Page 79

I told him a bit about my family, but it’s always different to see the craziness in person. Aden means the world to me, and imagining him turning away from me because of the mess that is my family makes my stomach churn.

“What do you want?” I ask.

And why did she not announce her presence earlier? Was she waiting to see which house I’d be going into?

Mom staggers towards me, wavering, but it doesn’t seem like she is completely shit-faced drunk. I want to turn around and run, but I have no idea where to, and I don’t want to lead her to Aden’s place.

Well, technically, we are right in front of it, but she doesn’t need to know that.

My indecisiveness gives her the opening she needs, though.

“You,” she screeches, grabbing me by my collar and shaking me. “How could you?”

Every time I am face to face with her, I just freeze. I want to believe that I am a fairly confident person, but when it's her, I turn back into my terrified, 7-year-old self.

“It’s not my debt to pay,” she screeches.

Her words rattle me awake. She must have received my lawyer’s letter. “It is,” I say, trying to keep my voice down. I am sure we’ve already alerted the neighborhood, no need to yell even more and have them call the police. “Itisyour debt! You cheated the system and put it on me instead, your child!”

“I should never have had you,” she spits. “You and your useless father ruined me! You owe me that much!”

I take a shaky breath, trying to remember what I am fighting for, and that I can finally be free of my past. “I don’t,” I say. “I didn’t ask to be born. You brought me into this world, and you and Dad fucked me over.”

“Give me the money,” she yells. “Pay the fucking debt!”

I take another breath, gathering all the backbone and strength I have. “No,” I say.

She lets go of my collar, her eyes narrowed to slits. Before I can even fathom what’s going to happen, she has slapped me so hard that my head whips to my side and I stumble backward. Fuck, that hurt. I can taste iron on my lips and a sharp pain on my cheek. She must have scratched me with her fingernails whenshe hit me. It’s been a while since she lashed out at me like that. I am not used to it anymore.

“You ruined everything,” she hisses. “You useless—” She raises her hand again, ready to strike. My mind screams at me to stop her, to fight back, or to at least run, but my legs don’t move, my whole body seems to be completely frozen, and my mind seems to wander off like it always did when my parents beat me. But to my utmost surprise, the impact doesn’t come.

“Let me go,” my mom snarls.

My eyes finally focus back on what’s happening around me, my gaze landing on my mother. Someone grabbed her wrist before she could hit me.

Aden?

I only know Aden as kind, maybe a bit too serious sometimes, thoughtful, and incredibly hot in bed. Now, he looks so cold I feel like I am going to freeze. “You have some nerve,” he says to my mother, his voice low and dark. “To assault someone I care for.”

“What do you know?” she snarls. “He is my flesh and blood, yet betrays me. He always did.”

Aden’s eyes are dark when he pins his gaze on my mother. “You have been scamming your own son for years. Take accountability!”

“He owes me for being born,” she snarls. “He—”

“He owes you nothing!” Aden interrupts her. “Take responsibility for your own actions and pay your debt like you should have done to begin with.”

“You don’t know what he did,” Mom hisses. “The things he did. He is not as perfect as he looks. Looks like an angel.“ She looks at me with so much venom, I feel the remainder of my heart break a little. “But he isn’t. He stole, he betrayed others, he—”

My heart sinks. She is right. I did all that. It doesn’t matter why I did it; the fact is, I did. I never wanted Aden to find out, at least not like that. I don’t care for anyone else’s opinion, literallyeveryone can judge me, but if Aden started hating me, it would fucking break me.

Aden lets go of my mother and puts a hand on my arm, pulling me to his side. “I don’t care what he did to survive,” he says, furrowing his brows. “How old was he when he started to steal, as you call it?” he asks. “Sixteen, seventeen?”

“Fourteen,” I mutter quietly.

“And what did he steal?” Aden inquires further. “And why?”

When Mom stays quiet, Aden just nods grimly. “Your fourteen-year-old son was forced to steal to survive,” he snarls. “Or worse, you made him do it. Are you not ashamed?”