Chapter 3
"Emily Reed, I need to ask you for a favor," I said.
Standing in front of her, I thought the word 'beg' felt painfully awkward.
The second Emily saw me, she instinctively stepped back,
"Who asks for a favor while holding a broom? Claire Evans, if you knock out one more of my teeth, I won't even be able to eat," Emily cried.
Fair point. The tooth I knocked out yesterday had been her front tooth.
When I saw the fear in her eyes, I tossed the broom to the ground.
"You're on cleaning duty today. I just wanted to help, that's all," I said.
"Help? With you? No thanks. What if I say the floor's still dirty and you beat me up again?" Emily said.
Emily looked me up and down, then held up 33 dollars bill,
"33 dollars. Who'll do my cleaning duty for me?" Emily called out.
Someone snatched the money right away, along with the broom from my hand.
"All right, say it. What favor do you want from me?" Emily said.
Emily crossed her arms, planted one foot on a chair, and looked down at me.
"Those videos from yesterday, and all the articles. I want you to help get the media to take them down," I said.
I took a deep breath and did my best to sound like I was actually asking.
Emily let out a mocking laugh, but before she could say anything, she swallowed the words and frowned at me.
"What happened to your arm?" Emily asked.
I froze for a second, then realized I hadn't treated the burn. I tugged my sleeve down.
"None of your business. Just tell me if you'll help," I said.
"I will. But first, go get that wound treated at the nurse's office. Looking at it is making me sick," Emily said.
Emily blew a bubble with her gum, then walked past me with a look of total disgust.
"You're petty as hell every day. I didn't even do it on purpose," Emily muttered.
I paused and watched her leave.
The news online got taken down, but Mom showing up had already drawn plenty of attention. She'd been exposed to the public all the same.
I noticed she wanted to go outside even less than before.
I picked up a part-time job. That night, carrying packed-up leftovers, I walked through the front door.
The place was dark as always. She didn't dare turn on the light. The second she heard me come in, she screamed in terror.
"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" Mom screamed.
"Mom, it's me," I said.
I ran over and hugged her, but she bit down on my arm hard. I sucked in a sharp breath and waited until she'd had enough before she let go.
By then, the blistered skin on my arm was nearly torn off. Good thing I hadn't had time to put any ointment on it.
I let out a breath of relief.
"Mom, I brought you a drumstick today," I said.
I was honestly lucky the customer hadn't finished it.
"Why does everyone want to hurt me? Everyone does... I just want to stay alive. Is that really so hard?" Mom murmured.
She looked at me. I didn't know what to say, so in the end I just dropped to my knees and mouthed silently,
"I'm sorry..." I mouthed silently.
"Claire Evans," Mom said.
She said my name. I knew she was clear-headed this time.
I held my breath.
Even if she cursed me out, I'd take it.
"Leave," Mom said.
She said it flatly.
I froze.
"What?" I asked.
"I said leave! Can't you see it? My life only turned into this because of you! I'm begging you, go! Once you're gone, I'll finally be free," Mom shouted.
She screamed until her voice broke.
Mom got too worked up, and to keep her from losing control, I was forced out.
Walking down the street, I was shivering from the cold.
When I was eight, I hurt myself all over just to get her to notice me.
She tossed me a packet of medicine and said,
"Don't die," Mom used to say.
When I was ten, I chased a man who cursed her out for ten blocks on my bike, followed him into an alley without surveillance cameras, hit him in the head with a brick, and ran.
I asked her if I was awesome.
She just looked at me and said,
"You're insane," Mom said.
"Do you love me?" I asked.
"...Yes," Mom answered.
"Do you hate me?" I asked.
Her fingers jerked hard. She looked at me and said,
"Yes," Mom said.
I never knew whether she loved me or hated me. Other mothers would panic if their kid so much as tripped and fell.
But Ms. Evans was never like that.
It was almost like I wasn't really her daughter.
I sniffed and looked up just in time to see a drunk Emily Reed being helped outside by a man.