23
“Good morning.” Mrs. Angelle’s tone is as icy as her smile. “I hope you don’t mind I had one of the maid’s unlock the door. I had to be certain my son didn’t drink himself to death last night. Apparently, he had … alternate entertainment.”
I’m so, so fucked. It never crossed my mind that his parents would show up. They never did once when we were here for Thanksgiving break. I’d assumed they were off in some other city, ignoring Saint’s birthday just like they ignored much of his existence.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, clutching the bedsheet to my naked chest.
“Whatever for? You’re just doing what girls like you do best.”
Girls like me, huh?
Okay, biiiitch.
She comes to the edge of the bed, her red-painted lips curling as she gazes down at us. “You should probably leave before my husband gets here,” she says snidely. “It’s our son’s birthday, after all. We’d like to spend some quality time with him.”
Even though I’m dying to tell her his birthday was yesterday, I silently nod, and she leaves the room without a backwards glance. Saint hasn’t stirred, and I’m careful not to wake him as I quickly climb out of bed. Shame makes my cheeks burn as I get dressed and find my phone. I wish I could crawl into a hole somewhere and just die. The last thing I want to do is go downstairs to face his mother, but I don’t have a choice unless I want to risk a two-story leap onto the terrace below.
When I think of Mrs. Angelle’s bitch face, though, that doesn’t seem that bad of an idea.
I didn’t know you could do a walk of shame when you were still in the house of the person you hooked up with, but that’s exactly what happens as I make my way out of his room into the hall and then toward the main staircase. To my horror, Mrs. Angelle is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, her face a mask of cold indifference.
I descend toward her, a cold sweat breaking out along my back. What’s she going to say to me? Will she threaten me? I’ve faced down druggies, angry cops, ‘roided up bullies, and mean girl bitches, but none of those terrified me nearly as much as Mrs. Angelle with her tight smile, perfectly coiffed platinum hair, and narrowed blue eyes.
The living room behind her is trashed. There’s beer and liquor bottles everywhere. Curtains have been ripped from the windows, and furniture is flipped and stained. None of that seems to faze her, however, as she keeps her shark-eyes locked on me.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs and wait for her to say something. Anything. But she just stares at me, studying me like I’m a lab experiment. For a moment, it looks as though she recognizes me. I wouldn’t have guessed I’d even have been a blip on her radar from our one meeting during parent’s weekend in the fall, but it’s there in her focused gaze.
She’s connecting dots that I can’t see, and it’s disturbing as hell.
“Um, ma’am, can I just say how sorry I am to—”
She holds her hand up to silence me, and I obediently seal my lips.
She eyes me silently for a few moments more, and then opens her mouth as if to speak.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
I jump at the sound of Saint’s booming voice and spin around to find him storming down the stairs, shirtless, barefoot, but at least dressed in a pair of sweatpants. The softness that had descended over his face in sleep is gone, and his expression is all harsh lines and ridges as he glares down at his mother.
“Good morning to you too, son,” she replies in an even tone. She doesn’t raise her voice or look offended in any way. She almost looks bored as she stares up as her enraged son.
He comes to stop right beside me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She casts a glance my way, disgust clear in her gaze. “What happened to Rosalind?”
Her words should infuriate me, but I’m still playing catch up, taken aback by Saint’s volatile reaction to his mother’s presence. He gnashes his teeth and grips the stair railing so hard that his knuckles turn white.
“I’m done with Rosalind,” he growls. “I’m done playing dad’s fucking games. Now answer my damn question and tell me why you’re here.”
I feel like I’m stuck between a roaring lion and a wall of ice as I watch these two go back and forth like a tennis match. I’ve only seen Saint this angry a handful of times, and it’s rather frightening.
“This is my house.”
“It appears I need to remind you, Mother, that as of midnight last night, it’s no longer your home.” Saint’s voice becomes just as cold as his mother’s and it’s eerie how similar they sound. “It’s mine. Part of dad’s hush money, don’t you recall?”
That gets a reaction from Mrs. Angelle. Her icy visage burns away, and her eyes blaze with fury.
That’s definitely my cue to go.
“I-I’m going to get out of here,” I murmur. “See you, Saint.”
“Yes, run along, slut,” his mother hisses. “Go open your legs for some other lonely rich boy.”
Her words are vicious and startling, and I hurry out the door before I have to endure another moment of her chilly presence. Just as I step onto the driveway, though, Saint’s voice rings out.
“Mallory, wait!”
I stop and turn to gape at him as he makes his way toward me.
“I’m sorry about … her,” he says in a low, angry voice.
I shrug, pretending nonchalance. “It’s whatever. She’s clearly got issues.”
“She’s a bitch,” he hisses. Then, more gently, “Let me drive you back to campus.”
Unwilling to wait around for them to finish their weird disagreement, I shake my head. “No, I’ve already got a ride.”
“I can take you—”
“No, it’s okay.” I back away from him. “You go deal with … that. I’ll be fine.”
I’m overwhelmed and freaked out and just want to get away from this house so I can think for one goddamn minute. Saint looks like he wants to stop me, but he begrudgingly says, “All right. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.” Will he? Because given his past behavior, there’s a fifty percent chance he’ll spend the next few days ignoring my very existence.
Still, last night felt different. I can’t really put into words how, but it did. We’ll just have to see if he’s different in the days to come.
I leave him standing in his driveway and make my way through the gate of his family’s property on foot as I shoot a quick text to Loni, asking if she’ll pick me up once I realize I left my wallet at school. I feel guilty doing so, knowing I’ve likely been a huge inconvenience already, but she immediately responds that she’s on her way.
I text back asking her to meet me at a nearby beach.
As I wait for Loni to come get me, I remove my shoes and walk through the sand barefoot. I watch the waves gently rolling in the ocean and wonder how I keep getting into these fucked up situations. Was I some sort of awful bitch in a past life and karma’s just coming back to haunt me?
People are out and about, swimming and playing and soaking up the sun. I watch a couple walk along the shoreline, hand-in-hand. They’re gazing at each other with stars in their eyes, and I feel a pang of jealously shoot through me. I want that. I want a normal relationship like that, where I can go for a simple stroll with the person I love and not have to worry about anything.