Wicked Little Words Part 9

"I don't know if I can finish this book with him if I'm honest. I can't explain it. You'd just have to be there to understand how weird all this is." The light turns green, and I gently press down the accelerator.

She shakes her head. "You gotta finish it. Please, for the love of G.o.d and my sanity, finish this book with him. How far in are you guys?"

"About forty thousand."

"Okay, so what, two more weeks if you guys get after it? I'll come stay up there and snuggle you if I need to. I promise, honey, he's odd, but he's harmless. I've worked for him for five years. I mean, h.e.l.l, I've cussed him out a time or two, and I'm still here."

My phone rings. Janine keeps talking as I dig around in my purse, attempting to keep my eyes on the road.

"Let's just go grab some food. I swear that cabin is enough to creep out Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k, you know? Out in the middle of G.o.d's country and all those d.a.m.n animal heads staring at you. And then throw in EA and his antics..."

"Sure."

She points out of the window. "Applebee's okay with you? They have the best raspberry cosmo-"

"Yeah, it's fine." I stop at another traffic light and grab my phone from my purse, staring at the number flas.h.i.+ng on the screen. I press Ignore, but she calls right back.

"You can turn," Janine says.

I glance away from the phone and floor the gas, nearly fishtailing as I turn into the parking lot. There's a spot right to the side of the entrance. I pull in and put the car into park, my phone still ringing.

Janine glances from me to my phone and back at me. "You gonna answer it?"

"No." I hit Ignore again. And immediately, my mother is calling again.

Janine raises a brow. "Someone really wants to talk to you..." She opens the door and steps out of the car. "If you need a minute, I'll just be at the bar."

The door slams shut, and I watch Janine sashay to the front of the building. The phone vibrates again, Bush's "Comedown" playing from the small speaker. Listening to the song, to the beautiful lyrics, I stare at the number, wondering what the h.e.l.l she wants. Mother's never been persistent with anything in her life, being a parent included.

My pulse picks up, that angry heat flooding my face when I press Answer and raise the phone to my ear. "What?" I can't control the hate in my voice. I really can't.

"Baby," she slurs, "I'm so proud of my baby."

"Excuse me?"

"Your writing." A hacking cough comes across the line. "Momma's so proud of you."

My skin crawls like I imagine it would if I were covered in a pile of writhing maggots. She must have heard about me getting that job with Edwin. f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h.

"I bet you are," I scoff.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I guess now you want to try to be the supportive mother you should have always been, huh? If you think I will ever forget the s.h.i.+t you did to me, the s.h.i.+t you put me through-"

"I did the best I could," she says.

"Well, could've fooled me. Telling your daughter she's worthless and pathetic and will never amount to anything. Stupid. Ignorant..." I can still hear the disdain in her voice when she'd shout those words at me. "A mistake. A pain in your a.s.s. That's the best you could do, Mother, really?"

"We all make mistakes. I am proud of you. I always knew you'd be something great. My little girl, a New York Times best seller..."

Closing my eyes, I shake my head in disbelief. She really thinks I'm going to hit a list with Edwin and give her something. "What are you f.u.c.ked up on right now? Meth, crack, heroin, or are you just drunk?"

"I'm-"

"I don't care." I cut her off because I couldn't care less. "And I wouldn't go around bragging about what an accomplished daughter you have just yet, Doris." I want to squash any hope she has right now. I want to rip away any glimmer of happiness she may be experiencing from the thought that by giving birth to me, she has any right to a d.a.m.ned thing. "That little writing job's not working out so well. I'll probably quit it soon."

A raspy laugh crackles over the phone. "I should've known better. Should've known you were still that lazy piece of s.h.i.+t I raised. Giving up just when things are getting good." And there she is, the woman who taught me about love and humanity. There she is. "You're a disappointment. Ruined my d.a.m.n life, and when you have a chance to make it a little better, you don't. Fifty dollars here and there don't do much. You did it on purpose, didn't you? You did this to p.i.s.s me off-not giving to your poor mother. You'd let me die before you'd give me a d.a.m.n thing worth a s.h.i.+t, huh, you-"

I hang up and block her number, something I should have done a long time ago. The sad thing is no matter how horrible some people are to you, sometimes all you want to do is prove to yourself you are worthy of their love-even when their love is worthless. And how f.u.c.ked up is that?

Gripping the phone, I clench my jaw and fight back the tears. The thing is, I feel like a fool because I always had hoped that something would change. I thought maybe one day I could have some type of relations.h.i.+p with her. As much as I feign that it doesn't bother me, as many times as I've told people I don't care if she hates me, I do. Wanting love is just human. I just knew that I'd eventually do something to deserve her love, to prove to her I wasn't a mistake, but really, that's just pathetic. The only reason she would ever have a relations.h.i.+p with me is because I'd be able to give her something. And what kind of relations.h.i.+p can you have with a parasite?

