Chapter 10: The Cover Up

The alarm goes off and I wake up in the same position I was in when I got into bed. I don't remember falling asleep or dreaming at all. My book is open on my chest, but it's like I woke up from a black hole of nothing.

Shrugging it off, I pull my body of out bed and make my way to the mirror. The first thing I notice is Mom's handprint on my face. It's not nearly as red as it was last night, but it's still slightly warm to the touch and definitely noticeable. Fortunately, I've become a master at applying concealer and I can make almost any mark disappear. Hopefully no one will notice. But, to be safe, I should definitely wear my hair down.

Swiping a dab of foundation on my cheek, I blend it in, trying not to press too hard. The bruise is deep and will take a while to go away. Mom still has a wicked right hook, even dead drunk.

I shake away the growing pity party. It's a waste of time to feel sorry for myself. I'm like Mom in that way because after she divorced Dad, it toughened her up. She never dwelled on the fact that he cheated on her and couldn't support us. She simply moved on and didn't talk about him. She can totally turn it off when she needs to and I admire that about her. I'm the only one who sees the internal wounds left behind.

I'm pretty sure a few of Mom's biggest scars came from a guy named Russ. She met him right after the divorce so technically he was the rebound guy. Mom had been waiting tables at a local dive while we were living in East Texas and unfortunately, he moved in with us after only a couple of weeks. Even at thirteen, I could tell he was an abusive alcoholic. But all Mom wanted to do was make him happy, so she started drinking with him. It worked for a while because he had a drinking buddy and free rent. I'm pretty sure he knew I saw through him, so he steered clear of me. When he became verbally and physically abusive towards her, it was as if Mom lost all self-worth. She was suddenly an insecure teenager who only liked the guy who treated her like shit.

Several times it got so bad Mom had to call the police, and if she didn't, the neighbors would. Russ ended up spending a night or two in jail but Mom would always take him back, never pressing charges to keep him away for good.

After his fifth arrest for assault, the cop at our door pulled Mom aside. I'll never forget watching his face change when he saw me sitting in the corner with my legs to my chest. A look of disgust washed over his features and then he turned back to Mom and said, "Lady, if you keep putting up with this, then you're the sick one." The blank stare on her face made me think he was just talking to deaf ears but for some reason-or miracle, I'm not quite sure-Mom finally listened to that cop. Thank goodness. I might've been next.

From that point on, I knew Mom kept her demons close, but now her tough, independent nature has been replaced with anger and doing almost anything, like finding drinking buddies at work or taking extra shifts, not to feel alone. Even keeping me around. She clearly doesn't want me anymore but I guess someone is better than no one.

I take one more look at myself in the mirror before heading out, satisfied with how well I've concealed the mark of drunken fury. Thankfully she's still in her room, but I know she's awake. Smoke is beginning to cloud up the entire house even though her door is closed. I don't dare disturb her so I shut the front door as quietly as humanly possible. I almost don't need an alarm clock when I've got a smoke reeking up the place. She's one step away from setting off the smoke detector.

The second I step outside the humidity hits me like a brick wall and I wonder why I even bothered doing my hair. It's September, how the hell can it be this cool yet be so freaking humid at the same time?

Frustrated, I gather it to one side, accidently touching the bruise on my cheek and catching whiff of my sleeve. The cigarette smell isn't as strong as the apartment, but it's still there. Reaching into my backpack, I duck behind a parked car and look both ways. No one's around so I pull out a small bottle of watered down peach body spray I keep with me when I can find it on sale at the store. Taking one more look both ways I douse myself, practically using half of the bottle before slipping it back in a side pocket.

At least today I won't smell like an ashtray.

**

I'm about a block away from the house, the strange and amazing place where I lost hours of my life, my mind on overdrive as I try to think of every possible scenario that could explain how I blacked out. My thoughts are interrupted by blaring music from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see a silver Porsche passing to my right. I turn and lock eyes with Brad Davis. The Porsche suddenly screeches to a halt and backs up next to me.

I stop where I am and watch his lips curl up as his window slides down. He's about to say something when a truck comes within inches of slamming into him. Brad looks in his rearview mirror, waving as the truck swerves around and honks, leaving a trail of smoky skid marks. Laughter and a middle finger shoot out from the driver's side as Brad shoots one back, grinning the entire time.

Apparently they know each other.

Without skipping a beat, his eyes are back on me. "Hey, you. Need a ride?" he asks, raising one eyebrow.

He's cute as hell.

I try to hold back my reaction, because God help me, he looks exceptionally good this morning. My mind is racing on what to do next. I turn my head and contemplate for a second, remembering the house of euphoria literally steps away. I left the apartment early so I could look around a little more, maybe check if there's some kind of gas leak. But when I glance back again, his sexy brown eyes and two-day-old stubble make him hard to resist. I like what I see and hate myself for it.

"Yeah, sure." I smile back, cursing myself for bending my own rules. I'm not here to make friends-or anything else.

Brad immediately jumps out of the car, following me over to the passenger side. He waits until I'm close then opens my door and I slip in. When I look up, he's leaning forward, smiling down at me.

"You look really nice."

"Yeah?" I smile and roll my eyes. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Nope, just the pretty ones." He winks and shuts the door.

I fasten my seatbelt, my eyes following his stride as he walks over to his side. He seems to have the confidence of a way older guy and his gray t-shirt and tight Levi's accentuate how good he must look underneath. I can tell he's got some hair on his chest, too. Most girls don't like that, but I'm a sucker for it.

Damn him.

He opens his door and glides in like a professional NASCAR driver, starting the engine with an efficient flick of the wrist. I try to hide the fact that I'm checking out his hands, his arms, his neck, even his lips. Everything about him is making me question why I made those stupid no boyfriend rules. I can't deny he's got my attention.

"I could have walked the four extra blocks," I say, trying to act nonchalant as I place my backpack on the floorboard.

His hand pushes the stick shift into first gear and he looks me square in the eyes. "Not if I'm around."

Suddenly I'm a ball of nerves and realize I probably like him more than I want to admit. But I'm also beating myself up for it. I know it's not a good idea to date and it never will be as long as my home life is a mess. I try not to let the tension show on my face even though my heart is racing.

Brad makes a left into the "seniors only" parking before shutting off the engine. He looks down, as if contemplating something, then looks over at me.

"We've got a little time. Wanna talk?"