Stone Cold Fox (63)
She sweeps the hair away from my face.
Then she stumbles to the bedroom, giggling now.
Like a fool. It’s working. Mother never looks like a fool.
She laughs even louder with a snort.
See you in the morning, bunny.
She holds on to the walls in the hallway for balance.
She falls to the side, sliding down the wall, all the way down.
She’s so still.
Still breathing, but still.
I think about touching her one last time.
The last time. What have I done?
What am I doing?
Should I call someone? Ask for help.
Help.
No. No one will help me. No one ever helps. Not for free.
This is the only way.
To be truly free.
It was always the only way. I tried to get away. She didn’t let me.
She’ll never let me go.
So do I touch her one last time?
I don’t wipe the tears from my face. Let them fall. I need to feel them. I need to feel this.
For her and for me.
I deserve this pain. We both do. Feel it. I feel it.
I know I am a bad daughter.
But what did she think she’d get?
She’s a bad mother.
Maybe I’ll brush the hair away from her face.
No. I won’t do it. I can’t.
My face is soaking wet.
I can hardly see. I rub the crook of my arm across my face.
I can see. I can see everything. All of it.
The black and the white and everything gray.
The future is finally mine.
What’s another scar on my heart?
Do I even have one?
I take the glass, I leave the bottle of gin, I grab my bag and I go.
* * *
? ? ?
I LOOK UP at the door on the second floor. I stand in the parking lot. I wonder if she’s still alive. I wonder how much longer she has left. The tears have stopped. Everything has stopped. Time. I wonder why I no longer feel any fear or sadness. Nor do I feel any regret.
I only feel free.
I’m free from my creator, I’m out from her enormous shadow that would keep me in the dark with her, only letting me in the light on the shortest of leashes, always wrapped tightly around my neck. Not quite strangling me, but close enough.
She would never have let me go.
I tell myself that over and over. And over again.
It had to be done.
I’m not hers anymore.
I’m not her bunny.
I’m not a fucking bunny at all.
Now I can be anything I want to be.
Not like Mother.
Not like Seamus.
Not even like Dean.
But like Francis.
Filthy fucking rich.
Because money is power.
Only then would I be safe, secure, untouchable.
I wanted it all and I knew how to get it.
She taught me that much.
I could do the rest alone.
So where would I begin?
CHAPTER
13
I WAS OFFICIALLY Mrs. Collin Case, but I couldn’t stop scanning my wedding reception for Dave Bradford. I decided that we needed to meet again, to fully satiate my curiosity, and then this infatuation would have to end. Permanently.
I felt confident he wouldn’t rat me out on my wedding day about our first encounter at Gale’s, but the risk was always present. Hence the appeal. My primal instincts were always humming on idle, foot hovering above the gas, just underneath the surface. I couldn’t accelerate, at least not aggressively. Maybe just a brisk pleasure cruise. What was the harm? Everyone was a little loose at weddings, why not the bride, too? The only minor annoyance leading up to my illicit reunion with Dave was Collin. He would not leave my side as per usual. I was his brand-new beautiful wife and he rightfully wanted to show me off to every bastard in the room. I acquiesced since I excelled at being paraded around like a prize. I didn’t mind a build in the anticipation either.
Hand in hand with Collin, smiling so much my cheeks were in pain, we mixed and mingled our way through the reception. Table by table, I was introduced to cousins and coworkers and Calliope’s ex-boyfriends, until we finally approached a well-dressed collection of bachelors at the singles table. A prime position for one Dave Bradford, still grinning mischievously in a way I found positively panty-dropping. And I don’t say panty often because it’s vile.
Gale was also assigned to the same table, but she was nowhere to be found, which couldn’t have been good for me. I should have excused myself to home in on her location for my own sake, but I was completely hypnotized at the sight of Dave. He was delicious.
“Collin!” Dave exclaimed at my husband, not yet looking at me, driving me wild, doing it on purpose. “Congrats, man!” Dave rose from the table, his tie undone, running a hand through his curls, and the two of them did that boorish man hug where they instinctually smack each other a few times on the back with gusto, like a couple of apes.
“Dave, so stoked you made it!” Collin said. I stopped myself from openly cringing. Stoked? I’d never heard Collin utter such bro terminology in my life. I wanted to comment that Dave must have brought out the frat boy in Collin, but of course they would correct me and tell me that they were in a “final club” at Harvard, not a frat, so I kept my mouth shut. Ideally, I wanted to stay at least somewhat attracted to both of them. “This is my wife.” Collin emphasized that word all night in a way that I actually found very charming. “Bea.”