Thousands (Dollar 4)

She was ruthless.

She was coldblooded as well as hot.

But there was also no denying she loved Pimlico with everything born of tragedy and regret, and now it shone brighter than the other parts of her.

She’d redeemed herself. And now it was up to Pim to recognise and judge if it was enough.

Pim leaned back a little, studying her mother. I had the strangest sensation that our thoughts were in sync—that she’d come to the same conclusion I had and mulled over such things.

Slowly, she leaned forward and placed her hands on the table, waiting for her mother to link fingers. The moment they touched, Pim spilled, “I’m going to tell you the truth because you deserve that. I’m going to be honest because that’s what you always demanded from me. And I’m going to be indifferent because that’s what you said a good psychologist must be to truly see the truth.”

My heart stopped beating, my eyes snapping onto her.

Was I prepared to be privy to this? What if Pim had forgotten that I might not be contributing but I still had ears—still heard things she might not want me to know?

But before I could stand and excuse myself, she sucked in a breath, looked at the ceiling for fortification, and visibly shuddered. When she spoke again, her voice was cool but passionate, lecturing but fragile. “He killed me only metres away from you, mother. He asked me to dance, and I went with him. Do you know why? Because you were the one to tell me not to judge others on appearances. That first impressions were often wrong and to grant him a piece of myself even though my instincts were screaming at me to run. He took me outside. He stole my Minnie Mouse watch. He wrapped his hands around my throat.”

My legs bunched with fury.

I wanted to fucking gut him.

Pim continued in her colourless narration. “I don’t know why he did what he did, and I won’t guess. Was it purely for money? Was it because of your need to crack open the minds of murderers and rapists? Was it because I liked to dawdle on the way to school and attracted the attention of someone I shouldn’t? We’ll never know, and no one is to blame.

“When he revived me—brought me back from the dead with his lips on mine and his rancid breath in my lungs and told me of my fate—I hated you. When he dangled Daddy’s watch and told me he’d keep it for safe keeping, I cursed you. When I was imprisoned in a hotel waiting to be sold, I screamed for you. And when I was auctioned off like a piece of meat and that bastard Alrik flew me to his home and stole my virginity, I cried for you. I cried for me. I cried for everything that’d been stolen because I knew no matter what happened from that point on, we could never be the same.”

Tears spilled down Pim’s face, but she didn’t cry. It was as if her soul purged everything in that moment but didn’t affect her outwardly. She was stronger than I’d ever seen and more broken than I could stand.

My heart thundered to see her torn between so many different things.

I wanted to slay every memory and erase every pain.

I struggled to stay in my chair and not scoop her into my arms and kiss her, make love to her, do whatever it took to take her thoughts somewhere else.

Anywhere but here.

This wasn’t what I had in mind when I arranged for her to see her mother.

I hadn’t meant her to slice deep and carve out the blackness still suffocating inside.

Fuck!

Pim bowed her head for a long moment, her breathing harsh and tortured; when she looked back to her mother, she whispered, “For two very long years, I will admit I cast a lot of my hurt and pain onto you. I wrote letters. So many letters. I purged my thoughts and fears—just like you taught me in one of our many lessons about being the master over our emotions. I made the choice that no matter how much he hurt me, I would never speak a word to him. I lived in silence, Mother. I endured every one of his beatings and rapes. I let him break me, brutalise me, all the while screaming at me to speak to him. And not once did I do what he asked.”

Her jaw clenched as her chin came up. “Do you know why?” She flicked a glance at me, flinching as if only now remembering I was here.

Her voice wavered a little, but she repeated her question to her mother. “Do you know why I stayed silent? Why I refused to give him my voice? Why I locked that part of myself away and preferred to die than speak to that fucking bastard?” She snarled the last words with more vehemence than I thought capable.