The Two Week Stand (Sizzling Beach 1)

And there it is. That’s why she’s here. Either she’s set her sights on West—or higher—or she thinks there’s some sort of payday to be made from this.

It’s a sad, sorry kind of feeling to not even be disappointed at this point. Deep down, the instant I saw her through the peephole, I ultimately knew that she wasn’t here for me. There was some other reason, something to do with her own selfish wants and needs.

And West was her target.

Well, she’s missed out on that one. She’s four days and about four thousand miles too late. Which gives me a weird sense of satisfaction.

Although it is a singular kind of pain to know that you’re not loved by the one person who should love you. But I also get some clarity. Because the way she treats me has nothing to do with me or the person I am. It’s all her.

Maybe something happened in her childhood that made her this way, and she carried it through to adulthood and never cared to make the change in herself when I came along. Or maybe she was just made this way. That I’ll never know. But I know for damn sure that I am nothing like her, nor will I ever be the mother she is—or lacked to be—if I have a child of my own. My child will know every single day how much they are loved and wanted and that they are the only thing that matters.

I stare at her for what feels like the longest time, knowing this will be the last time I see her. Does it hurt? Of course. But it’s also freeing. Knowing I’ll never have to deal with her shitty treatment of me again.

I’m making the decision to cut her off to make my life better, and I know, ultimately, I’ll be happier for it.

“We’re done, Mum. You and me. I don’t want to see you or speak to you again.”

It’s her turn to stare at me. “Are you being serious?” Her tone sounds angry.

I knew this was the way it would go. If she doesn’t get her way, she turns nasty.

“Yes. I can’t keep letting you hurt me over and over and looking the other way in hopes that you’ll stop one day. I’m done.”

“You always were an ungrateful little cow, Dillon. I should have aborted you when I had the chance.”

Yes, that hurts. But it’s not something I haven’t heard come from her cruel mouth in the past.

“Good-bye, Mum.”

I start to shut the door, but she stops it with her hand.

“You think now that you’ve got your fancy boyfriend, you’re better than me, eh? Well, you’re not! You’re trash. And don’t come running back to me when it all goes to hell, which it will because you screw up everything you touch.”

If you wondered where my lack of confidence and self-loathing came from, well, it’s from right there. From words like that, which I’ve heard my whole life.

“Let go of the door,” I tell her calmly. I won’t fight with her. I won’t stoop to her level.

“You don’t get to get rid of me that easily. I’m owed, Dillon, for all the years of my life that I lost, having you hanging on to me, dragging me down!”

“Not today, Satan.”

I didn’t see Aunt Jenny coming up the path. But I can’t say that I’m not relieved to see her here.

My mum whirls around at the sound of Jenny’s voice. “Oh, here she is. The warden at the gate. Why don’t you just fuck off and mind your own business, Jenny?”

“Dillon is my business, and you’re literally standing at my house, you dumb bitch. Now, get off my property, or I’ll drag your cheap, skanky arse off myself.” Aunt Jenny lowers the bags in her hands to the ground.

My mum lets out a mocking laugh. “You lay one finger on me, you fugly bitch, and I’ll sue your fat arse for assault, and I would have a hell of a time spending your money.” She puts her hands on her hips. “So, yeah, do it. Drag me off here.”

I’m standing here, watching them in a standoff. I don’t know what makes me think of it, but all I know is I want her gone, and I don’t want Aunt Jenny to do something stupid and have my mother sue her because I know she would.

I quickly walk back into the living room while they’re still yelling at each other, and I pick up the full cold cup of coffee that I didn’t drink earlier off the coffee table. I walk back to the front door with it and pour it all over my mother’s head.

She screams and whirls around at me. “You stupid little bitch! What the fuck did you do that for?”

“I was doing you a favor.” I shrug. “Your hair looks dry, and I’ve heard cold coffee is good for it.” Obviously, I’ve never heard that, but it felt good to pour a drink over her. Also, her vanity won’t allow her to stay here, looking like that. It was the best and easiest way to get her to leave.