Chapter 3
Then Brett opened the closet, grabbed some fresh sheets and a pillowcase, and started changing them out.
With his back to me, he said, "You'll be sleeping in this room from now on."
My palms started sweating even more.
This place only had two bedrooms. Where was he supposed to sleep, then?
Then I caught myself. Why did I even care?
If he wanted to play the hero, where he crashed was none of my business.
At dinner, Gloria kept ranting.
She said, "You think a con artist like her could have a decent kid?"
"She's probably trouble already. Aren't you afraid she'll steal from you?"
My hand shook so hard I nearly dropped my fork.
I could still feel that bracelet sitting in my pocket, making me nervous as hell.
Brett gave his mom a sideways, indifferent glance.
"Seriously, is there anything in this place worth stealing?" he said.
Gloria slammed her fork down on the table, fuming.
She said, "You've got some nerve.
"If your dad just let a little money slip through his fingers, we'd be rolling in cash.
"You think you're some kind of prince or something?
"Too proud to even ask him for help, huh?"
I immediately perked up.
I straightened up, holding my breath, hoping to catch something useful.
Brett's expression turned icy.
"Why don't you go ask him yourself?" he shot back.
Gloria's face froze, and she exploded with rage.
"Look at me now. If he saw me like this, wouldn't he feel sorry for me?" she snapped.
Brett scoffed.
He said, "Don't kid yourself.
"Even after the divorce, you had me just to try and win him back.
"It's been years. Wake up already."
As he spoke, he ladled out a bowl of soup for me.
He set it down in front of me, his voice softening.
"Don't worry. Just eat," he said.
Gloria slammed her hand on the table, her face flushing bright red.
She said, "You think I'm dreaming?
"He came to Riverdale at the start of last month. Didn't he give you any money?
"I haven't even called you out on that yet.
"You handed all that cash over to that woman, didn't you? How much did you give her?"
Brett hung his head.
The light threw heavy shadows over his face, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Noticing I hadn't touched my food, Brett quietly added some food to my plate.
After a long silence, Brett said coldly, "He didn't give me anything."
Gloria was practically foaming at the mouth.
She snapped, "Bullshit!
"I saw it with my own eyes. He slipped that bank card right into your pocket.
"You're completely bewitched by that woman."
She was fuming, practically shaking with rage.
She whipped around at me, like she'd finally found her punching bag.
She grabbed the bowl of soup from right beside me and hurled it down at my feet.
She said, "Go on, eat!
"You actually have the guts to eat?
"Your mom's dead, but you must know where that card is..."
The pants I was wearing were ones I found earlier this year.
They were so short that whenever I sat down, my ankles were showing.
Some of the hot soup splashed onto my feet.
It hurt a bit, but honestly, it didn't really bother me.
Back when my mom got wasted, she'd stumble over to me in the middle of the night.
She'd pour boiling water on my hands and neck so many times, I lost count.
But Brett shot to his feet, his face darkening.
"Mom, that's way out of line," he snapped.
Gloria totally lost it, grabbing my shirt and demanding answers.
She barked, "Is it in your pocket?
"Spit it out. Where is it?"
Her hand brushed against the bracelet through the fabric of my clothes.
Her eyes went wide with greedy excitement.
She said, "Wait, what's this?
"Is that the card?"
Brett shoved Gloria's hand away and yanked me to my feet.
His face was grim as he dragged me into the bedroom, then straight into the bathroom.
He turned on the faucet, and cold water gushed out, splashing onto the floor.
Brett crouched down, looking grim, and rolled up my pant leg to check the burn.
He finally let out a breath.
He said, "It's nothing serious.
"Take off your shoes and socks, rinse it with cold water, and then I'll put some ointment on."
I stood there, feeling super awkward.
Back when my mom used to burn me with hot water, it happened all the time.
Sometimes, the burns on my shoulders and arms were so bad, the skin would crack and bleed.
When I got mad, I'd throw the boiling water right back at her.
She'd curse me out with the nastiest words, then leave me all alone at home.
No one ever took me to the hospital, and no one ever helped me with the burns.
Sometimes, in the summer, the wounds would get all gross and infected, and I'd be hurting for weeks.
But after a while, I just kind of got used to it.
In the end, I was left with plenty of scars, but eventually, they all healed over.
I glanced down and saw Brett quietly taking off my shoes and socks.
I stood on the non-slip mat, cold water running over my calves and ankles.
The water was freezing, and in winter, it felt pretty miserable.
But right then, something strange washed over me.
For a moment, the water felt almost warm.
It was so weird. Even though the water was ice-cold, it somehow felt warm to me.
I dropped my gaze and saw the top of Brett's head, and that weird feeling got even stronger.
I didn't know where to look.
I tilted my head up, staring at the yellowed ceiling and the dim light overhead.
Then I looked out the window, where the moonlight was pale and lonely.
Brett leaned in close and spoke quietly by my ear.
His voice sounded kind of off.
He sounded distant, but there was a softness underneath it.
He said, "Just hang in there for a bit.
"For burns, you gotta rinse with cold water. Ten minutes, and you'll be fine.
"Seriously, why didn't you even try to dodge?
"You're way too well-behaved; you never even get pissed off. Totally not like your mom at all."