Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers shakily. “I’msogladyou’reokay.”
I breathe deeply, wrapped inside my mom’s love, and I’m equally just so glad she’s okay. After what feels like an eon, we pull apart, and we wipe our runny noses with pocket-tissues she has handy.
“How are you?” I ask in a raspy voice.
“Better now.” She smiles at my Crashdown waitress outfit, but sadness glasses her green eyes. “I’m really sorry I haven’t seen you sooner.” Her voice chokes on the last word.
I take off my alien antennas, my temples throbbing. “No, it’s okay. You shouldn’t feel bad. I understand why you waited…and I was just scared…” I swallow hard. “I didn’t want you to get any worse.”
“You haven’t heard? I’m indestructible. Your dad called me Colossus the other day.”
I laugh softly and sniff harder. “I believe that.” I ball up my snotty tissue.
My mom skims me again. “You really don’t remember that night?”
I shake my head slowly, then faster. “Not a single second.”
She inhales deeply, a breath of relief. Her shoulders relax like weight levitates off her. “I’m so glad, Luna. So, so glad.” Tears prick her eyes.
“I’m not,” I croak. My gaze burns. “You shouldn’t have to carry that night on your own. I was with you, Mom.”
“I want to,” she whispers, touching my cheek softly. “I’m happy to. I’m your mom. That’s what moms do.” She nods resolutely.
I’m shaking my head, hating this reality so very much. I can be Colossus too. I want to tell her that, but I’m not even sure if I believe I’m as strong as my mom.
I lick my dried lips and my phone buzzes in my silver apron pocket. The number—I don’t recognize. Recently, I’ve been answering calls to keep up appearances. Original Luna hadn’t logged in all her contacts, so Caller ID can’t even help me.
“Sorry, one sec,” I tell my mom, stepping back to answer my phone. I see my reflection in part of the glass wall, and wet star stickers are peeling off my cheeks. I pry off a green one, my head whirling, and dazedly, I lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Slut.” The low, throaty voice sends a chill down my spine. He hangs up. I’d think it was a prank call, but there was no laughter in the background.
What the fuck?
I want to scream.
“Luna?” My mom senses my unease.
I gulp, lungs tight, and I rotate back to my mom. “It was a…” What am I supposed to call it? “I don’t know, actually.”
“What’d they say?” She grabs her crutches and hops closer.
“They just called me a slut and hung up.”
Her brows bunch, and she goes into immediate Mom Action Mode. Asking for my phone. Screenshotting the number with her own cell. Sending a text to security. All while balancing on crutches.
She’s my superhero.
Waterworks scald my eyes again, but I force down the tears.
When she returns my phone to me, she says, “You’re not a slut.”
“Maybe I am though,” I breathe out. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”
“Having a lot of sex doesn’t make you a slut,” she tells me, adamant.
I almost smile. “Pretty sure that’s the definition of a slut, Mom.”
She blushes. “You know what I mean.”
She doesn’t want slut to be a negative thing. For me to talk badly about myself. I get that. “I do,” I whisper. “I do. But I guess…I don’t care about being called a slut as much as I care about being called a…” I trail off, not wanting to hurt her.
“A sex addict,” she finishes for me.
I wince, more pain blossoming inside me. “I keep saying the wrong things,” I whisper.
“Nonono,” she says quickly. “You didn’t say anything wrong, Luna. It’s okay to not want to be known as a sex addict. I don’t want that for you either.”
I wipe harshly at my eyes, trying to stop them from watering so much. “I’m sorry this is the second time we’re having this conversation. I know it’s not fun.”
Her face shatters.
“What?” I whisper, more dread compounding on me.
“Luna,” she says my name and it’s filled with pure sorrow. “We’ve never had this conversation before.”
No.
I don’t believe that.
I stagger back a step. “If I was casually hooking up with a lot of guys, I would’ve definitely talked to you about being concerned I’d be perceived as a sex addict. No?”
“No, you didn’t talk to me about that,” she says, but before I break down even more, she adds fast, “and maybe that was my fault that I didn’t pry more—”
“No, stop,” I tell her. “It’s not you. This is a fucking theme, Mom.” I pace back and forth, hands on my forehead. “Did I even talk to you about what it felt like to have my fics leaked? Because you out of everyone would have understood what that felt like, right? The shame. The fucking shame.” I’m clutching at the watch on my wrist, trying to keep everything together.