And, God help me, with an orgasm like that as dessert, should I complain about it?
Chapter Three
“Where are you going?”
I paused at my mother’s slurred words, turned back to her and asked, “What do you care?”
She blinked at me, and I felt my mouth curl up in disgust at the state of her. Her shirt was covered in only God knew how many stains, and her pants were just as bad but they were filthy too. Her hair made a rat’s nest look clean, and I was pretty sure she’d stink of both alcohol and urine.
Oh, the joys.
“I’m your ma. Of course, I care,” she rasped out the lie, her eyes flaring wide as she tried to focus on me.
“I have errands to run,” I told her, knowing that would get her to back off.
God forbid she ever pulled any weight around this place.
“Get me some beer,” she ordered, before slouching back toward her pit.
My jaw clenched as she settled back in her armchair and let off a fart that had me scurrying out the door just to get away from her vileness.
How she got any man to fuck her for a fee was beyond me.
Saying that, I’d never seen the guys she’d picked up before, and had no desire to either.
Leaving Scottie with Cheryl for the rest of the afternoon and evening cost money I didn’t have, but I knew I’d get some tips tonight and they’d have to go to Mrs. Linden’s neighbor because I just couldn’t leave him with Mom.
It wasn’t ideal, but nothing about this situation was.
I had to suck it up, get on with things, and move on.
My first step was the laundromat. After I set everything up to wash, I waited until I could shove them in the dryer before running to the store down the street. I grabbed everything we’d need for the next few days. Some days, I eyed the fresh produce like I was eying up a Chippendale. I ate a lot of crap food, and longed for a time when a salad was more affordable than a crappy sandwich from a fast-food joint.
Scottie would eat better than I had as a kid, hell, even as I did as an adult. I’d see to it if it killed me.
But as I stared at the healthy stuff, it reminded me of the professor.
Of his words.
I felt fatter than ever, disgusting within my own skin because he’d made me feel that way. Ashamed of something that was literally out of my control. It was either cheap foods or nothing… Maybe he’d prefer me to starve?
Although, I guessed that begged the question of why he’d forced me to do what he had when I was so gross to him.
Just thinking of those cold eyes, that stern jaw had a shiver rushing down my spine.
Why was he so beautiful? How could someone so handsome, so picture-perfect pretty, be so mean? So hard and unforgiving?
I wasn’t a bad person. I tried. I really did. And yet, to him, I felt like scum. Scum that he could do this to, that he could manipulate and use because I was desperate and he could take advantage of that.
My emotions were churning. Hatred for him warred with the intrinsic womanly pride every female had. I didn’t want him to want me, hell, I should discourage it, but my ego was torn to shreds by his words. So, I put back some of the food I’d collected in my basket and grabbed the bare minimum I needed. After grabbing Scottie’s essentials, I headed back to the laundromat and saw that my stuff was ready to go. Folding it and placing it in my bag, I returned to my building with enough clothes and food for the remainder of the week.
Hefting it all up the stairs wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to, but I stopped on the third floor because that was where Janowicz lived.
As I approached his door, I braced myself.
Not only was our super a grade-A creep, he was mean too.
Still, he knew which hospital Mrs. Linden had gone to. Cheryl, the neighbor who’d been looking after Scottie, said she’d heard him outside when the ambulance had come.
I’d wanted to scream at her when she said she didn’t know which hospital Mrs. Linden was being treated at—who heard EMTs and didn’t think to ask after their neighbor? —but it was that kind of building in that kind of city.
Every man, woman, and child was out for themselves here.
Knocking on the door, I waited until the greasy lump appeared. His yellowed teeth bared themselves into a grin as he leered at me.
“You did my shopping for me, why, how kind of you,” he mocked, scratching his sweat-slicked chest as he did so.
I ground my teeth and murmured, “I want to visit Mrs. Linden in the hospital.”
“I want a Russian bride.” His eyes narrowed at me. “I’d settle for a Thai. Think you could hook me up?”
“Please,” I added, hardening my tone. “Cheryl said you know where she is.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”
“I just want to see if she’s okay.”
“Old bitch. It’s time she died.”
Janowicz disliked the residents who had rent-controlled apartments, like Mrs. Linden who’d lived here for a long time.
Though his words hurt me, I merely whispered, “Please.”
His response was another shrug as he scratched his dirty wifebeater-covered belly—did he have fleas or something? “It was either Brookdale, Brooklyn Hospital, or New York Community Hospital.” His yellowed teeth made another appearance. “Damned if I can remember which.”
When he slammed the door in my face, I was relieved. Three hospitals were a start. I just had to hope she was in one of them.
Believing that I’d find Mrs. Linden sooner rather than later, I carried on up the stairs. When I made it into my apartment, I tried to shrug off my sadness. Normally, I’d have food for Mrs. Linden too, and I loathed walking past her floor to get to mine.
She was my haven because I hated my apartment with a passion, and preferred to be with her and Scottie than up there.
I’d have slept there if I could, but I’d never crossed that line.
I didn’t think my mother would give a damn if I ran off with Scottie. Maybe one day I’d try that and see if she cared about us at all. I had a feeling she wouldn’t, but I wasn’t ready to test that yet.
When I stacked the food in the grimy cupboards I cleaned every month—the nicotine-stained them regardless—my mother lumbered into the kitchen. “You didn’t get any beer,” she growled, staring in bewildered anger at my meager purchases.
“Didn’t have the money for it,” I told her simply. It wasn’t a total lie. I’d saved some money by buying less food, but I wasn’t about to waste that on a six-pack. Not when Cheryl needed paying later.
“Bullshit,” she spat.
I sucked down a breath, trying to keep my patience as I emptied the brown paper bag. Facing the cupboards rather than her, I murmured, “Mrs. Linden is sick. I had to pay for a sitter.”
“You mean you wasted money on a sitter when I was here?” Her hand grabbed my shoulder and she forced me to turn around. Her fingers were bony, digging into me like they were daggers as she got in my face. “How many times have I told you—”
When her spittle hit my cheek, I scrubbed at my skin where her filth touched me and snarled, “How many times have I told you? I’m not your personal shopper. You want beer? Go and buy it your goddamn self.”