CHAPTER 157

MOONA POV

I don’t know why I’m being like this. I don’t know why I’m pushing him away as soon as he’s walked through the fucking door, but bitchy Moona is running the show and I can’t stop myself talking shit at him.

 I feel a weird satisfaction in the way he looks so confused. Hurt. He looks hurt, and that’s satisfying too.

      I don’t know why I want him to think I’m a lazy useless bitch. I only put the TV on when I saw his car pull into the street and I don’t even watch this shitty show. I don’t know why I used a different plate for every sandwich and left them piled up around me for maximum mess. 

I don’t know why I’m being such a terrible cow to a man who’s only ever tried to help me.

      Because he doesn’t want me.

      Because he doesn’t love me.

      Because he’ll never love me.

The urge to give him the finger and tell him to fuck off out of my life is strong. I feel it twisting in my belly, the urge to make him leave me and get this over with.

      I could scream in his face that he’s a useless prick who probably can’t keep it up, but I’m not sure that would do it. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but they won’t come out.

      He sighs at me and turns his back, and that’s when I feel the rage build up. He’s heading to the kitchen with an announcement that he’s going to make coffee when I spring to my feet and follow him into the hall.

      “Did you tell those stupid cunts you found me?! Did you?!”

      He turns on the spot and raises an eyebrow. “I assume you’re referring to Amie and Nick?”

  I fold my arms. “Yeah, those cunts.”

I both hate and love the way he shakes his head. There’s an anger in his eyes, but he hides it well. “Enough of the language.”

My laugh is my bitchiest one. “Enough of the language,” I parrot. “Do you think you’re my fucking dad or something? Do you want to be my fucking daddy, Brian?”

      He takes a step toward me and my skin tickles. “Stop it, Moona.”

 “Or what?” I goad. “Is Daddy gonna spank me?” I’m cackling as I spin to present my ass, giving myself a decent slap as he approaches. “Oh yeah, spank me, Daddy. Teach me a lesson.”

      I’ve gone too far and I know it. My heart drops as I register I’m losing him, but I can’t take it back. I don’t know how.

He looks at his watch, his mouth a tight line. “Well, as long as you’re settled in here, Moona, I’ll make my way home for a while. I’ll get onto the agencies in the morning for appointments in the afternoon, if that’s what you’d like? Do you want to be out of here? What do you want, Moona?”

      You.

      I want you to love me.

I want you to tell me to stop being a prissy little bitch because it won’t make any difference, you’ll still love me.

I shrug. “Whatever. This place will do until I find somewhere better.”

     

“You want me to help you find a place of your own, yes?”

His eyes are so angry but so genuine. He’s trying to understand the impossible.

When I was in one of my first foster homes they took me and this other kid to choose new beds. They chose the beds, but we could choose the headboards. The other kid was excited, and said she wanted a bright blue one to match the flowers on our wallpaper. I wanted a blue one too, but I was jealous. Jealous of the way the other kid seemed part of the family already when I didn’t feel like anything at all.

      So I told them I didn’t want a shitty blue one, even though I did. I told them I wanted a bright red one that didn’t match at all. I loved how shocked they were, I loved how they couldn’t hide their disappointment that I was going to wreck their perfect colour scheme.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t want a blue one?’ they’d said. ‘You said blue was your favourite.’

      I wished I could tell them yes, I do really want a blue one, but I couldn’t. Not even right to the end when they smiled and shrugged and got me the stupid red one.

      I hated that day.

      I was mean all the way home because I was jealous and upset, even though it was my own dumbass decision. 

I hated that red headboard when it arrived, but I hated the blue one even more.

      That’s why I drew on it in marker pen and pretended it was an accident. That’s why I kicked it as hard as I could until the studs came out of it and the shitty thing fell apart.

      And it’s like that now.

      I’m telling him I want to leave here when it’s the very last thing I want to do. 

I’m trying to make him think I don’t give a shit for his help, when it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

      “Do you want me to go?” he asks, and his eyes are still trying to read me.

      I force my eyes to burn into his. “Not bothered either way.”

      “Okay,” he says, and I want to die inside. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Use the landline and call my mobile if you need anything.” He hands me a business card and I toss it on the side as though it means nothing.

      “I’ll be fine.”

      “Good,” he says. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

      But I’m not.

      I’m feeling fucking awful and it’s all my own fault.

I stand in the hallway with my arms folded when he leaves. I won’t even look at him, not even when he pauses in the doorway.

 I hate the slam of the door behind him. I hate the sound of his car starting up.

      I hate the way I leave it too late to run after him and his car is already turning the corner.

      I hate… me.