The Baby Blue Bentley {Russell Westbrook}

Chapter XXXVI

"Why did you come see me? You know I don't want to see you," My mother brought her arms forward with an attitude, as two police officers brought her to the table where I was seated in the jail. I sipped on a styrofoam cup, anxiously waiting to speak with her. The two officers stood there, my mother looking back at them, and glared.

"Don't worry, I don't have anything on me that I could kill her with. Goodbye," She shooed them away. Hopefully, we would be able to get some privacy. But how much privacy would I be able to get with a prisoner? "What do you want? Coming back to tell me you made a mistake so soon?"

"Nope, not at all, because I know that I'm right," I leaned forward and began to tap my fingers against the wooden table. I took a deep breath. "Desiree had a miscarriage. She's still in the hospital." My mother blankly stared at me before bringing her fist down onto the table with a loud bang.

"Ma'am!" One of the police officers shouted to get her to stop.

She fell into a fit of tears, putting her head down onto the table and crying hysterically. She shook her head and picked her head back up. "That was going to be my first grandbaby. What happened?"

"I guess she was really stressed out with everything and doing way too much and the baby didn't like it," I explained, nodding my head.

"You did this to her," She whispered, shaking her head. Here we go. "You've killed two babies now. You're more of a murderer than I am." I looked anxiously to the security guards, but they weren't paying attention.

"I didn't do shit to her," I narrowed my eyes and took a deep breath in hopes I would lose my attitude. But, I couldn't. I was so sick of everything and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't do this anymore. "I know... I know that you may be spiritual. That you may have superstitions and believe that I'm some demon. But I'm not. Sorry that you may believe that, but it's bullshit. Period." I had finally stood up for myself and I wasn't backing down anytime soon. She stared at me, blankly. "I can't do this with you guys anymore and it sucks. Because you all, you all are my family. But you guys completely suck. Ass. You are in no way, shape or form supportive, you are not kind, you show no compassion, and you never have. Most importantly, you don't even love me. Your own daughter. Yet, you have the audacity to sit here and believe that I'm going to bail you out of prison for killing someone when you have never done shit for me. My whole fucking life. You may have Desiree fooled, but you damn well don't have me."

"Listen here, little girl," My mother leaned forward, as I heard the clink of her handcuffs bumping roughly against one another.

"I'm not a little girl, don't call me that," I argued back. "Don't call me a little girl. I was never your little girl, and I left the family as a little girl and moved hundreds of miles away."

"Oh, is that what we're doing right now? Having a pity party?" She asked with a chuckle, "Cry me a damn river, build a bridge and please, for Goodness sake, get the fuck over it. That happened twelve years ago. I barely remember what I ate for dinner last night... Oh, that's right. Moldy bread and cold, boiled broccoli. That's what I ate. I'm sure you had lobster, or a steak or maybe even pork loin... Am I right?" I had steak. "You don't get it, little girl. You make your life out to be some terrible goddamn sob story, but it isn't! Have you ever remembered a time where you were hungry? There are kids in this country that go to sleep hungry, you know that, right? You always had everything you ever needed. You lived in a huge house, went to one of the top private schools in the country, completely paid for your tuition at Yale. Yet... You believe that you had the worst childhood of them all." She shook her head and smiled, a tear rolling down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly.

"Money isn't everything," I said, shaking my head and giving her a soft smile. "And it's sad that you think I would've picked a education at Yale, and a big house and a fancy life over just being loved." I grabbed my purse, putting it over my shoulder and standing up, getting ready to walk towards the door. "And it's been twenty eight years and you still haven't realized it. That's what really sucks." I walked out of the prison room to hear my mother screaming my name, the sounds of her handcuffs hitting one another, but that still didn't stop me from walking right outside the prison doors. The metal doors slamming in unison.