Playing for Keeps (The Game #2)(30)
Author: Emma Hart

Dirty little son of a bitch. Fuckin’ runt. You piece of shit.

“They showed it whenever she went out to earn money – when she went to sell her body to some rich prick to fund the drug habit for herself and whichever poor bastard she was f**king at the time. That’s when it would start.”

“Mommy,” I had whimpered, cowering in the corner of the kitchen and hugging the smelly rabbit to my body. He leaned over me – I didn’t know his name. I never knew their names. They were never there long enough for me to know them.

“Your mommy can’t hear you,” he mocked. “She’s busy being a whore to get me the good shit. She’s good at that.”

“I want my mommy.” I pushed back further into the corner, the cable jack cutting into the bare skin on my back. Tears formed in my eyes and I curled up tighter, scared of the big man in front of me. The smell of alcohol on his breath fell over me and I covered my nose and hid my face.

It was pointless. I knew, even then, that he wouldn’t touch my face. They never did.

“Face hits were too obvious. A bruise on the back? On the legs? Even the stomach. They were safer for them. They weren’t questioned, and when they were, it was the same answer.”

“Oh, that?” Mom had gently stroked my back, her eyes steady on the social worker’s. “We went to the park a few days ago and the silly boy thought he could swing off the big monkey bars. I turned away for a second – a friend called me over – then he was on his back on the floor. He’s got no sense of danger. I’ve tried to explain, but he is only four. We came home and cleaned it up good, though. Didn’t we, little dude?”

Her blue-gray eyes found mine, a spark of fear in them. I nodded.

“Mommy made it all better.”

“I fell off the table. I tripped on a crack on the sidewalk. I slipped on the stairs outside the apartment. There was always an excuse. Never a hospital visit. Always my fault. Never theirs.”

The glass had hit the wall hard enough that it shattered. I screamed, slipping on a wet patch on the floor as I tried to escape to my room for an extra second of relief. I fell to my knees, fear pulsing through my body. I sobbed, cried, whimpered. I gulped desperately at air, my throat tight. I pulled myself along the floor, scrambling to escape the angry shadow approaching me.

The glass cut right through my palm, and I screamed again. Blood mixed with the clear alcohol on the floor, swirling in patterns, and someone banged on the door.

“Fucking nosey bastards,” the man grumbled, picking me up. I fought against his hold, and he lowered his mouth to my ear. “Don’t f**kin’ fight me, rat, or you’ll have my belt across your back.” I stilled. “Good boy.”

The door opened and the old woman across the hall was there with a worried look. “I heard a smash and a scream – is everything okay?”

“Fine. The boy knocked my glass off the side while I wasn’t in the room and tried cleaning it up – cut his hand a couple times. If you don’t mind, I need to clean him up.” He shut the door on his lies.

“Every time. She knew. She never cared enough. All she cared about was sticking another ounce of shit into her bloodstream or snorting another gram. All she gave a f**k about was the bottom of her glass.”

One day, maybe you’ll be useful and we can send you out to earn the money instead of your whore of a mother.

A fist. Another bruise.

That’s all she’s good for. Fucking. It’s all you’ll be good for one day.

A kick to the back.

No-one is ever gonna want you. Not when they find out how much of a f**king slut your mother is.

A bang of the head on a chair leg.

You’re only good for what she is. No-one will ever care about you.

“Stop,” a soft, pained voice whispers. Hands press tenderly against my cheeks, lips brush my forehead. “You can stop now.”

I open my eyes that must have closed while I was lost in my head. Megan’s blue eyes are brimming with tears.

“You can stop,” she repeats. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.” She strokes my cheek as a tear rolls down hers. “You’re safe.”

The fog begins to clear, the memories pushing back, and I see her clearly. The pain etched on her face is something I never want to see again. It’s something I put there. This is why I never wanted to tell her. This is why I never wanted to get this close to her.

“Don’t cry for me, baby.” I brush my thumb under her eye. “I’m not worth your tears.”

She nods. “You are. You’re worth every last tear in my body.”

“I’m not,” I argue, moving away from her. I shove off the bed and begin to pace the floor, the old words reopening the scars and reinforcing everything I’ve tried to push back. Reminding me of what I am. Reminding me of the worth of my life, of my body. “I’m not worth you. Don’t you get it? They were f**king right, Megs. I’m not worth anything. I’m too f**ked up. Everything they ever said – every time they told me I wasn’t worth shit, every time they told me no-one would ever want me–”

“They were wrong,” she says in a small but strong voice. “They were wrong. All of it. It was all lies.”

I press my hands against the wall and clench my jaw. “Nah. They were right. Every f**king one of them. I’m f**ked up. I’m broken, a bunch of mismatched pieces stuck together in a shit attempt at being fixed.”

The bed springs squeak and the floorboards creak. A soft hand touches my back, another wraps around my tightened bicep.

“They weren’t right. They were far from being right.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.” She wraps her hands around my arm and rests her head against me. She tightens her grip, resting the side of her face against my shoulder. “They were wrong, because I want you. I want all of you – even the broken parts and the mismatched parts.”

I find her eyes. “Why? Why? I can’t give you what you really want. I can’t give you sunshine and f**king rainbows. I can’t give you puppies and fluffy bunnies. I can’t give you the perfect you deserve.”

“I don’t want perfect, and if I want sunshine and rainbows, I’ll go to the local elementary school and visit the kindergarten class.”

I push off from the wall, her hands falling away. “It’ll always end up as sex. There’s nothing inside, baby. I’m f**king empty.”