Tortured by Kate Givans

Author:Kate Givans [Givans, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-07-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I shot straight up on the couch and looked around the apartment. The light filtering in through the vinyl blinds told me it was daytime, but it didn’t explain my sudden alertness. A few seconds passed, and I began to think that maybe I’d just had another one of my nightmares. Then the pounding came. Someone was at my door. No one ever showed up that early.

Well, almost no one.

Unless she’d snuck out in the middle of the night, I had a girl in my bed, and my apartment was still a bit of a mess. The last thing I needed at that moment was my mother showing up. But apparently, the universe didn’t give a shit about what I did or didn’t need.

Another set of rapping at the door came as I flipped on the light switch. “Just a damn minute,” I mumbled, running my hand through the mess of tangles on my head as I staggered to the door.

I’d barely even opened it before my mother ascended into the mouth of my apartment, blinding me with all her morning-person glory. But as she stood there, taking in the sorry state of my apartment, her cheery smile and shiny, bubbly air evaporated.

“I know it looks bad, Mom. I promise, I’m okay. I’ve just been busy,” I said, trying not to grimace under her open mouthed stare.

My mother’s perfectly painted lips opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. No doubt, she was trying to find the right words to say. I figured she didn’t want to chastise me—after all, I had been going to work and school, faithfully. I hadn’t missed a single appointment with Dr. Parker either.

Finally, she released one long, drawn-out breath. “I know. School, work, therapy. I get it. But honey, this is . . .” She swept her gaze back over the mess.

“Bad, I know. I did clean some the other day, but I didn’t have the chance finish because I had to do laundry. I promise, I was already planning on finishing it today.”

“Do you want some help?” Mom went to set her purse down on the counter, but after eyeing it suspiciously, she hoisted it back up on her shoulder.

“Mom, I’m not a child anymore,” I said, clearing dishes from the counter she’d just inspected, piling them in the already overflowing sink. “I don’t need you to wash my undies. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.”

“You sure? You know I don’t mind.”

She honestly didn’t. My mom lived to clean and cleaned to live. A clean home is a Godly home, or some shit like that. Not that God and I had been on speaking terms lately.

“Nah, I got it.”

Mom gave me a quick nod before making a beeline for my fridge. I cringed when she opened it. I couldn’t see her face, but I could just imagine her expression.

“You don’t have any food!”

Scratching the back of my neck, I cleared the morning frog out of my throat. “Yeah .

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