Sweetest Venom
Page 68
I grew to hate the smell of Aqua Di Gio.
Now, that cologne is forever associated with Brendan, the heartbreak of my first teenage crush, and Paige. So, yeah, I can’t stand the smell.
And like Aqua Di Gio, this house bombards me with memories as I follow my mother into the living room, most of them painful. A part of me wants to run out the door, forgetting that I ever came.
But it’s too late to turn back.
I sit down on a couch I don’t recognize as I look around, my attention arrested by a picture of my parents. Together. Older. I frown. My mom follows the direction of my gaze, walks toward the frame, and picks it up. She caresses the glass tenderly, her fingers stroking my father’s face. The frown grows deeper. Am I missing something here? Or am I falling down Alice’s rabbit hole?
When my mother looks back, she must see the perplexed expression on my face because she places the picture down and smiles sadly. “I love this picture.”
“Um, yeah … I can see that,” I say but what I really want to ask is, why?
She stares at me for a short while, studying me. I want to fidget under her gaze, but I manage to sit still. “You’re more beautiful than I remember,” she murmurs softly.
“And does that bother you, Mom?” I reply, poison dripping off my every word.
She flinches as though I just slapped her. “I deserve that.”
“No,” I reply, angry with myself for being rude. “You didn’t. I’m sorry.”
My mom sits on the sofa across from me. “We used to do that, didn’t we? Go for each other’s throats? See who could slash deeper, hurt harder.”
To avoid looking at her in the eye, I pretend to study my nails. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
The silence that ensues is deafening. Our past shouts at us. Each and every memory raising its voice demands to be heard.
“What made you come back, Blaire?”
Swiftly, I raise my eyes, meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry it’s an inconvenience for you.” I stand up, getting myself ready to leave. “I should go. This was a bad idea.”
My mom grips my hand, stopping me. “No, don’t go. Not yet. I didn’t mean it like that, Blaire.”
I stare at her hand on my arm and remember the last time she ever touched me. It was a slap on the face. “When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be held by you. To be loved by you. But that was then and this is now. Would you please remove your hand from my arm?”
She lets me go immediately, her eyes bearing naked pain. “We did you wrong, your father and I. My beautiful girl … What did we do to you?”
I don’t know whether to laugh in her face or throw myself down at her feet begging her to hug me and never let me go. Maybe both. Yes, definitely both. “You know what? I can’t do this right now.” I shake my head. “I need to think.”
My mom doesn’t stop me this time as she watches me grab my leather bag from the couch and stand on my feet. “How long will you be staying in town?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Wiltmore.”
She stands up and walks over to me. As she approaches, I take the opportunity to notice the marks that time has left behind on her face. And time has been very kind to her. She’s still as beautiful as I remember her. Regal. Though there’s something very different about her. Something I can’t pinpoint. Softness?
“Why don’t you stay here? This is your home, after all,” she adds quietly.
I reach for the car keys. “Thank you, but no. I think I need to be alone tonight.”
Now, that cologne is forever associated with Brendan, the heartbreak of my first teenage crush, and Paige. So, yeah, I can’t stand the smell.
And like Aqua Di Gio, this house bombards me with memories as I follow my mother into the living room, most of them painful. A part of me wants to run out the door, forgetting that I ever came.
But it’s too late to turn back.
I sit down on a couch I don’t recognize as I look around, my attention arrested by a picture of my parents. Together. Older. I frown. My mom follows the direction of my gaze, walks toward the frame, and picks it up. She caresses the glass tenderly, her fingers stroking my father’s face. The frown grows deeper. Am I missing something here? Or am I falling down Alice’s rabbit hole?
When my mother looks back, she must see the perplexed expression on my face because she places the picture down and smiles sadly. “I love this picture.”
“Um, yeah … I can see that,” I say but what I really want to ask is, why?
She stares at me for a short while, studying me. I want to fidget under her gaze, but I manage to sit still. “You’re more beautiful than I remember,” she murmurs softly.
“And does that bother you, Mom?” I reply, poison dripping off my every word.
She flinches as though I just slapped her. “I deserve that.”
“No,” I reply, angry with myself for being rude. “You didn’t. I’m sorry.”
My mom sits on the sofa across from me. “We used to do that, didn’t we? Go for each other’s throats? See who could slash deeper, hurt harder.”
To avoid looking at her in the eye, I pretend to study my nails. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
The silence that ensues is deafening. Our past shouts at us. Each and every memory raising its voice demands to be heard.
“What made you come back, Blaire?”
Swiftly, I raise my eyes, meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry it’s an inconvenience for you.” I stand up, getting myself ready to leave. “I should go. This was a bad idea.”
My mom grips my hand, stopping me. “No, don’t go. Not yet. I didn’t mean it like that, Blaire.”
I stare at her hand on my arm and remember the last time she ever touched me. It was a slap on the face. “When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be held by you. To be loved by you. But that was then and this is now. Would you please remove your hand from my arm?”
She lets me go immediately, her eyes bearing naked pain. “We did you wrong, your father and I. My beautiful girl … What did we do to you?”
I don’t know whether to laugh in her face or throw myself down at her feet begging her to hug me and never let me go. Maybe both. Yes, definitely both. “You know what? I can’t do this right now.” I shake my head. “I need to think.”
My mom doesn’t stop me this time as she watches me grab my leather bag from the couch and stand on my feet. “How long will you be staying in town?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Wiltmore.”
She stands up and walks over to me. As she approaches, I take the opportunity to notice the marks that time has left behind on her face. And time has been very kind to her. She’s still as beautiful as I remember her. Regal. Though there’s something very different about her. Something I can’t pinpoint. Softness?
“Why don’t you stay here? This is your home, after all,” she adds quietly.
I reach for the car keys. “Thank you, but no. I think I need to be alone tonight.”