I am a product of my environment through and through. And f.u.c.k her for that. The person who should have loved me unconditionally treated me like s.h.i.+t, and I know that's why I am untrusting and too often only see the bad in someone. I want to see all the ugly pieces of a person and make my mind up about how and why they will let me down-why I'll never be good enough for them. Because if I already know that I'll never mean anything to them, well, they can't hurt me, can they? Let someone get just close enough then push them away. Never believe a compliment, a promise. h.e.l.l, I hardly even believe myself half the time.

I close my eyes and shake the tears away because she's not worth it. I cry. She wins. I quit this job with Edwin. She f.u.c.king wins.

Moments.

There are moments in each person's life where everything s.h.i.+fts. Emotions morph. Hurt turns to rage. Love turns to hate. People change. It is the nature of life, for life is merely a metamorphosis.

I sit in Janine's car, watching the happy little families drift in and out of Applebee's, watching strangers carry out their lives like animals in a G.o.dd.a.m.n zoo. A woman in a too-tight black dress saunters in, some stupid man stumbling after her; she's most likely going to f.u.c.k him, and he'll never call her again.

Jax. I could f.u.c.k Jax, and I bet he'd never call me again.

Another couple stops at the car on the other side of me, kissing with the type of pa.s.sion you usually only see in movies; in six months, she'll likely find him f.u.c.king her best friend.

Jax wouldn't do that.

A young man and woman stop by the curb, arguing. His face is red, and she's fighting back tears.

Jax wouldn't yell at me like that.

A mother scolds her child.

I would never do that.

An elderly man with an oxygen tank sits on the bench by the door and lights a cigarette.

He's saying "f.u.c.k you" to death.

A h.o.a.rd of teenagers race out to their parked cars-BMWs and Mercedes.

They'll never know what it is to struggle, which means they'll never really appreciate a f.u.c.king thing.

And as I watch the s.h.i.+t show we refer to as life, I realize it's just one big ball of f.u.c.ked-upness.

I climb out of the car, smiling at the old man puffing away on his cigarette as I reach for the door. He grins, and his entire face wrinkles. The entrance swings open, and the heat from inside sends a small buzz floating through my body.

"Welcome to Applebee's," the hostess mumbles, barely looking up from the stand, her unkempt hair falling in front of her eyes. "How many?"

"My friend's already in here," I say as I spot Janine tipping back a drink at the bar. I weave through the group of businessmen clogging the entrance, b.u.mping into a few of them.

I'm almost to the bar when Janine sets her drink down and taps her red acrylic nail over the wooden countertop for the bartender. He glances in our direction.

"Another cosmo, my dear sir," she says.

A flirtatious smile crosses his face as he looks at me. "What'll it be, sweetheart?"

"A cosmo."

And he turns, reaching for the bottle of vodka behind him. I pull the chair out beside Janine, and she looks over at me.

She nods. "Uh-huh. Noticed this time you didn't say you don't drink." She laughs. "Told you that b.a.s.t.a.r.d'll drive you to the bottle."

The man places a napkin down, dumps a little salt on it, then places the martini gla.s.s in front of me, the dark red liquid threatening to spill over the edge.

I pick up the gla.s.s and chug it then place it on the counter. "I'll take another one. Extra shot, please."

The barkeep nods, and Janine whacks me on the back. "Attagirl."

For an hour, the conversation drifts back and forth from EA to Janine's string of ex-husbands, and I lose count of the drinks I've had. But my head is swimming, and my body is warm with this blissful fog of "I don't give a s.h.i.+t about anything." I kind of like this feeling. Maybe too much.

"And that's why I divorced husband number three," she says, arching a brow. Janine hops off the stool. "I'm going to the ladies' room. Order me one more, then we need to get a taxi or something because I definitely can't be weaving my way up that f.u.c.king mountain. And neither can you."

She stumbles off to the restroom. I dig my cell from my purse, but instead of calling a cab, I dial Jax's number, and now I have the phone pressed to my ear, my heart drumming into my throat with each ring. I debate hanging up and convincing myself he'll only hurt me. He'll be that guy who f.u.c.ks me and leaves me, that guy who yells at me in the parking lot. Any of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds I sat and watched an hour ago.

But the second I hear his voice come over the line, instead of panicking and hanging up, instead of stumbling over my words, I say, "I want to see you."

