Slay
Page 39
“I don’t give a shit anymore. Storm can deal. I need him gone now.”
“Motherfucker,” he swore, and hung up.
I put my phone away as a sense of peace settled over me.
Finally.
***
I cleaned the blood from my body and found some old clothes of mine in the cupboard of Mum’s spare bedroom to change into. Once I was clean, I met her in the kitchen. Still shaken from earlier, she looked at me with anguish.
“I hate I’ve done this to us,” she whispered.
I caught her cheek in my hand. “Marcus did this to us.”
“Yes, but I let him.” She collapsed against my chest and broke down again.
I ran my hand over her hair and placed a kiss to her head. I held her for a long time, letting her get her tears out. When she finally lifted her head to look at me, I said, “There comes a point where we have to forgive ourselves, forgive the mistakes we’ve made, and make the decision to move forward. You’ll be consumed by hate and regret if you don’t. I don’t want that for you. You’ve already been through so much shit. I just want you to be happy now.”
She stared silently at me before asking, “How do I forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused in your life?”
“You accept you’re not perfect, Mum. We’re all flawed and capable of making bad decisions. We start now and move forward from this point in time. Everything in the past stays there.”
“I won’t take him back, Donovan. I promise you that. And I told him that today.”
My heart squeezed in my chest at the words I’d waited my whole life for.
“Thank fuck,” I murmured, and pulled her close again.
“I love you,” she mumbled into my chest.
“I love you, too, Mum.”
***
I spent the rest of the day alone.
Thinking.
Planning.
My headache had eased. It was still there, though, and later that night I finally decided to deal with it.
I walked into her bar just before midnight.
She watched me walk towards her and didn’t say a word when I stood in front of her a moment later.
We stared at each other until she eventually reached for the scotch bottle and two glasses. She filled them and slid one to me. I watched as she sculled hers, and then I downed mine.
I placed the glass down, and murmured, “I’m fucked up.”
She grabbed the glass off me and refilled it. Pushing it back to me, she said, “We’re all fucked up, Donovan. It’s how you deal with that shit that matters.”
Fuck me.
This woman.
“I’m dealing,” I said before drinking the second scotch she’d given me.
“Seven days. You pull that shit again, and you can deal on your own.”
I nodded. Message received.
Her gaze travelled over my face. “You need sleep.” She ignored the cuts and bruises.
“Yeah.”
She took in my beaten-up hands and then said, “Go upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I did as she said and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her. For the first time, I really took in what her room looked like. It wasn’t at all what I would have expected of a woman’s bedroom, and yet it was all her. Bed, bedside table, dresser, wardrobe and mirror; she had what she needed, no more. A painting on her wall and a rug; she kept the decorations to the minimum. It spoke of a woman who didn’t add fuss to her life.
She walked in a couple of minutes later with a bucket of ice, a plastic bag and towel. After she placed them on the bedside table, she indicated for me to stand. And then she put her hands to the bottom of my tee and gently lifted it up over my head.
“Shit,” she muttered, as she took in the bruising on my body. “Who did this to you?”
“It’s not important,” I murmured, not wanting to drag her into my shit.
Her eyes came to mine. “Yes, it is. Tell me.”
I stalled.
Fuck.
“My father.”
She sucked in a breath. “Fuck.”
“It’s okay. He couldn’t walk once I was finished with him.”
Her eyes widened. “Jesus, Donovan.”
I placed my hand under her chin and tilted her face to mine. “I like you calling me that,” I whispered.
She smiled. “I love your name,” she said, and fuck if that didn’t hit my sweet spot.
Moving to grab some ice, she placed it in a plastic bag and wrapped it in a towel. She handed it to me. “Lie on the bed and put that on the bruises. I’m gonna get some painkillers.”
I did as she said and placed the ice to my ribs. Fuck, the pain was intense. But fucking worth it.
She came back with pills and water.
I didn’t take my eyes off her.
She fucking amazed me.
After she had me sorted out with ice and painkillers, she gently moved onto the bed. I was lying on my back with my arms by my side, and I moved one arm out across the pillow so she could rest her head on my shoulder.
She hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me, baby. Come here.”
