Page 17 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

This morning has been relaxing. I have to work tonight, but I’ve been able to do some much-needed chores around here with time left to chill.

I went grocery shopping, did laundry, and made sure Simba was set for the week with his essentials.

I’ve only thought about the dream three times, and each time I feel my pussy clench.

I wonder if he’d be just like he is in my fantasies.

I’m just about to get in the shower when my phone rings. Picking it up off the bathroom counter without checking the caller ID, I answer, “Hello?”

“Hi, Nikkibug.”

Suddenly, the whole room spins. My breathing increases, my vision tunnels, and I start to feel nauseous. I haven’t heard this voice in five years.

“Hi, Mom…” I respond, my chest feeling tight. I thought I had her number blocked.

“Well, it’s nice to finally hear your voice,” she says, her tone laced with a little bit of sarcasm. I know her game. Her phone calls always start out sweet and friendly, but that’s just her MO. It changes fast. Especially if she’s drinking.

“What do you want?” I ask, my tone sounding just as harsh as I intended it to be.

“Okay, you rude little bitch,” she spits.

There she is. I skipped the bullshit years ago.

After being the world’s worst mother during my childhood and preteen years, for some reason, I couldn’t seem to stand up to her during my teenage and early twenties.

She would call, bullshit me, I’d gobble it up, and then she would turn around and stab me in the back.

This woman, who was supposed to love me, nurture me, and care for me, chose everything else over me.

She made me do the unthinkable, and I still wanted to protect her.

I still loved her. But now? Now, I’m done putting up with her shit.

“You have thirty seconds, and then I’m hanging up,” I deadpan.

“I need money,” she grits.

“Of course you do. Why else would you be calling? Is your new flavor of the week up and leaving you again? The fact that I blocked your number didn’t give you an answer?” I really never wanted to hear this woman’s voice ever again.

“I’m your mother. I birthed you. I gave you life. This is how you speak to me?” she rages.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Dana. You may have birthed me, but you were no mother,” I spit, hanging up the phone before she has a chance to respond. I go directly to the call log and check the number she called from. I don’t recognize it, but I block it anyway.

Let’s hope she takes the hint this time.