for the way things went down, but I am sorry for it all.”
I was trembling hard, as though a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and my body had to move in some way just to feel its new freedom.
“Thank you,” I whispered. Some things you needed so fundamentally, so desperately, that you couldn’t acknowledge the need until it was met. I acknowledged it now.
I needed my sister. And I needed to know that she didn’t hate me.
“That man was a monster, and I’m sorry I left you alone to his mercy. Forgive me?”
I shook my head, still blinking back tears. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m so happy you got away. The sooner the better. And I didn’t stay there for much longer after you’d gone.”
“Good. I had so many nightmares about that, about leaving you, and you never making it out of there. But even with the nightmares, I was too terrified to go back. This is the first time I’ve been to Vegas since I left.”
“The old man is dead. A heart attack.” I thought it important to tell her. The news had brought me so much relief.
She took a deep breath, nodding. “That is good. Thank you for telling me. Let’s never talk about him again.”
“Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I’m just happy to have found you again.”
She smiled at me, but it was sad. “Yes. It’s so good to see your face again. I wish it had happened sooner. What are your plans today? We should go shopping, if you’re free.”
I was free. I’d made sure I had the afternoon off for just this purpose, hoping things would work out for the best. They had exceeded my expectations though. I had never dreamed of acceptance from her, or forgiveness.
We shopped for hours at the Fashion Show Mall. Neither of us bought anything. We mostly window-shopped, and chatted about our lives. It was something we used to do as teenagers. We’d hang around the mall every spare second that we could, just to avoid going home.
We talked about our years apart, caught up on as much as we could of what we’d both been doing. I didn’t tell her about my own pregnancy, but I had every intention of telling her soon.
It was nearing dinnertime when I finally had to go. “Tristan should be in town by now. He’s home for the weekend, and he’s supposed to be cooking me dinner at his apartment.”
Her face lit up, and so of course, I invited her to join us.
“I have no idea what he’s making, but I can guarantee it will be divine,” I told her as we walked through the parking garage to our cars.
“Oh, yes, I know,” she assured me. “I’ve had his cooking before.”
That made me feel…disgruntled. What had I been missing lately? How was Tristan cooking for my sister, and I somehow hadn’t known a thing about it?
It felt wrong.
“How’s that? When have you had Tristan’s cooking?”
“I visited the band’s house for dinner one night, and he was cooking. He made lasagna, and it was to die for.”
That was better, but only a little. I still couldn’t believe that Tristan had met her and not said a word to me about it. There was no way I wouldn’t be grilling him about it later. Not a chance in hell.
I gave her the address in case I lost her, but still had her follow me to the apartment. I sent Tristan one brief text on the way.
Danika: We have an extra guest for dinner.
I didn’t check for a response, and put my phone away, as I always did, before I started driving.
It took us forty-five minutes to get from the strip to Tristan’s Henderson apartment with the traffic, and I was thinking about Dahlia the entire time.
Something was going on with her, something troubling, beyond even her accidental pregnancy. Even after hours of opening up to each other, she hadn’t given away even a hint about how it had happened.
Dahlia was right behind me when I parked. She’d trailed me with diligence for the entire drive.
She followed me closely up the stairs, and to Tristan’s front door. When I opened it, unexpectedly, she rushed in first.
Before I could even close the door behind me, she was in the kitchen, throwing her arms around a surprised Tristan, giving him a huge, exuberant hug.
His own arms went slowly and tentatively around her, giving her a ghost of a hug back before he tried to disentangle himself.
“Tristan! It’s so wonderful to see you again!” she gushed.
I just stared, feeling a little queasy.
He set his hands on her shoulders, moving her gently away from him. “Nice to see you, too. Excuse me.”
He strode to me, wrapping me in his arms, pulling me very close, and kissing me, long and deep. It was nothing that my kid sister needed to see, but that didn’t stop him from doing it, and it didn’t stop me from reacting. I never had been able to tell the man no.
By the time he pulled back, my brain was near to mush, but that still didn’t distract me enough to keep my questions in.