Something crossed her face.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Motherfucker,” he swore, and hung up.
I put my phone away as a sense of peace settled over me.
Finally.
***
I cleaned the blood from my body and found some old clothes of mine in the cupboard of Mum’s spare bedroom to change into. Once I was clean, I met her in the kitchen. Still shaken from earlier, she looked at me with anguish.
“I hate I’ve done this to us,” she whispered.
I caught her cheek in my hand. “Marcus did this to us.”
“Yes, but I let him.” She collapsed against my chest and broke down again.
I ran my hand over her hair and placed a kiss to her head. I held her for a long time, letting her get her tears out. When she finally lifted her head to look at me, I said, “There comes a point where we have to forgive ourselves, forgive the mistakes we’ve made, and make the decision to move forward. You’ll be consumed by hate and regret if you don’t. I don’t want that for you. You’ve already been through so much shit. I just want you to be happy now.”
She stared silently at me before asking, “How do I forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused in your life?”
“You accept you’re not perfect, Mum. We’re all flawed and capable of making bad decisions. We start now and move forward from this point in time. Everything in the past stays there.”
“I won’t take him back, Donovan. I promise you that. And I told him that today.”
My heart squeezed in my chest at the words I’d waited my whole life for.
“Thank fuck,” I murmured, and pulled her close again.
“I love you,” she mumbled into my chest.
“I love you, too, Mum.”
***
I spent the rest of the day alone.
Thinking.
Planning.
My headache had eased. It was still there, though, and later that night I finally decided to deal with it.
I walked into her bar just before midnight.
She watched me walk towards her and didn’t say a word when I stood in front of her a moment later.
We stared at each other until she eventually reached for the scotch bottle and two glasses. She filled them and slid one to me. I watched as she sculled hers, and then I downed mine.
I placed the glass down, and murmured, “I’m fucked up.”
She grabbed the glass off me and refilled it. Pushing it back to me, she said, “We’re all fucked up, Donovan. It’s how you deal with that shit that matters.”
Fuck me.
This woman.
“I’m dealing,” I said before drinking the second scotch she’d given me.
“Seven days. You pull that shit again, and you can deal on your own.”
I nodded. Message received.
Her gaze travelled over my face. “You need sleep.” She ignored the cuts and bruises.
“Yeah.”
She took in my beaten-up hands and then said, “Go upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I did as she said and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her. For the first time, I really took in what her room looked like. It wasn’t at all what I would have expected of a woman’s bedroom, and yet it was all her. Bed, bedside table, dresser, wardrobe and mirror; she had what she needed, no more. A painting on her wall and a rug; she kept the decorations to the minimum. It spoke of a woman who didn’t add fuss to her life.
She walked in a couple of minutes later with a bucket of ice, a plastic bag and towel. After she placed them on the bedside table, she indicated for me to stand. And then she put her hands to the bottom of my tee and gently lifted it up over my head.
“Shit,” she muttered, as she took in the bruising on my body. “Who did this to you?”
“It’s not important,” I murmured, not wanting to drag her into my shit.
Her eyes came to mine. “Yes, it is. Tell me.”
I stalled.
Fuck.
“My father.”
She sucked in a breath. “Fuck.”
“It’s okay. He couldn’t walk once I was finished with him.”
Her eyes widened. “Jesus, Donovan.”
I placed my hand under her chin and tilted her face to mine. “I like you calling me that,” I whispered.
She smiled. “I love your name,” she said, and fuck if that didn’t hit my sweet spot.
Moving to grab some ice, she placed it in a plastic bag and wrapped it in a towel. She handed it to me. “Lie on the bed and put that on the bruises. I’m gonna get some painkillers.”
I did as she said and placed the ice to my ribs. Fuck, the pain was intense. But fucking worth it.
She came back with pills and water.
I didn’t take my eyes off her.
She fucking amazed me.
After she had me sorted out with ice and painkillers, she gently moved onto the bed. I was lying on my back with my arms by my side, and I moved one arm out across the pillow so she could rest her head on my shoulder.
She hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me, baby. Come here.”
Something crossed her face.
“What was that?” I asked.
