Page 87 of End It All

"Did he come back for us?"

"Once. I made sure he knew it was over. Nothing is more important than you, Blake. You know that?"

My heart squeezed. I leaned back in the tub and stared at the ceiling. On one hand, I understood what she was saying. On the other, I had to wonder if he was right. Was it a Vitale thing that people would just abandon you when things got rough?

I can't blame her. She's done nothing but protect me my entire life.

Part of me knew that, but it hurt to know that she had played a part in keeping him out of our lives. What if I'd had a father? Would I have grown up different? Maybe I would have fallen in love. Or not had to sell my ass for quick cash when we were down and out. I never told her those things, but they weighed on my chest like a stone.

"Yeah, I know that," I answered her finally. "I have to go, Mom."

"So soon?" she whispered.

"It's not safe."

"Right." She sucked in a breath. "I love you so much. Have your father work this out with the police. I'm sure he can."

Sure, he probably will. If I sell him my soul.

"Okay," I said. "I love you."

"I love you more than life."

As her voice trembled, I quickly hung up. I couldn't hear her crying again or I would tip right over the edge. I laid my hand over my eyes and felt the sob coming before it grabbed hold of me.

Please, I'm so lost.

Quincy was right, I didn't know shit about this life. About anything. That's why I was running for my life, alone, and afraid. The short bit of hope I had felt was gone.

How much longer am I supposed to live like this?

Life wenton while I was stuck in one spot. Why was I even here breathing in air when it felt as if the world was better off without me?

I sucked in a shaky breath and held it as I stared up at the ceiling of my mother’s place. There was a water stain the size of my face right above me. My lungs burned with the need to exhale and I relished the feeling. It was better than the emotions that continued to rip me apart. Next to me was a creepy stack of dolls that sat on bags of clothes from who knew where. My chest screamed for me to exhale, to give into the suffering of living. I held my breath for another few seconds seeing just how long I could fight against my body's natural response when faced with death. Spots blotched my sight, erasing what was laid out before me.

Blake's face came to mind, his laugh, the way he naturally fit against me in bed. His scent as it soaked into my pillow. I gave in and coughed as air rushed out of me. I gasped trying to expel air as fast as I was taking it in. All that, and I was left with nothing.

I was more upset about Blake than I was about nearly dying. If I could go back and smash that Russian’s brains in again, I'd do it. I'd break every single one of them and watch them choke on their own teeth and blood.

"Move, you're in the way." Mom swatted at my feet, trying her damndest to get me to move.

I glanced at her, and she was a feeble old woman. At what point did she get so old? It would be a fucking miracle if I even made it to turning gray, let alone her age.

"Mom, how old are you?"

Her brown eyes sparked with life for a fleeting second. It had been like that when I came to her place five days ago. But the moment was always gone too fast. The shimmer could have also been the sight of cash I had in hand when I walked through her door.

"You're blocking my doll collection. Did you know my very first one was when I was eight? My parents saved up all year to get it for me." She reached over my head, her gaze only for the item she was focused on. In her hands was a black doll with curly hair. One of the eyes was missing and the dress had probably been stark white at one time or the other. It was closer to gray now. She fretted over it, cherishing and showing it more attention then she'd ever sent my way.

I was so hollow, I couldn't find it in me to care that she kissed the doll and whispered loving words to it. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back against the pile of crap behind me. Every muscle in my body was on fire. I had been sleeping at an odd angle and there was no telling what was poking me.

"Move, Quincy." Mom slapped my foot again.

"Why?"

She huffed in annoyance. She had more stuff in her arms that I hadn't noticed before. "I need to put beanie babies next to the doll collection and you're in my way." She was making it sound like she was some renowned collector, but I knew more than others most of the shit she dragged in and filled the space with was trash.

"I'm tired. Just put it around me." I turned over, grunting as something hard poked into my ribcage. I made no move to dislodge it. The pain could be added to the misery I was feeling.