Page 51 of Dark Notes

“Without a doubt, she deserves that spot.” My chest lifts with passion in my voice. “She’s incredible.”

“You’re in a tough position.” Mom’s hand finds mine, squeezing my fingers. “I don’t envy you, but honey, if you pursue a relationship with her, it won’t turn out like Shreveport.”

Because I didn’t commit a crime with Joanne. Our relationship was consensual, not illegal. But Ivory? Student-teacher misconduct doesn’t just get swept under the carpet. It makes headline news. The best lawyers in the world couldn’t save me from the charges that would follow if I were caught with her.

“You need to cut your losses, son.” Dad sets his glasses on his nose and folds his arms on the table, leaning in. “Quit that damn job, end things once and for all with Joanne, and move out of state if you have to. The shit at Shreveport can only follow you so far.”

Mom shakes her head. “Frank, don’t tell him that. Our family is finally back together in New Orleans and—”

“No, Mom. He’s right.” I shove away from the table and empty my unfinished beer in the sink.

I’m already deliriously drunk on Ivory Westbrook, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last without giving in.

I can keep the job, try to ignore this forbidden attraction, ultimately fail, and risk going to jail. Or I can quit Le Moyne, remove the temptation from my life, and fuck me, never see her again.

My chest hurts with the agonizing truth. I know… God help me, I know what I need to do.

“This is all your fault!”

My mom’s tear-drenched screech cuts through me, but it’s the hatred in her dark eyes that makes my insides bleed.

I don’t even know what I’m being blamed for. It’s the middle of the night, and she stormed in here, flicking on the lights and waking me with her crazy wailing.

Lying on the couch where I sleep, I pull my legs closer to my body, curling smaller on my side and holding Schubert to my chest. “H-how? How is what my fault?”

She came home a month ago, crying about the boyfriend who broke up with her. She hasn’t stopped crying.

“If it wasn’t for your…your…” She paces through the parlor and trips over her own feet, yanking on the cropped strands of her hair. “Fucking selfish bullshit!”

She was pretty once, soft and curvy with contentment glinting in her eyes. But drugs and grief have withered her to bones and rancor. Dad would be as heartbroken as I am.

If I don’t get accepted into Leopold, if I never find a way out of Treme, will I end up like that? Whenever my mind flashes forward, I see myself forever chained to Lorenzo and his violent needs. How could I not turn to drugs as an escape from the torment of his touch? That future terrifies me, but it also hardens me. I’ll make it out of here, no matter the cost.

My mom stumbles through the room, clawing at her sunken face as if trying to remove imagined objects. She must be coming down from whatever she poisoned herself with, her entire body tweaking with unhappiness.

She blames me for that. Her unhappiness. I’m the reason she uses, the reason she’s poor, the reason she can’t find a job or keep a boyfriend.

I suppose, in a way, I am responsible for her misery. My chest aches to go to her, to hug and comfort her. But she doesn’t tolerate those things from me.

Multiple footsteps advance from the back of the house. I bury my nose in the comforting kitty smell of Schubert’s hair and steady my breathing.

Lorenzo and Shane push into the parlor, both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. On their way out or just coming home? I glance at my watch on the side table. 3:15 AM. I rub my eyes. I have to get ready for school in two hours.

Lorenzo gives my mom a wide berth as Shane goes to her, pulling her hands from her face.

“Mom, stop. You’re hurting yourself.” He adjusts the straps of her nightie on her bony shoulders and glares at me. “Why are you letting her do this?”

Seriously? I sit up, holding Schubert in my lap. “I’m not the one feeding her drugs.”

Lorenzo reclines on the opposite end of the couch, watching my mom with amusement. I run a trembling hand through Schubert’s fur. Lorenzo won’t try anything. He probably won’t even look at me.

My mom brings a whirlwind of drama when she comes home, but there’s safety in her presence. She and Shane don’t believe my accusations about Lorenzo hurting me, but Lorenzo is always on his best behavior when they’re in the room. I’ve evaded the rumble of his motorcycle on my walks to and from school, and he hasn’t so much as touched me since my mom came home. Even so, the impatience thrumming from him is palpable.