But I Need You (This Love Hurts 2)

It doesn’t make any sense. Not what my mother did and not what I did. I dragged her out of there as she pushed against me, fought me even. I pulled her away and I’ll be damned if I’m going back there.

She’s not going down for murder.

I won’t let it happen.

“Lilah, baby,” my mother pleads with me between the sobs.

“Shhh, Mom,” I whisper and lick my bottom lip, tasting my own salty tears. “I just need time to think. I’ll fix this. I promise,” I tell her. I can’t believe she did it. She didn’t. My mind’s at war with itself.

There’s something missing, something wrong and I can’t let anyone know until I know what really happened.

The convenience store sign is lit, but half of it is out when I pull into the Gas & Stop. I’ve been to this place countless times. It’s stood here since I was a little girl. Around the corner there’s a pay phone. I’ve waited for years for it to vanish like the rest of them have, but somehow it’s remained.

I stop here every time I visit. And I’ve always thought the pay phone was only there for criminals and cheaters. As I park and release a breath I didn’t know I was holding, telling my mother to just stay in the car for a moment, I realize this time I’m the criminal.

Fleeing the scene of a crime.

Aiding and abetting a criminal.

The charges whisper in the back of my mind as I dial one of the only numbers I know by heart.

The images flash through my mind as it rings and my hand slams against the booth as I brace myself.

She didn’t do it. I lie to myself until my sister’s voice is heard. “Hello?”

“Is anyone around you?” I ask her without telling her it’s me. She’ll know. She’ll know it’s me.

“What are you—”

“Answer me,” I say and my tone is deathly low and I’m aware it must make my sister nervous.

“Of course,” she answers and her breathing is heavier on the line now. “Yes,” she says, strengthening her tone as she continues, “there is.” There’s someone around her. Someone who could watch her take this call and testify. Evidence. It’s all about evidence right now.

“You’re not talking to me, you’re talking to a patient and everything is fine.”

“What’s going on?” Her voice is barely even but she makes an effort to hide her fear. My own creeps up my arm like tiny spiders racing across my flesh. I can’t believe I’m doing this. My expression crumples and pain runs through me as the memory of my mother on the floor flashes before my eyes. The blood. My father.

I struggle to speak, but heave in a breath, knowing I need to do this. “You’re going to go to Mom’s,” I tell her and my voice gets tight. “And you’re going to call the cops when you get there.”

“Why … why would I do that?” She corrects her tone, keeping it sounding light, but if someone’s paying attention, this call is going to be suspicious.

“Remember,” I say then swallow and brush under my eyes as I breathe out. “Someone could be watching you. You need to make it appear that this call is normal.”

It takes a handful of breaths before my sister says, “Right, right. I know that. It’s fine.” I can just picture her standing there with her arms crossed and leaning casually against the wall. I hate that I have to tell her this way. Forgive me. Lord, forgive me.

“I cleaned up the evidence.” My throat is tight and I find myself gripping the pay phone handset harder, both hands clinging to it as I stare at my car. I can’t see her, but I know my mother lays in the back seat. When I parked, she was silently crying.

“Of what?” My sister’s swallow is more audible than her question.

“I’ll explain it all to you after. But when you get home, we won’t be there. You’re going to call the cops and the last you heard from me were the texts we had earlier.”

“Is it Mom?” my sister practically cries and I hush her, reminding her that she’s talking to a patient.

“They’re gone. They just left,” my sister says in a breathy voice on the other end of the line, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to whoever was in the room with her. She heaves in a shuddering breath as if she’s strangling on her words. “Did Mom kill herself?”

“What?” I ask and my heart races.

“I confronted her.”

With a pounding in my pulse, I watch as a cop car rolls up to the red light outside the convenience store. I’m quick to turn my back so he can’t see me. But that also means turning away from my car and my mother. Who’s obviously in shock among every other reeling emotion that’s taken her over.