“Give me my keys,” her mother demanded, spit flying from her mouth.
Not even a hello. Apparently, her mother only cared about one thing, feeding her addiction. The harsh realization caused something in Gen to snap. “Hi, how was your day, Gen? Oh fine, thanks for asking, Mom.” Gen’s voice dripped sarcasm. “You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself, do you?”
Confusion washed over her mother’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you know you left your keys in the front door?”
Her mother paled. “I did?”
“How many pills have you had today, huh? And you’ve been drinking? What the hell, Mom?”
“What I do is my business! Give me my keys. Right now, Genny.” The stern look that used to work so well when Gen was a kid had little effect when worn by a mother who couldn’t even stand up straight she was so high.
“No. Go to bed, Mom. Sleep it off. You’re not driving anywhere tonight.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me that way,” her mother slurred. “I’m the parent here!”
“Then act like it!” Gen rushed into the kitchen and went straight for the prescription bottles, grabbing a handful of them off the counter. “How many doctors are you seeing now? There are four different names here. You have a problem, Mom. A serious fucking problem.”
“Don’t you curse at me. I take them for my back. You know that. I can’t help it if one doctor doesn’t prescribe me enough.”
“I should flush every last one of these pills down the toilet.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her mother’s voice rose to an ugly shrill.
“Try me.”
Her mother lunged and snatched the bottles away from Gen. They fell to the ground and scattered across the linoleum. Immediately, her mom dropped to the floor, frantically scurrying after her precious drugs.
The pathetic sight made Gen’s heart hurt. How had she gotten this bad?
“Mom, get up,” Gen pleaded as she reached down and pulled her mom to her feet.
Her mother jerked out of Gen’s grip and stumbled, catching her hip on the counter. “Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.”
Unshed tears constricted Gen’s throat. “You do need help, Mom. More help than I can give you. You need rehab or something.”
“Rehab? I’m not some filthy drug addict, Genny.”
“But you are addicted, aren’t you? You take them every day. Do you get sick when you don’t?”
Her mother turned away. One by one she placed the bottles back on the counter with the others. “You think you know so much. You sit in your shitty apartment, paint shitty pictures and work at a shitty job and you think that gives you the right to judge me?”
The words were a knife to Gen’s chest. They hurt so much she didn’t stop to think before she opened her mouth. “Daddy would
hate
what you’ve done to yourself.”
The slap came so fast Gen didn’t have time to react. Pain exploded across her mouth as the coppery taste of blood leaked from the inside of her lower lip. Glasses askew, she froze, too shocked to speak.
Her mother reached out for her. Gen backed away, shaking her head.
Guilt and fear clouded her mother’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry, Genny.”
Gen ran from the apartment, angry tears spilling down her cheeks. She slammed the door behind her and stood on the landing, a pained sob escaping before she could stop it. Her mother had never struck her. Not even when she was a child. That woman in there
was not
her mother.
Well, whoever she was, she could fend for herself from here on out. Drink and drug herself to death for all Gen cared. She was done with the whole goddamn mess. She wiped her eyes before righting her glasses. Thank god, the slap hadn’t been a little higher or her mom would have broken them. She couldn’t afford a new pair. It seemed petty to think of that now, but the diversion helped take away the emotional sting.
God, Chris was down there waiting for her. She tried to get a hold of herself before she had to face him. After a few deep breaths, she fingered her lip to assess the damage. Already swollen. Just great. A fat lip. That was the thanks she got for trying to help her mother. She shouldn’t have said what she had. Too late to take it back now. Maybe her mother needed to hear it. Maybe Gen was wrong to take care of her the way she had. There was a word for that, wasn’t there? Enabling. Had Gen been enabling her all along? Was this
her
fault?
She took the stairs two at a time, heading for Chris’ BMW. On impulse, she took a detour to her mother’s old car, tossed the keys into the console then locked it before slamming the door. There was no way in hell she was going to come back here tomorrow. She also couldn’t in good conscience leave the keys where her mother could get at them. She’d call her in the morning and tell her where they were. She had AAA. It would be an inconvenience, but oh well.
Gen climbed into Chris’ car, unable to look at him. She knew one glance at those caring blue eyes and she wouldn’t be able to control the tears. “Take me home, please.”
* * * * *
The run Brian had punished himself with that afternoon hadn’t had the cathartic effect he’d been hoping for. It was a shame he wasn’t seeing Genevieve tonight. After the day he’d had, the idea of taking some of his frustration out on her had definite appeal. Actually, maybe it was better she wasn’t coming over until tomorrow. Anger and sadism were not safe partners.
The sound of the front door opening and closing signaled Chris’ return. Brian hated to admit it, but he was looking forward to grilling Chris about his shopping trip with Genevieve. If he couldn’t have her at least he could hear about her day. Hopefully, it had been much better than his.
