MC Sinners Boxed Set #1-7

~CHAPTER 8~ | PAST

~*CHAPTER 8*~

PAST

“ A ddison, baby, you’re killing me.”

I smile up at Billy. He reaches over, takes my hair in his fingers and twirls it. We’re driving, and for the first time in years, I feel completely at ease. I run my fingers up his thigh. When you’re nineteen years old – which we both are – that’s an extremely sexual gesture. He’s all stiff and squirming, begging me to stop teasing him. I’m giggling. I almost forgot what giggling felt like.

“I’m not doing anything,” I smile innocently.

He grins, flashing me his charming, crooked smile. His blonde hair blows in the wind and his eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I won’t be able to drop you off if you keep that up.”

I frown now. “I wish you didn’t have to drop me off.”

He gives me a pained smile. “I know, baby, but for now I can’t keep you. I have to get a place first.”

I nod, knowing that’s the truth. He’s trying. He’s trying to get out of his parents’ house and find a way to save me. I’m sure he will too. At least, I hope he will. Right now, he’s my light at the end of the tunnel. If that light snuffs out, I really don’t think I’ll find another one.

“We’ll be fine,” he assures me as he turns onto my street.

My heart sinks, that quickly. There’s nothing but darkness here.

“Thanks, for today,” I whisper as Billy comes to a stop.

He reaches over taking my face in his hands. “I’ll find a way to save you, Addison. I swear.”

I lean over and brush my lips across his. He tangles his fingers in my hair and deepens the kiss. Finally, we break apart, my heart thudding. He strokes a thumb down my cheek.

“I’ll call you, I promise.”

“The phone has been disconnected again,” I sigh.

He keeps his smile, even though I see he wants to frown.

“Well, I’ll come by and see you tomorrow.”

I kiss him goodbye, and with a heavy heart, I walk up my front steps. When I get to the rickety front door, I turn back and stare at Billy’s car disappearing down the street. I give it a sad smile, and step inside. The first thing I smell is vomit, then I see my mother on the floor, choking on her own sick, her face turning blue as her she struggles to breathe. She’s too high, too floppy, and incapable of stopping her own vomit from choking her. With a sigh, and a slump of my shoulders, I get to work doing what I do best.

Looking after a woman I despise, because she’s all I have.

That’s what I like to call tragic.