Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(5)

"I will. I absolutely will, you darling boy. I'm ashamed that you even had to point it out, but you leave it to me, okay?"

I nodded. I had absolute faith that Gram would do anything she promised, so I was done worrying about that part of it.

"Thank you," I told her. "But . . . what should I do? How do you think I can help her?"

"How about just being her friend? Friends can make life a lot better."

I flushed and looked down, embarrassed to tell her that the girl I was so worried about would barely say two words to me. "I'll try," I muttered.

"And Dante?"

"Yes?"

"You're strong. And brave. I have faith in you. I know you will find a way to help her. If you see she needs defending, defend her. Do what you think is right and you won't have any regrets."

A few weeks later, I pounded a guy that I heard making a joke about her, and I got my first smile out of her.

I loved that smile that seemed to belong only to me. I felt like I'd been invited into a special club that consisted of just the two of us, and I wanted to stay there. It was the only place I wanted to be.

From that day forward, it was my job to protect her. Her feelings. Her body.

Her freedom.

I look back on it all often, I think about it too much, and my life has fallen into categories—in spite of everything—gradations of her.

Life before Scarlett. Life with Scarlett. Life after Scarlett.

Wanting her.

Needing her.

Having her.

Losing her.

But always, always, there was a cloud looming over our heads, a storm on the brink, and in my mind, at least, there is only one person to blame for it.





*****





From my earliest memories, I had a complicated relationship with my mother.

She taught me to knot a tie, play chess, and to never, ever turn my back on her.

I kept Scarlett from my mother as much as I could for as long as I could. Hid the one I held most dear from the one I most feared.

I sheltered Scarlett from her. Protected her as much as I could. She had enough to contend with in her life without my terrifying mother adding to it.

I kept her hidden as best I could, but of course, that couldn't last forever. Scarlett and I were inseparable. There was bound to be some overlap.

It was the strangest thing, if you ever caught my mother off guard it was like walking in on a corpse. There was not one ounce of animation to her. She was inanimate, staring off into nothing, and if you startled her, her face went on like an alarm going off.

Like stepping on a snake, she struck before you fully understood what you'd done.

I'd caught her like that once and learned to avoid it.

Still, I thought about it. It creeped me the hell out. What did she do when she was so deep in her own mind that she seemed to leave her body?

I was young when I pondered that, very young, and the older I got the more apparent the answer was.

She was plotting. Always plotting.

An enemy's downfall, a friend's humiliation, a rival's shame.

A husband's misery.

A son's ruin.

She never lived in the moment. She only lived for her latest trap to spring.

And she always had some web to spin. Everyone in her sphere played some part in the spinning, whether they knew it or not.

There was one thing of value about being her only son; I did learn to deal with her.

Or so I thought.

When I was young and stupid, I thought I'd gotten the best of her, thought I had the keys to keeping her in check for the foreseeable future.

She let me think so, I later realized. She was playing a longer game than I could have anticipated.

The key when it came to my mother was control. If you broke it all down that was all she wanted from anyone, to have power over them.

But that didn't work until you had a weakness to exploit.

The answer to controlling me was always there, from the time Scarlett became my first and best friend, but I was too naive to see it.

I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I was in control. I thought I was the one that had something on her.

I found the thing my mother found the most important without even trying.

For her, the woman who had no animation when she was by herself, it was all about appearances. Her entire life was a sham, a play, and that's all she wanted it to be. She cared more about what the world thought than she did the actual reality of it.

Once I knew that it was a simple thing to figure out what she wanted from me. And once I had that, I figured I had the power to keep her from taking what was important to me.

She loved to bring me out at parties, loved to show off her strapping boy, with his perfect teeth, his good looks, his blond hair, blue eyes, and straight posture—the very image of his handsome father. Thanks to her expectations, I was better at making conversation with adults than other kids, and her 'friends' found this endlessly charming.

She was very happy with that.

I let her have it for a while. She'd taught me well. I even went out of my way to ham it up, her charming little boy, but I made a note of how it pleased her, how she expected, needed my impeccable behavior to help illustrate how perfect, how complete of a person she was pretending to be.

I kept that little card to myself until I needed it, because I always knew I would.