Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 32
the lamb
auburn hair walks through the doors of Old Soul Cafe, and a heavy feeling settles through my body like someone just dumped a pack of lead weights down my throat. I know it's her before she lifts her face to scan the counter, searching for me.
My mother.
The same dreadful feeling that always follows seeing her snakes down to my back, skittering across my legs like a million tiny spiders. Her dark eyes lock on mine, and I'm frozen to my spot. I should have run the moment I realized it was her. But there's no use. She'll always find me because there's too many people she's collected pity from over how I've treated her in the past year to keep my life a secret from her.
Too many people who don't know the truth about what she did that night.
Keeping me locked in her predatory gaze, she walks toward the counter with slow, careful steps. As always, she's playing the part of the wounded mother to a T. Pretending to be cautious about approaching me like I'm some sort of rabid animal, though the hardness in her stare paints a different story.
“Jovie,” she greets, stopping a few feet in front of the counter.
It's a slow Monday morning at the cafe. Not many people have filtered in for their morning brew, and only one person is working away on their laptop at a faraway table. Unlike with Gabe, I can't shrug her off with the excuse of being too busy.
“How can I help you?” I refuse to greet her in a casual way. To call her Mom or pretend she holds any value in my life.
It's the kindest way I can force her to get to the point, and then get her out of here.
“I tried calling,” she begins softly.
I can tell by the fullness in her cheeks and the color all over her body that she's in a sober stint. Probably going through rehab for the umpteenth time and is looking to complete one of her steps.
I've been burned enough times in the past with false hope to believe this time will be any different than the last. That this one will stick.
Still, the little girl inside of me wants to believe there's a chance. But I shove her down and force myself to remember what the woman standing before me did for a handful of drugs. The way she betrayed me—almost killed me. And ruined my life.
“Halen gave me your number. I had to beg her for it,” she goes on, cracking a small smile the way she always does when Halen comes up—her golden child who can do no wrong.
I know she's been calling. I've been ignoring every single one, deleting the messages before even listening to them. There's nothing she can say that will justify what she's done to me. The biggest favor I can offer her is to stay silent about it, and even that is killing me. Especially when people like Halen and Kennedy try to pressure me into forgiving her.
“There's nothing for us to speak about,” I tell her, my voice cold.
With another tentative step forward, she places her hand across her chest. “That's not true. I have a lot to explain, and so much to apologize for.”
“I'm not interested in any of it.”
Tilting her head, she closes the distance between herself and the counter, resting her palms on the weathered wood between us. “Come on, Jovie. I'm your mother and–”
“Exactly,” I hiss, cutting off whatever guilt trip she was about to send me on. “You're my mother, and you did the unspeakable. There's no turning back from that.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I raise my brows at her, waiting for whatever rebuttal she can draw up.
“Then, I guess I just have to come right out and ask…”
There it is. She didn't come to make amends or apologize. She never does. The only reason she's standing before me is because she wants something.
My inner child shrinks away, disappointed by her yet again.
When I don't respond, she shifts her weight uncomfortably, pretending this is difficult to do. It's not difficult. She has no problem taking from me, she just knows that she's supposed to act a certain way to get what she wants. To feign humility.
“I've run into a little road block and I could use some help…” she begins, and I don't even have to listen any more to know she wants money from me.
“How much do you need?” I cut in, straight to the point.
Glancing down at her hands, she mumbles into her chest, “Two grand.”
My eyes widen.
Two grand?That's my entire savings account. Every single dime I've scraped together in the past few months and managed to set aside to get myself out of the pits of poverty.
And she has the fucking nerve to ask me to hand it all over.
“That's a crazy amount,” I admonish.
“Well, I really need five, but Halen is helping me with some, and I've managed to save some money from working at The Shamrock. I can't work anymore, though. With my condition, it's just not feasible.”
The Shamrock is the same gentleman's club I bartended at when we lived with Gabe. I was always adamantly against getting on the stage and dancing, opting instead to swallow my pride enough to wear the skimpy outfits and stay behind the bar, where no one could touch me—though they always did. My mother never had any issues with using her looks to rake in tips—among other things. Her job as a dancer is what kept her locked into her addictions for so long. Gabe never understood why I wouldn't just join her to make ends meet. It was a toxic environment filled with broken souls and shattered dreams.
If she was working there, it's only a matter of time before her vices suck her back in. Not to mention, she was probably making double what I make in one day. Where is that money going? And what condition could force her to stop?
I don't voice my doubts to her, though. She doesn't owe me any explanation for how she lives her life, and I don't really give a shit either way. I just want her gone, and if draining my savings account is how I get rid of her, then maybe I'll have to do it.
I’ve been dragging my feet about putting in my two-week notice at any of my jobs. When I first received my offer at Lancaster Tech, I wanted to call each and every one of my bosses right then and there to quit. Thankfully, I waited, because the realization that I only received the offer because of my mystery man’s obsession with me has cast my good news into a much darker light. Although, taking the job at Lancaster Tech is feeling more necessary than ever. It seems like I'm going to be forced to work for my stalker, whether I like it or not.
“Five grand? What the hell did you do?” I breathe out, exasperated. My entire future is slipping through my fingers again, all because of my mother's mistakes.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after everything that’s happened between us. But I’ve exhausted all my other options. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t life and death.”
Life and death.For God’s sake, who the hell is she mixed up with?
We stare at one another in a stony, tense silence where she allows her mask to slip the slightest amount, and accidentally reveals the greedy monster she really is. The way she speaks, it's like she had no control over the situation. It's easier for her to act as if this all just happens to her instead of taking ownership of her shitty life decisions. Decisions she'll continue to make so long as she knows we'll be here to bail her out every time.
I don’t want to help her, but she always manages to say the perfect things to manipulate me into doing what she wants. I may not want anything to do with my mother, but that doesn’t mean I’ll leave her for dead, especially if I can help it.
It’s only two grand. I've managed to save it up once; I’m sure I can do it again.
In half the time, if I accept the position that Bash is offering.
“I’ll need a couple days to get things together,” I relent, breaking our stare-off when the door opens and a customer walks through.
My mother’s face breaks into a wide, triumphant smile. She won. Again. And I can't help but feel like I’ve just been scammed in some way. Maybe next time, I’ll be more successful in shutting her out.
“Thank you so much, Jo Jo. I truly don’t deserve you,” she gushes, locking her fingers together beneath her chin.
For once, I agree. Her eyes begin to water in a dramatic show of gratitude, and I look away before she gets the satisfaction of having me as an audience to her performance. When the man stops at the opposite end of the counter busies himself with one of our menus, I lean in closer to my mom so I won’t be overheard.
“I’ll help you this time, but only under one condition: You have to stay away from me after this. No phone calls, no random pop-ins, nothing.”
Her shoulders fall forward, brows immediately tugging together in a frown. “Come on, Jo. We can get past this,” she tries to say, but I’m immediately shaking my head and holding my hand up to stop her.
“No, we can’t. After I get this money to you, you have to leave me alone.”
Jutting her lip out, she slowly nods, accepting my terms without a fight. She should be in jail for what she’s done. Peace and privacy are the bare minimum she could offer me, regardless of how sad it might make her right now. I shouldn’t be guilted for trying to move on from what she did to me in the healthiest way possible.
Without asking if she wants to order a drink, I turn away and walk to the other side of the counter to help my customer, watching as my mother drags her feet across the cafe and out the door.
It may not feel like it right now, but I’m doing the right thing. Even if it goes against everything I’ve been conditioned to do for her. All the training I've had to protect and serve her.
One day, I’ll be grateful for cutting her off.
I hope.