He takes a moment, swallowing hard. "I've been waiting to hear you say that. McClintock's off South Street? Fifteen minutes?"

And... s.h.i.+t. "Uh, yep. Sounds good. Sure..."

"And there's that sure again," he says with a laugh. "Fifteen minutes it is then. Don't be late, or I'll arrest you."

"Yeah, um..." I fidget with the damp napkin beneath my drink. "Okay..." I don't know how to handle him. I want to laugh. I probably should laugh, but I suck at social cues. "I'll see you in a few."

I hang up and glance down at what I'm wearing in a complete panic. A Nirvana T-s.h.i.+rt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. f.u.c.king amazing.

I'm in such shock that I actually just initiated this that I barely notice Janine when she comes back. "Honey?" She grips my shoulder. "You okay? You look a little mortified."

"I, uh..." I glance up, swallowing as the panic really sets in. I grab my drink, down what little bit is left. "I just called Jax."

She beams as she motions for the bartender. "And?"

"I'm supposed to go meet him... s.h.i.+t, that's so rude. I'm sorry, Janine. I don't know what I was-"

"Oh, it's fine, sweetie. I'm just fine right here with my cosmos and..." She squints to read the name tag on the bartender's s.h.i.+rt. "Randall. Me and Randall will be just dandy, won't we?"

He ignores her and continues wiping down the counter.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"McClintock's or something like that."

"Oh, that's just a block over." Her eyes widen, and she claps. "Talk about fate." She grins as she brings her gla.s.s to her lips and takes a sip. "Go on now. I've got my phone. If it gets too late, I'll take an Uber or"-a slight giggle bubbles from her lips-"go home with Randall."

Shaking my head, I grab my purse and head to the door, playing out a thousand scenarios of why I shouldn't go. I groan and push the door open, still in shock that I actually called him and agreed to meet him.

The entire ten-minute walk to the bar, I obsess over how I'll mess this meeting with him up. The thought of having to talk to him, having to come up with conversation, nearly paralyzes me. I'm bound to say something dumb or awkward or just... random. And then he'll give me some weird look, and I'll get all nervous that he's wis.h.i.+ng he'd never met me, wis.h.i.+ng I were some normal girl. A normal girl... a f.u.c.king normal girl...

The bar's dark and fairly empty. I walk straight to the counter and take a seat, crossing my legs and immediately picking at my nails.

"Want a drink?" the old man behind the counter asks.

I hesitate. My head's already dizzy from the drinks I had at Applebee's, and although it is tempting, I decide maybe since this foggy feeling is what incited that phone call in the first place, I shouldn't have another one just yet. G.o.d knows what I'd end up saying then.

"Oh, no thanks," I say, forcing a nervous smile.

He shoots a confused look in my direction, shrugs, then walks off to the other end of the counter to serve another customer.

And I wait. And wait. And wait.

"You sure you don't want a drink? You look like you could use one." The bartender laughs.

I glance at my watch. He's nearly fifteen minutes late. Which means he's probably not coming. "Uh... I'm-"

The bell over the door jingles, and I stop mid-sentence, turning around to find Jax walking toward the bar, his fingers running through his thick hair. Much to my dismay, my heart goes into a full-on sprint. I hate that a man can do this to me. I hate that I want him. I hate the vulnerability because it's an all too familiar feeling, dredging up things I'd rather not contemplate.

"Ah, just in time," he says with a smile as he pulls the bar stool out next to me. To my surprise, he comes in for a hug, placing his muscular arm around me.

What in the h.e.l.l do I do? Hug him back or just... I awkwardly return his hug, and he kisses my cheek lightly.

"It's great to see you again. Sorry I'm late. My partner was being a pain in the a.s.s," he says as he takes a seat.

"It's fine. And, yeah, it's good to see you too." I can't seem to calm my racing pulse, and soon enough, that fidgety nervousness overtakes me, so I flag down the bartender.

"Now, I may be wrong here, but are you sure it's good to see me?" He chuckles. "Seems like every time I see ya, you've got that little scowl on your face."

Ignoring his comment, I glare at him. "Do you want a drink?"

"No, I don't drink anymore," he says with a slight smirk. "I quit last night." As the bartender approaches, Jax nods toward the top shelf. "Give me a double Jameson, neat." He motions to me. "And whatever she's having."

"Yeah, exactly what I thought," I mumble as I turn my attention to the man behind the bar. "And I'll have tequila, straight. Thanks."

Jax shoots me an impressed look. "I like your style. Sounds like we've had the same kind of week."

I toss my head back on a laugh. "Yeah, well, maybe. Who f.u.c.king knows?"