about the state of our relationship and how utterly in shambles it was— is. Whose fault it is, I’m sure she’d have a different response depending on her mood.
But she’s trying. Therefore, it’s only fair that I try not to kick her out of the
house. On my birthday. I’m already exhausted, and it would seem my dark
circles are showing now.
Zade woke me up to my bedroom covered in roses and a gorgeous black knife
with purple weaved throughout the handle. I’m getting better at handling them,
but it’s a work in progress and his present was a testament to his faith in me.
Then, Daya wanted to do brunch, and now Mom is here and I’m ready for a
nap. People-ing is still tiring.
“Concealer will fix it.”
“Maybe you should come stay with me again. Get away from that… heathen
—” I snort, which then turns into a full-out laugh. Something about my mother
calling Zade a heathen is just… well, funny. True, but funny.
My mother is gaping at me as if I’ve told her I’m shaving my head bald and
going to live the rest of my life in a van and smoking hookah.
Doesn’t sound so bad, actually. Except maybe the going bald part.
I bite my lip to hold in the laughter, grinning while she only grows more ruffled.
“I don’t see how shacking up with a criminal is funny,” she mutters, turning
away with an affronted look on her face.
“What if I’m the criminal?” I question.
She sighs. “Adeline, if he has coerced you to do something…”
I roll my eyes. “He hasn’t made me do anything, Mother, chill. And I’m fine.
Really. I went through something traumatic—obviously—and sleeping doesn’t
always come easy to me.”
She shifts on the leather couch, gearing up to say something else, but I cut her
off. “And I’m good here. In Parsons Manor.”
Her mouth shuts, a frown tugging down her pink-painted lips. I sigh, a stab of
guilt hitting me in the chest.
“Mom, I appreciate your concern, I do. But it’s going to take me a while to
get readjusted and back to normal.” Normal. Saying the word feels like swallowing a handful of rusty nails. I’ll never be normal. I don’t think I ever was.
And if anyone could attest to that, it would be my mother—the woman who’s
called me a freak most of my life.
She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at the checkered tile and lost in whatever hurricane is sifting through her skull and ready to come out of her mouth. I’ve always felt like storms rage through her head since her words were always so fucking destructive.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” she asks quietly. She lifts her head to look up at me, her crystal blue eyes swirling with hurt. I can’t decide if the sight of it twists the guilt deeper or if it makes me angry.
“Because you’ve never made me feel safe enough to tell you anything,” I
answer bluntly.
Her throat works, swallowing that bitter pill.
“Why… why did you need to feel safe to tell me about him, Addie?” she
asks, her sculpted brows pinching. “I mean, if he were… normal, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. If he were someone you met in a bookstore, or at one of your events, or even in a grocery store.” She pauses. “Why did you need to feel
safe?”
I roll my lips and turn back towards the window.
“Addie, does he hurt you?”
My neck nearly snaps from how quickly I turn back to her. “No,” I say
sternly, though that’s not entirely true.
Did he hurt me? Yes, but not how she’s thinking. He would never lay a
finger on me out of anger. The type of pain Zade delivers is unorthodox, and while there’s always been a part of me that enjoys it—it still hurts.
Yet, I crave it anyway.
“Then why?”
I sigh, debating on how much I should say. He kills people for a living? Too
much. He stalked me? Would never live that one down, no matter how guilty she
feels.
So, I just settle with the truth. The part that doesn’t announce him as a psychopath with a bit of an attachment issue.
“He saves women and children from human trafficking, Mom. He’s very
deeply involved in that dark corner of the world.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, her spine snapping straight and her eyes
widening with outrage. “Is he the reason you were kidnapped?”
“No,” I snap. “He is not why, and you need to remember that he saved me. I
would not be here—be alive—if it wasn’t for him.”
She shakes her head in confusion, and asks, “Then why were you? If he’s involved with the same people?”
I shrug, feigning a nonchalance I don’t feel. “There were many factors, but none of them were his doing. That’s all that’s important.”
She sighs, a sound of both frustration and acceptance. “Is he dangerous?”
“Yes,” I admit. “But not to me. He loves me, and not only that, he loves me
for who I am. He’s never wanted to change me.”
She flinches at the dig but refrains from defending herself this time.
“Just because he loves you, that doesn’t mean he’s good for you,” she says with finality.
I purse my lips, considering that for a moment. “What is good for me then, Mom? You know best, right? A real stand-up guy that’s a lawyer or doctor?”
“Don’t be obtuse,” she snips. “How about someone like a police officer, who
only carries a gun because they’re—”
“Protecting people,” I cut in. “Because you think they’re protecting people.
You really want to get in that debate right now? And wouldn’t you say Zade is
doing the same? By rescuing innocent people from being kidnapped and
enslaved?”
She tightens her lips, clearly still in disagreement but not willing to keep arguing. That’s a first, but I don’t expect it to last.
This time, I’m the one sighing. I throw myself back in the chair.
“I don’t want to fight about him with you because it’s not going to change anything. I know him better than you ever will, and if you want to hate him, fine.
But do it where I don’t have to hear about it,” I say tiredly and resolutely.
I’m too exhausted to keep fighting with her. That's all we ever do, and it got
old over a decade ago.
“Fine,” she huffs, irritated and contrite. “Let me take you to a nice dinner for
your birthday, at least. Can we do that? No talk about your boyfriend.”
I stare at her, and the tightness in my chest eases a little. Smiling, I nod my