Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

Her hand whipped across my face, and my head slammed right.

I sucked in a breath, my whole body going still.

The burn in my face spread like a snake bite getting deeper and deeper, and I closed my eyes.

Christ. My mother had never hit me before.

I might’ve gotten a few spankings as a kid—I didn’t remember—but she’d never hit me on the face.

Slowly, I turned my head forward again, seeing her staring at me, a world of hurt in her red eyes. She brought her hand up to her mouth, and I didn’t know if she was shocked by what she’d done or sad that this was where we were at.

I dug in my pocket, feeling a tear spill over as I stared at the ground. I took the sixty-four dollars I had on my clip and walked over, dumping it on the coffee table.

“That’s everything,” I said.

Today it was all I was ever going to give her again, I promised myself.

But tomorrow it would be “enough to live on for a few days.”

And next week I’d be back with more.

I always came back. What was I going to do? I didn’t want my mother living on the streets. I still loved her.

Ignoring her soft crying and her head buried in her hands, I opened the front door to leave.

“Do you have money to eat?” she spoke up.

But I just laughed under my breath. “Give yourself a couple hits,” I told her, gesturing to the pipe. “You won’t care anymore.”

Slamming the door, I let out a breath, my chest shaking as I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I am important,” I whispered to myself.

Silent tears streamed down as I forced away all the doubt. Forced away the suspicions that I was being used. No. No, my father needed me more every day. And Damon wasn’t using me, either. He wanted me to be happy. I know he did. And I would be, eventually.

And if I didn’t take care of my mom, who would?

I was needed. I was valuable.

I wouldn’t be thrown away like her. They wouldn’t do that to me. Who was going to do what I did for them?

The camera cracked in my fist, and every muscle in my face ached with a sob, because even I could no longer believe my own words.

Oh, God. I broke into a run as the world in front of me blurred and all the tears started to spill over. I was going to be like her. Months turn into years, and people like me don’t make it out.

She was going to die in that apartment. And I was going to die in this city, just as dumb and uneducated and poor as I was right now.

I raced down the stairs, swinging around the bannister, and bolted out the door.

The cold rain pierced my face like an icicle, a welcome relief from the shit coursing like lava under my skin right now.

I breathed in and out, practically gasping as I bolted down the sidewalk, weaving between pedestrians already on their way to work for the day. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to get away.

As far away and as fast as I could. Just go and go and go.

So, I ran. I ran, the rain pounding the pavement around me, seeing nothing but feet and legs as I whipped past others and raced across the streets. Horns honked, but I didn’t look up to see if it was because of me.

The rain soaked through my combat boots, not hard since they weren’t tied again, and soon my hat was plastered to my head, heavy with water.