𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 5

Chapter Five

Willow

The disastrous night was becoming okay, even after Beck made the remark about my ass. Then he joked about me going to the dark side, and the ominous words struck a deeply embedded nerve.

God, if he only knew how right he was, he wouldn't be here.

Guilt about my new job rose over my head, drowning me in shame, and I bolted from the car. As soon as I stepped foot into the apartment, though, I wished I never left Beck's car.

I wished I never had to.

"Holy shit! Look at my daughter, everyone!" my mom shouts the second she spots me standing in the trashed kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she's wearing nothing but a leather mini skirt and a red lacy bra as she stands in the middle of the room, twisting. "She's turning into a little slut!"

I glance down at my clothes and wince. Shit! I forgot I was wearing my uniform.

I tug on the bottom of the hoodie as eyes fixate on me. Most of the people in the room are men twice as old as me, but the age difference doesn't stop them from ogling me with their bloodshot eyes.

"Just like her mama!" a taller man with hairy as fuck arms shouts, fist-pumping the air.

They all laugh. Even my mom.

She continues laughing as she twirls and twirls around in the center of the messy kitchen. Empty whiskey and beer bottles cover the brown countertops, the linoleum floor is littered with cigarette butts, and pieces of broken glass are scattered across the table, from what I'm guessing used to be a crack pipe. Before I left for work, I cleaned the place spotless. Ten hours later, it looks like a crack house, and maybe it is. I really don't know anymore.

I want to run away, go back to Beck, and let him take me to his house, put me in his bed, and fall asleep in the peaceful bliss of comfort and quiet. But two things stop me: One, the promise I made to myself to stop relying on him so much. And two, I don't feel comfortable leaving my mom alone in this condition. When I was younger, I used to all the time, but now I'm older and better understand the severity of the situation.

Taking a measured breath, I squeeze past people, slapping hands away that brush against my ass, and push my way up to my mom.

"How much have you had to drink tonight?" I ask her loudly over the music.

She stops spinning, swaying tipsily from side to side. "Oh, I haven't had anything to drink tonight."

I watch her worriedly as she zigzags toward the fridge.

"Then what did you take?"

She shrugs, yanking the door open. "A few things ... Don't worry, though. I feel completely fine. Great, actually." She smiles at me to prove her point. The problem is, her point is lost in the droopiness of her eyes and how big her pupils are dilated.

"Maybe we should tell people to go home," I suggest. "It's really late, and the neighbors might make a complaint again."

She waves me off, ducking her head to look inside the fridge. "Those neighbors moved out, like, a month ago. And all I have to say is good riddance. They were ruining the unwritten rules of this apartment."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as someone moves up behind me. "What rules?"

"The keep your mouth shut rules." She grabs a beer from a six-pack in the fridge, which is pretty much the only thing in there. "Where the hell did all the food go? I thought you went grocery shopping."

"I did a few days ago." I shuffle forward as my personal space gets stolen away. "And there was way more food in there when I left for work."

"Well, you should probably go again because there really isn't much left." She closes the fridge and faces me, unscrewing the lid off the bottle. "Where do you work, anyway? And why are you dressed like that?"

"You mean like a slut?" I ask with bitterness, wrapping my arms around myself.

A drop of remorse emerges in her dazed eyes. "I'm sorry about that, sweetie. I was caught in the moment. I get that way sometimes."

When I was younger, I latched on to her apologies and the rare moments when she resembled the mother I had before my dad left. Now I understand that most of the time, she's either trying to butter me up because she wants something, or she's blazed out of her mind.

"It's fine," I lie, ramming my elbow into the guy behind me. He curses and calls me some not-so-nice names, but thankfully, backs off. Still, the confrontation makes me feel out of control and breathless, and not in the good kind of way, like when I sometimes look into Beck's eyes and feel like I'm spinning out of control. "But I still think maybe you should ask everyone to leave."

"Nah, the fun's just getting started." She downs a swig of the beer then steps toward me. "Don't worry. We probably won't stick around for very much longer. There's supposed to be live music down at the corner bar. We'll probably go check that out."

"Please don't drive," I plead. "Take the bus or walk, okay?"

"Of course." Her dismissive tone leads me to believe she's lying. And she already has a revoked license because of too many DUIs.