Page 49 of Scars of Anatomy

Olivia stiffens in my arms, leaning back to observe my face. “All right?”

“Yeah, I’ll go see her.”

She looks at me skeptically, a small frown marring her brow. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re right. This is probably the last time I’ll ever get to see her. I might as well. She probably hasn’t had visitors in years.”

Her features smooth over and her eyes grow soft. She leans in and presses her lips to my neck.

“How about we go see her after dinner tonight?” I offer, honestly wanting to get the interaction over with. Plus, if we go tonight it’ll limit the number of hours we’ll be able to stay.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to do,” she says, looking up at me with her big brown eyes, making me melt.

“Yeah, I want to.”

After dinner we go to my grandmother’s nursing home, which smells heavily of antiseptic and death, making me very uneasy.

A nurse leads us to a large dining hall where residents are lingering.

She walks us up to a round table where a lone, frail elderly woman is sitting, and I almost don’t recognize her.

“Mrs. Miller,” the nurse says, raising her voice a little and placing a gentle hand on my grandmother’s shoulder to gain her attention. “Someone is here to see you.”

My grandmother stops poking at the pudding cup in front of her with a plastic spoon and glances up at me, her eyes brightening. “Bryan!” she says cheerfully. Close enough, I guess. Due to her dementia, I’m surprised she even recognizes me.

The nurse smiles politely, excusing herself, and heads back to the front desk.

“Hi, Grandma,” I say, awkwardly stepping forward to lean down and give her a one-armed hug. My stomach tightens in realization that this is one of the few times I’ve gotten to hug her. And it’s most likely my last.

“Oh my goodness, you’ve gotten so big!” She gawks at me. “How old are you now, twelve?” she asks in all seriousness.

I clear my throat. “Uh, no. I’m actually twenty-two.”

Her thin lips purse into a confused, disbelieving frown.

“This is my girlfriend, Olivia,” I say, switching the subject and stretching my hand out to Olivia. She places her hand in mine and steps forward into my grandmother’s line of vision.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Olivia says sweetly, despite shyly tucking herself into my side.

My grandmother’s eyes widen with surprise and joy. “My, aren’t you just the prettiest thing,” she says, fawning over her.

Olivia blushes madly, and thanks her.

Olivia and I take a seat next to my grandmother at the table, Olivia taking the reins on conversation, keeping the topics light and generic. I can tell how excited my grandmother is to have visitors, even if she hardly knows who we are.

We sit and talk for a while, and thank god my grandma doesn’t seem to notice or even mind the tension radiating off me in waves.

It feels so weird to be here, talking to a practical stranger I feel obligated to have a strong relationship with.

I do my best to be polite and engage in conversation as much as I can.

I subtly look at the clock and realize it’s just past seven and visiting hours are over at eight, meaning I thankfully have less than an hour longer to endure.

It’s honestly not even that bad, just really awkward.

And sitting here, staring at this fragile lady who’s almost skin and bones in front of me, is stirring up conflicting emotions.

“Well, look who’s back,” a familiar rough, sadistic voice says from behind me, making my blood run cold.

I turn around to look at my mother’s face, and she looks so much worse than the last time I saw her.

She looks like she’s in her fifties, even though she hasn’t turned forty yet.

Her eyes are sunken in, hair wiry and graying prematurely.

Her yellow, rotting teeth look like a dentist’s worst nightmare as she smirks at me like she just caught her prey, and the man standing next to her doesn’t look any better.

“Weren’t even going to tell me you were in town?” she chastises me.

I grit my teeth, every muscle tensing as I slip into defense mode. I stand up from my chair, subconsciously stepping in front of Olivia, shielding her. “How did you know I was here?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I have my sources.”

Sources?

What the hell does that mean? The only way she could have known I was in town is if someone told her. And then it clicks. The guy at the gas station. Not a doubt crosses my mind that they run in the same circles, and he put two and two together.

She waltzes up to the table, bypassing me to sit at the other side of it, the man, who I only assume is another one of her boyfriends, following her. Even my demented grandmother stares at them with skepticism and distrust.

I remain standing, itching to get out of here, and just as I’m about drag Olivia away, my mother speaks up.

“So, what, you’re just here to make sure you collect the money without even consulting me?” my mother continues, leaning back in her chair.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I spit, in no mind to play games.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she snarls, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “You heard she put you in her will instead of me and you’re only coming down here to make sure it stays that way.”

I shake my head, feeling like I just got hit by a freight train. “What?”

She growls impatiently. “That money belongs to me,” she insists.

I blink, growing frustrated. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I reply honestly, not knowing where she’s getting all these ideas about money. Did my grandma seriously put me in her will? Why?

She slams her hands on the table, gaining the attention of nearby residents.

“The hell you do!” she accuses. “I talked to an attorney, and the demented old broad is leaving everything to you! And she’s so far gone now that she won’t switch it over to my name because she barely knows who I am anymore! ”

A humorless, bitter chuckle escapes from the back of my throat. Of course. It all makes sense now. All the phone calls, why she wanted me to come down here to see my grandmother so bad. She wants me to have everything switched over to her name.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying my best to leash my temper. “Of course. I should have known. You only ever call me when you need money.”