“Brian?” Chris called out.
“In the kitchen.”
The look on Chris’ face when he rounded the corner put Brian on immediate alert. “What’s wrong? Is Genevieve all right?”
“Define all right.”
Not in the mood for Chris’ cryptic games, he shot him a glare.
Chris rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Brian had never seen him so shaken. “Physically she’s okay. Well, other than the bloody lip she’s trying her best to hide.”
“What?” Brian asked, alarmed.
“She’s still in the car. She refuses to come inside. She’s upset I didn’t take her home, but under the circumstances I felt she shouldn’t be alone.”
“Wait. Start at the beginning. What happened? How in the hell did she get a bloody lip? I thought you were taking her shopping.”
“I did. We had a very pleasant day as a matter of fact. Until her mother called, that is. I’m not sure exactly what the problem was. I only heard Gen’s side of the conversation. From what I could gather, it was something about her mother’s keys. Gen wanted to stop by to diffuse the situation, I think. I don’t know. I didn’t press her about it. I just drove her over there. She asked me to wait in the car. I know, I know. Don’t give me that look. She was inside maybe fifteen minutes before she came flying out of the apartment in tears, trying to hide a bloody lip.”
“Jesus. And she’s still in the car?”
Chris gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes. She panicked when she realized I was bringing her here. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to leave her alone at her place.”
“You did the right thing,” Brian said as he headed to the foyer.
Chris put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him when he reached the door. “Brian, take it easy on her, okay?”
Angry, Brian narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t get testy,” Chris scolded. “I know how you can be. She’s angry and embarrassed. Whatever is going on with her mother, I think it must be pretty awful. Don’t push her too hard.”
Brian wanted to lash out at Chris. Tell him that he would handle his submissive the way he saw fit. But this wasn’t about Genevieve, the submissive. This was about caring for a girl who needed a friend right now. Brian shelved his ire and nodded. “I’ll be gentle.”
Chris smiled softly. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
The muggy night air was less than welcoming as Brian walked the few steps to Chris’ car. Genevieve looked so small in the passenger seat, shoulders slumped, hair covering her face. Slowly he opened the car door and crouched down next to her. She groaned irritably and turned away from him, curling into herself like a wounded animal.
“Genevieve,” he said softly, trying to get her to look at him.
“Go away.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Then send Chris out and tell him to take me home.”
“Can’t do that either.”
She huffed. “I have somewhere else I need to be. And anyway, Wednesday nights weren’t part of our agreement. Remember?”
“You’re not going to art class. You’re coming inside.” She yelped as he lifted her out of the car and cradled her to his chest. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Put me down!”
“When we get inside.”
She gave a defeated sigh as she buried her face against his shoulder.
He carried her upstairs to the master bathroom, set her down on the counter then flicked on the lights. She refused to look at him, hiding her face behind her hands. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he was about to see. Gently, he pried her hands away and gritted his teeth. The left side of her bottom lip was swollen and crusted with blood. It took everything he had to remain calm. That someone would strike Genevieve this way made him more furious than he could articulate.
He wanted to demand she tell him exactly what had happened. He wanted answers and he wanted them now, but he kept quiet. Interrogating her would only push her further into her shell. Chris was right. Brian needed to take it easy on her.
Once he had a handle on his anger, he examined her for other injuries. Thank god she didn’t appear to have any. “Let’s clean you up,” he said, reaching into the lower cabinet for the first-aid kit.
For the first time since she’d arrived, she looked at him. His chest tightened at the raw pain shimmering in her eyes. She held his gaze only for a moment before she turned to the kit and dug out a package of gauze.
“I can do it.”
He closed his hand over hers, holding it for a moment before plucking the gauze away. He tore open the packet then wet the little square with antiseptic. “Stop being so stubborn and let me take care of you.”
“Just don’t.” She shifted away from him.
With the tips of his fingers he gently turned her face toward his then gently removed her glasses. “You know,” he said, carefully wiping the dried blood away, “you don’t have to fight me on everything. I’m trying to help you.”
“It’s a fat lip, Brian. Not a big deal.”
He tossed the dirty gauze in the trash. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now let me see how bad it is.”
With a sigh, she tilted her chin, allowing him to examine her. There was a small tear on the inside of her lower lip where one of her teeth must have pierced the tender flesh. The skin on the area surrounding her mouth was pink with inflammation. Obviously, someone had hit her. And that bothered him beyond belief. He had the violent urge to track down the person who had done to his Genevieve.
Perfect idea. Make the situation worse.
“It’ll be a little sore, I’m sure, but it’ll heal. How about the parts I can’t see?” he asked as he tenderly stroked her hair.
“Don’t do this, Brian,” she whispered. “Not now. Not when my defenses are down.”