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Chapter 2 (Lou-Lou)
I stretch my legs out across the park bench I'm currently sitting on and stifle a yawn.
Another twenty agonizing minutes later and my history assignment from hell is finally finished.
Deciding to get my high school diploma is probably one of the scariest decisions I've ever made. But I figured if I had any kind of shot of making it on my own, it was a step in the right direction.
With a sigh, I stuff my notebook in my backpack and make my way over to my car.
I try not to grimace as I slide in the seat and turn the key in the ignition.
It's not that I hate the vehicle. It's fine. I just hate that it was technically purchased with his money—but seeing as this town is rural as shit and both my job and the school I attend my night classes at are across the other side of town, it comes in handy.
Besides, as soon as I get my diploma and I'm able to pick up more hours at my job I'll sell it and give the money to charity.
Because I sure as hell don't need his money.
I don't need him. Period.
My chest squeezes because that's the biggest lie I've ever told myself.
But still—I have hope that one day when I wake up—I'll finally start to believe it.
Because he clearly feels that way about me.
Until then, I'll continue to be hopeful that maybe one fine day my stupid heart will get the memo and I'll be over him for good.
Muttering a curse, I shift the car into drive and peel out of the dirt parking lot.
The first two months I spent on my own were the hardest. Not only because of the obvious—I've never been on my own before—but for the simple fact that I've wanted to be dead for so long I didn't know what to do once I actually started living.
The truth is...freedom's not all it's cracked up to be.
My demon is dead...but the nightmares are still very much alive.
There are even moments when I can feel him. Looming over me, watching...just waiting for the right moment to strike.
Bruno DeLuca might be dead.
But he's still haunting me.
Just like his son.
She raises an eyebrow and appraises me. “I take it you're going there tonight?”
I look down at my outfit—a pair of black shorts which could probably pass for underwear—and a tiny white tank top with the words 'Show 'n Tail—A Gentlemen's Club' written in red.
And of course...a pair of cowboy boots.
“Nope,” I reply in a sugary sweet tone that I know a
No matter how many times I try to explain to this woman that I'm not stripping and I'm only waitressing there on the weekends because I need the money, she still gives me shit.
And the way her ebony eyes are narrowing and her lips are drawing into a tight line tells me today won't be any different, either.
“I don't understand why you insist on spending your time at that godforsaken place, sugar,” she chides, the disgust beyond apparent in her southern twang.
I roll my eyes and grab a granola bar from the cabinet. “Because they pay me to, Momma. You know...because it's my job and all.”
She throws her hands up. “But you don't need to work there.” She starts ticking things off with her fingers. “You have access to money, even though you refuse to use a dime of it. You're smart. You're going to school—“
“Momma,” I bite out, cutting her off. “First of all—you know why I won't use that money. And secondly—you know as well as I do that no one is going to hire a girl who only has a 10th grade education.”
She opens her mouth but I continue, “Yes, I'm working on getting my high school diploma...but I don't have it yet. No one is going to hire me until I do.” I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “This is the only thing I'm qualified for. Well, this or stripping.”
Momma's eyes go wide but I hold up a hand. “Which I already promised you I would never do.”
She looks like she wants to argue some more but to my surprise her expression softens. “Okay, sugar. But only until you get your diploma.”
I'm about to give her a smile but then she gives her head a shake and says, “I still think you should be using the money he gave you though.”
I roll my eyes as she continues. “Or just let me pay for your things. It's really no bother.”
That's when I do cut her off. “You do more than enough, Momma.” I have to control the emotion lodging itself in my throat. “I don't—I don't know if I would have been able to stand on my own without you these last two months.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she walks over to me. “You would have been just fine, sugar.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “But I'm happy you ended up here.”
I lift my chin and look her right in the eyes. “Me too, Momma.”
And I mean it, I know logically I would have found a way to keep trucking through life, but I don't think it would have been without making some dangerous choices along the way.
Me ending up in Alabama one day and ru
Of course, I resisted like hell at first when she suggested that I stay with her. Not only because I knew how much she didn't like me—but because I didn't want her telling Ricardo where I was.
Because he let me go.
And while I understand his reasons for doing so—and that little girl inside of me is incredibly thankful—I can't help but feel angry and bitter that he did it when I needed him the most.
And combined with my other reason for being angry with him—a reason I still haven't dealt with—it's akin to throwing more logs on the fireplace.
But none of that even compares to the feeling that settles in my chest when I think about the worst reason of all.
Not only did he not want me anymore...
He gave up...he stopped fighting for us.
Something he promised me he would never do.
So, while my mind understands all of his reasons for doing what he did and I'm grateful...it's my heart that resents him...because that damn heart of mine still loves him with every fucking fiber of my being.
Momma gives me a look and shifts her feet, appearing uncomfortable now. Since the woman tends to be as blunt as it gets, I know that whatever she's about to say isn't something I want to hear.
“My plane for New York leaves tomorrow,” she starts. “And I bought you a plane ticket too. I was hoping—“
“I'm not going back to New York,” I snap, hating that she would even suggest such a thing.
“Just hear me out,” she argues. “Jackson's trial is in a few weeks. He could use all the support he can get right now.”
I adjust my stance and stare her down. “Jackson hates me, remember?”
She rubs her hands on her apron and sighs. “He doesn't hate you, Lou-Lou. He doesn't know—“
“About the reasons he should pity me?” I scoff. “Well, I don't need or want his pity, Momma. I don't need or want anyone's pity.”
I turn around and start looking for my purse and keys so I can leave. “I wish Jackson the best and I truly hate that this is happening to him...but there's no way I'm ever going back to New York.”
Anxiety and nerves ripple through me as I utter my next statement. “And you promised me you wouldn't tell a soul that I was staying with you.” My voice becomes shaky. “That was one of the conditions you agreed to when it came to me staying here—”