that answer your fucking question, you ugly little brat?”
The insult bounces off of me. She can hate me all she wants. I have people who love me, so guess what? The worst the world has to throw at me means nothing. Her ugly words can’t take away the satisfaction of knowing that I’ve got the one thing I’ve always dreamed of: acceptance. A place to belong.
“Why did you want to get away from them?” I continue, realizing that this is literally the longest conversation we’ve had in years. How sad is that? Maybe Pamela would’ve seen something to like in me or Penelope or Heather if she’d bothered spending time with us?
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Pam sneers, looking away from me toward one of the guards, like she might ask to be taken back to her cell. My turn to slam both palms on the surface of the table. My turn to get a look from one of the guards.
I keep my eyes on my mother.
“Do you think I’m fucking kidding you?” I whisper, leaning in. Our eyes meet. “You know that we killed Neil, don’t you? You know that we buried that monster alive in a satin-lined coffin which was a far nicer end to his life than he deserved.”
Pamela’s eyes blaze with fury—especially because this isn’t news to her. She knows all about Neil’s death, his burial, the fact that the oxygen tank found in the coffin with him came from one of the nursing homes she moonlights at.
My mother leans forward, looking me dead in the face.
“Of all my children, you were always the worst. There were moments, early on, with Penelope where I thought I could be happy. But you? You were the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” Pam leans back after delivering what she thinks is a fatal blow crafted of words and pain. It hits me and slides right off like nothing.
“This is your absolute last chance to answer my questions,” I continue, proud of myself for keeping my breathing even and steady. “You know what happened to Neil. If you think being inside these walls keeps you safe, then you’re even more of a fool than I pegged you for years ago. Why did you want to get away from your parents?”
“I’m not giving you my autobiography,” Pam snaps back, and I go to stand up.
If that’s her final answer then … well, I’ll use my new connections with Vera and Stacey’s girls to get what I need. I’ll have her fucking killed, and I’ll slash her name from my list with a lipstick color that reminds me of Penelope, and then I’ll probably cry for a while.
Throughout it all, I’ll have the Havoc Boys to fall into.
Even now, they’re waiting for me outside, piled on the roof or the hood of the Camaro, smoking, watching, waiting. Five boys in black with crude letters crafted of ink on their left hands, their hearts dark and obsessive, but poignant in their determination, in their love. Unfailing.
“Your grandfather was a drunk. He beat me and your grandmother. He used to fuck her, too, while she screamed. Does that answer your question?” Pam snaps as I lower myself back to the seat across from her. Those familiar green eyes of hers blaze with pain, but I can only sympathize so much. She is no longer just a victim; she is a perpetrator. There is no excuse for that. None at all. “I married your father because he was wealthy, and he wanted me. He wanted me so much that he divorced his wife of ten years.”
I stare at her and try to imagine her at my age, with one kid and another on the way.
“He was too old for you,” I say instead, but Pam just shrugs.
“He had money. He could take care of me.” She looks away for a moment, and I wonder if I don’t see some spark of emotion there. When she glances back however, there’s nothing. “The only man I ever loved was Neil, and you took him from me.”
“You let him rape your daughter,” I hiss back, but Pamela’s face shows me nothing. It occurs to me that sometimes people are just broken; struggling and clawing my way toward empathy does nothing, accomplishes nothing. “How long did you know about it?” I ask, and I can see in the casual shrug of her shoulders, it was a long time. “Did you know he was fucking a teenage girl named Kali Rose-Kennedy?