“I deserve that money! I’m her daughter!” she states hysterically.

“Yeah, and a shitty one at that!” I roar back, any reserve I have left cracking. All the emotions I had festering inside of me are coming to the surface. “You don’t deserve anything!”

“And you do?” she counters, and for some reason her words hit me straight in the chest.

“I never said I deserve shit,” I growl. “But I’ll be damned if I give you any money so you can go blow it all on drugs.

Like you always do. Always have. That’s probably why you’re not getting anything in the first place.

You were a shitty daughter who only cared about getting your next high.

You stole money from her all the time to get drugs and wound up getting pregnant at fifteen because you were so reckless.

Then you were a shitty mother, never caring about your own son and shoving me off onto her for as long as you could until she had to kick you out. ”

Her jaw ticks in anger and annoyance. “I was a good mother. You always had a roof over your head, didn’t you?”

I bark out a laugh. This lady is fucking delusional. “Yeah, because seventy percent of the time it was provided by other people!”

Zero remorse crosses her face, sending me over the edge. Suddenly I feel angry, hurt, vulnerable . Like I’m a little kid all over again, just wanting my mommy to care about me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, grabbing a stunned Olivia by the arm and leading her to the exit.

“We’re not finished here!” my mother calls, and I hear her get up. She grabs my arm, and I spin around to face her, towering over her.

“Yes. We are,” I say with finality. “Never in a million years will I give you a penny.”

Her eyes look up at me with pure hatred. “Fuck you.”

“Right back atcha.”

I back away slowly, sending her one last warning glare before placing my hand on Olivia’s lower back and steering her out to the parking lot.

I open the car door for her, and she gets in, speechless.

I get behind the wheel and start the engine, peeling out of the lot more aggressively than I intended to.

The silence inside the car is almost deafening as I drive back to the hotel, my teeth clenched and hands white-knuckled around the wheel. Olivia stays silent, sensing that I’m an emotional ticking time bomb right now.

Driving down the road, a few streets up from the beach, I spot a small shop that has motorcycle rentals. Without thinking twice, I quickly veer into the parking lot, haphazardly parking in a parking space. I unbuckle my seat belt and open the car door, stepping out.

“Bronx.” I hear the panic in Olivia’s voice. She gets out of the car and briskly rounds the hood to meet me, placing her hand on my chest, eyes full of worry.

I cover her hand with mine, voice strained. “Baby, I just need to clear my head for a bit,” I explain.

Back home, whenever I’m stressed or angry, I just hop on my bike and take off. I ride until I’m able to think straight. I’m afraid if I don’t find some sort of outlet, some sort of escape, I’m going to explode in front of her.

“I just, I don’t want you to see me like this,” I confess, feeling too restless, too vulnerable. “I feel like I’m about to explode and I don’t want you to be collateral damage.”

She nods in understanding, despite the tears misting her eyes.

She knows I would never physically hurt her, but she also remembers that the last time I exploded in front of her wasn’t so pretty.

I can see it in her eyes that she desperately wants me to stay, wants to help me.

I know I could—probably should—lean on her and confide in her, but I’m so used to handling everything on my own.

It’s the only way I know how. But I’m working on it.

I’ve already shared with her so much—more than I ever have with anyone else—but I just need a moment to myself to get my emotions in check.

To figure them out before I can express them to anyone else.

I lean down and press my lips to her forehead, letting them linger there for a beat before pulling away. “Take the car back to the hotel. I’ll be back in a few hours,” I promise.

I go to brush past her but she grabs my arm, making me turn around. Without warning, she stands on her tiptoes, crashing her lips to mine in a desperate kiss.

“I love you,” she breathes, looking deep into my eyes.

Damn it. This girl is going to be the death of me.

“I love you.” Cupping the back of her head, I pull her in for one more kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”

I watch her reluctantly get into the car and drive away safely before walking into the rental shop. The man behind the counter spares me a glance from his computer, monotonously asking how he can help me, and I’m honestly relieved he’s far from a perky, in-your-face salesman.

“I’m here to rent one of your motorcycles,” I say, already shoving my credit card at him.

He rings me up and hands me back my card, along with a pair of keys. “The bike in the very left corner of the lot,” he informs me, and I’m out the door, grabbing a helmet along the way.

I fasten the helmet before swinging my leg over the bike and roaring the engine to life.

I rev the engine a few times, already feeling a sense of control and power that I so desperately long for in this moment.

In no time I’m taking off down the back roads, trying not to overly exceed any traffic regulations.

The wind whips my face and drones in my ears, helping to drown out my thoughts. I drive with no destination, my mind on anything but direction.

I curse under my breath when I approach a red light, willing it to turn green so I don’t have to fully hit the brakes. To my surprise, given all the glorious luck I’ve had today, the light switches to green and I accelerate, ready to breeze through.

Halfway through the intersection, I hear a car horn blare to my right just as I see a pair of headlights in my peripheral vision speeding toward me from the left. In a split second, icy fear and dread slide through my veins before pain courses throughout my entire body.