Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"What did that mean?" I asked in a whisper.

"To tell you the truth, princess, I wasn't sure, but it went over big. A few days later, I had an opportunity to be alone with him. He was very upset because it was obvious it was my first time."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. He never so much as spoke to me after that," she said.

"But didn't you feel terrible?"

She shrugged.

"He wasn't as nice as I thought and I wasn't interested in him anymore."

"But what about what you had done?"

"It had to happen sometime," she said nonchalantly.

"But if you don't really care about the person . . ."

"Don't care about anybody," she said. "You're better off."

"No you're not, Aunt Fern. You're all alone when you care only about yourself," I fired back. She glared at me.

"I forgot, you're Mrs. Perfect's daughter. Your mother wasn't so perfect, you know," she said. "That's how you came into the world."

"I know all about it," I replied quickly, before she could add any more cruel things. "I even visited my real father."

"You did? And?"

"He might have been a handsome, charming man once, but to me he was . . . he was a nobody," I said. "Ugly and weak."

"Um. Still, I would like to see what the man who swept Mrs. Perfect of her feet looked like," she said.

"Why did you hate my mother so much?" I asked, shaking my head. "All she wanted were good things for you."

"Don't believe it. She was jealous of every moment Jimmy spent on me," she spat back.

"That's not true. It's a horrible thing to think and say."

"It was true," she insisted. "When it comes to another woman's jealousy, honey, I'm an expert."

She lifted her feet out of the water and set them on the edge of the tub.

"Go to my overn

ight bag and get my nail polish. I want you to do my toes," she ordered.

I stared down at her defiantly. Right now she looked like a blob of selfishness and cruelty, a heartless creature who lived only for one thing—her own pleasure. I didn't think I was capable of as much hate and anger as I felt at this moment. She must have seen it in my eyes, for her look of self evaporated quickly and her eyes became two luminous hot coals of fury.

"Don't you look down at me like that, Christie Longchamp. You may think you're better than me, but deep inside you're cut from the same cloth. You couldn't wait to call my brother and run off to this out-of-the-way hideout so you could give in to your sexual fantasies. You even were low enough to drag your little brother along," she charged.

"That's not true; that's not why I ran away," I cried, the tears burning behind my eyelids.

"You ran away because you're a spoiled brat who got everything her way, who was the center of attention and who's now just another child in the house. Aunt Bet didn't cater to you like your mother did so . . ."

"Uncle Philip raped me!" I blurted.

For a moment the silence was so heavy, I could hear the pounding of my heart and imagined she could too. She sat up slowly in the tub, never taking her eyes of me. I couldn't stop sobbing.