Page 46 of The Cruelest Chaos

I won’t be my mom.

And besides, that’s what she expects of me. It’s what she already thinks of me. That I’m a whore.

So I let him leave, shut the door and head to my bedroom.

It was my idea to go home anyway. I have no idea what it is we’re doing, how a chase in the forest and him following me at work turned into me staying with him for nearly a week, but it feels weird being without him now.

I press the heel of my hand to my eye, sink down onto my twin bed, so much smaller than his King-sized one. God, my entire bedroom is the size of his guest bathroom.

This is not good.

A year after what happened with Shane and clearly, I haven’t learned my lesson. Clearly, I’m so fucking desperate for affection that I’ll let myself be used by anyone that gives me the slightest amount of attention, good or bad.

I know these things.

Marnie, the therapist at The Ark, has worked with me on them. I no longer wish I was dead. No longer wish my mom would just kill me instead of looking at me with disgust every time I’m in the room. No longer think about Shane every damn day, and all the ways I did wrong.

I’m better. I’m fine.

I didn’t love Shane anyway, Marnie tells me. He was just…there.He was just like a father I never had, although that comparison makes me feel sick to my stomach. Teenage girls don’t fuck their fathers.

Just their mother’s boyfriends, apparently.

I wrap my comforter around myself, pull out my phone, connect it to the neighbor’s spotty wireless internet, and put on a rom com until I fall asleep.

Romantic comedies never have devils in them.

It’s why they’re so easy for me to watch. I don’t get attached to the good guys.

* * *

I getup Sunday morning before the sun. And before my mother. After a shower, brushing out my hair for fucking half an hour, only to toss it up in a sloppy, wet bun.

I head down the hall.

And stop short.

There’s a man in there, sitting on the sagging couch. He’s got his shirt off, a beer in his hand, and I can see in the ruined blinds behind him that the sun isjustfucking rising. Did this guy stay up all night? Who gets up at sunrise to drink a fucking beer? Even my mother doesn’t do that.

He grins at me, scratching at his hairy belly. “Morning.”

My stomach twists into knots and I glance at the front door of the trailer, even though I have no idea why. Maverick leftlast night. He’s not coming back this early, and not so soon. As I shift my gaze back to the stranger, it occurs to me that last night was Saturday night and most peopledo thingson Saturday nights.

Including other people.

I push that thought aside. Maverick isn’t mine. I’m not his. And I’ve got a man-sized problem sitting on the couch in my living room.

“Kim asleep?” I ask the guy, tugging at the crème-colored skirt I’m wearing. It’s down to my knees and I’ve got on a worn black turtleneck tucked into it, but I wish I was in a fucking snowsuit in front of this guy.

He scrubs a hand over his stubble, and I wonder where my mother found him. He winks at me as he tips the can up to his lips. I suppress a shudder, and the sudden desire to smash the can over his head.

“Yeah, she’s passed out. You must be Ella.”

How sweet. My mother spoke about me. I nod my head, dart a glance at the kitchen. I’m sure there’s nothing in there and I’m not all that hungry after spending days with Maverick, but if thereisfood in there, I want to get to it before this idiot does.

He must see my gaze because he lets out a chuckle. “There’s an egg and cheese in there,” he says, rotating his neck as if he put in a hard day’s work last night. “Feel free to grab it.”

My mouth waters at those words. I might not have been hungry but I’m damn sure not going to pass up free food. Maverick and I didn’t make plans for him to come back. I hope he does, but I’m not going to wait around for him.