The knob slammed into the wall, and I found her with another fucking guy, this one younger and passed out on the bed next to her. Sheets curled around their legs, a lamp laid overturned on the floor, and the rain splattered on the sill from where the window was cracked open. Clothes were scattered everywhere, and the stench of cigarettes hit me like a wave. I fought not to cough.

Turning my eyes right, I spotted the tripod for the camera.

Son of a bitch. I whipped the cane to my right, slamming it into her dresser.

“Get out!” I shouted. “Get the fuck out!”

I pounded the wooden stick again, sending the perfume bottles on her dresser tipping over.

“What the hell?” The man suddenly woke, trying to sit up and rubbing his eyes.

“Get up, asshole!” I raised my foot, stomping it down on the bed. “Get out of here now!”

My mom, her dark hair hanging over one eye, pulled the sheet up and sat up. “What? What’s happening?”

“Shut up,” I growled, raising the stick.

The young guy, probably only a few years older than me, looked at me like he was part terrified and part confused.

Okay, let me be clearer then.

I got in his face. “Get. Out!” I bellowed, my face hot with fire as I whipped the cane against the wall above his head over and over again. “Get the fuck out! Go! Go! Go!”

“What the fuck?” he barked, scrambling off the bed and scurrying for his clothes. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Nik, what are you doing?” I heard my mother ask me, but I ignored her.

I breathed hard. The camera, the men, drugs…fucking slut. I swallowed the bile rising up my throat.

The guy scrambled back into his jeans, grabbing his shoes and swiping his shirt off the chair, and shot me a scowl as he bolted from the room.

My mother quickly slipped into her nightgown and robe, but I followed the guy out, making sure he took his friend.

I saw him hopping on one leg, trying to get his shoes on. “Man, get up!” he whisper-yelled to his buddy.

The other one started to peel himself off the sofa, but I bolted over and grabbed the camera.

“Hey, that’s ours!” the young one shouted. “We paid her! What’s on that is ours!”

But I just stood there, my fist squeezing the cane as I dared them. “Gabriel,” I said slowly. “Torrance.”

They quickly exchanged a look, and I watched as their faces fell. Yeah, that’s right. That name was useful when I needed it to be.

They didn’t know my father couldn’t give a shit less about what my mother did.

“Get out,” I repeated one last time.

They moved slowly, but they moved. They picked up their coats, grabbed their drugs, and walked out the door, the young one shooting me another displeased little scowl before he walked out. “She wasn’t any good anyway,” he spat, his eyes flashing behind me.

They walked out, and I charged over, kicking the door shut right behind them.

Hearing a shuffle behind me, I whipped around, tossing the stick onto the couch.

My mother stood in the living room, having just come out of the hallway, her red silk robe falling mid-thigh, partially covering her pink nightie. She chewed her thumbnail, chin trembling.

“What’s the video camera for?” I asked.

“I needed money.”

“I give you money!”

“That doesn’t even cover rent!”

Her eyes pooled with tears, and I charged over to the couch, tossing off the new pillows she’d bought.

“What about this shit?” I charged, continuing to walk around the living room, sending a wall hanging swinging on its nail and a crystal bowl on the end table wobbling.

I turned around, taking in her fake nails with the French manicure and the spray tan. Gabriel paid me shit, a “woman’s wage” compared to what David, Lev, and Ilia made, and after I paid my rent and the few utilities I had, she got the rest. I somehow managed to live on less! Why couldn’t she? I felt a sob well up in my throat, and I just wanted to fucking strangle her.

“There’s millions of other people in the world and they make it work somehow!” I shouted, charging up and getting in her face.

Everything was fucked, and the walls were closing in. I hated my life. I hated Damon and my father and Kai and everyone. I just wanted to go to sleep for a year. When were things going to be different?

“He was right,” I gritted out, staring at her but seeing only myself. “You’re just a sloppy, junkie whore! What are ya gonna do when no one wants to pay for your tired, old pussy anymore? Your tits are already sagging down to your knees!”

Her hand whipped across my face, and my head slammed right.

I sucked in a breath, my whole body going still.

The burn in my face spread like a snake bite getting deeper and deeper, and I closed my eyes.

Christ. My mother had never hit me before.

I might’ve gotten a few spankings as a kid—I didn’t remember—but she’d never hit me on the face.

Slowly, I turned my head forward again, seeing her staring at me, a world of hurt in her red eyes. She brought her hand up to her mouth, and I didn’t know if she was shocked by what she’d done or sad that this was where we were at.

I dug in my pocket, feeling a tear spill over as I stared at the ground. I took the sixty-four dollars I had on my clip and walked over, dumping it on the coffee table.

“That’s everything,” I said.

Today it was all I was ever going to give her again, I promised myself.

But tomorrow it would be “enough to live on for a few days.”

And next week I’d be back with more.

I always came back. What was I going to do? I didn’t want my mother living on the streets. I still loved her.

Ignoring her soft crying and her head buried in her hands, I opened the front door to leave.

“Do you have money to eat?” she spoke up.

But I just laughed under my breath. “Give yourself a couple hits,” I told her, gesturing to the pipe. “You won’t care anymore.”

Slamming the door, I let out a breath, my chest shaking as I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I am important,” I whispered to myself.

Silent tears streamed down as I forced away all the doubt. Forced away the suspicions that I was being used. No. No, my father needed me more every day. And Damon wasn’t using me, either. He wanted me to be happy. I know he did. And I would be, eventually.

And if I didn’t take care of my mom, who would?

I was needed. I was valuable.

I wouldn’t be thrown away like her. They wouldn’t do that to me. Who was going to do what I did for them?

The camera cracked in my fist, and every muscle in my face ached with a sob, because even I could no longer believe my own words.

Oh, God. I broke into a run as the world in front of me blurred and all the tears started to spill over. I was going to be like her. Months turn into years, and people like me don’t make it out.

She was going to die in that apartment. And I was going to die in this city, just as dumb and uneducated and poor as I was right now.

I raced down the stairs, swinging around the bannister, and bolted out the door.

The cold rain pierced my face like an icicle, a welcome relief from the shit coursing like lava under my skin right now.

I breathed in and out, practically gasping as I bolted down the sidewalk, weaving between pedestrians already on their way to work for the day. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to get away.

As far away and as fast as I could. Just go and go and go.

So, I ran. I ran, the rain pounding the pavement around me, seeing nothing but feet and legs as I whipped past others and raced across the streets. Horns honked, but I didn’t look up to see if it was because of me.

The rain soaked through my combat boots, not hard since they weren’t tied again, and soon my hat was plastered to my head, heavy with water.

I splashed through puddles, slowly feeling every piece of clothing on me start to stick to my skin. I wiped rain off my face, but the downpour was so thick, I could barely see twenty feet in front of me.

But I didn’t stop. I raced, not giving a shit if there was a cliff or a car about to come through the mist and right for me at any second.