Jake wouldn't stop bombarding me with texts.
Every. Fucking. Day.
And I wouldn't reply, I couldn't, otherwise he'd find a way to manipulate me.
Today it was, “Please Dimitri....I need to talk to you, it's urgent.”
“Please reply.”
And I didn't want to tell Kain either. Didn't want him to think me and Jake have been in contact. I also didn't want to bother him considering he's lost a lot of time because of me.
I was now staying with him, sharing his clothes, eating his food, yet feeling guilty. I felt like a leech. Also, my dad's side of the family tried to reach out to me. But considering I was the lat person to talk to him when he was alive. It would seem they didn't want to have a nice family brunch with me.
It was 7pm. I was just sitting there, infront of the dark screen of the TV my mind wandering to God knows where.
Kain emerged from the door, a sleek bowtie on his neck, and dressed in his work clothes. His wild hair was sleeked back with shiny gel.
“I thought you wouldn't work until eight?” I observed.
“I'm sorry baby, but I've missed a lot of shifts. So I have to cover for anyone who isn't available.” he whined.
I pouted. He walked over and kissed my cheek.
“i'm lucky my boss is super understanding, otherwise I'd be looking for another job.” he said,“speaking if which, you should look for one.”
He chuckled at the end, but I knew he was being dead serious. No one would want a grown man sitting in their house doing nothing.
“Sure, bye.” I said, and proceeded to walk him out the door in my boxers.
The moment he left. I sunk to the floor and held my face in my hands.
I'm a burden to everyone.
My phone buzzed again.
“Damn it Jake just leave me alone!” I muttered angrily picking up the phone to read the text.
But this one wasn't from Jake, it was from my mom. But with a totally different number.
Hey Dimitri! It's mom. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Are you free?
I replied immediately.
Yes I'm free. Where are you?
I'm...with a friend.
Is it true you shot dad?
We need to meet up Dimitri, maybe I can explain everything.
But something in me stirred. What if it wasn't my mom. What if it was some impostor wanting to kill me. This was America after all.
How do I know you're my mom?
.....
......
When you were three, I caught you with some adult magazine I had. But you weren't admiring all the pretty models in there. You were admiring that one shirtless picture of Johnny Depp.
I gasped.
It was my mom.
Alright, where can we meet?
Perhaps behind that old dinner, the one that sells pancakes... there's an alleyway right behind it. Meet me there.
Okay. At what time?
