She ran her fingers through her platinum bleached hair and sneered. “You have plenty of money, Dominic. Get him into a nursing home already.”
Dominic set the lighter tray on the counter and braced his arms on the sides of the sink. The view outside lacked more than beauty. Nevada desert matched his dad’s skin – dry, cracked, and colorless. Looking any longer would just drive him into one of his depressions. His gaze angled down and he tried ignoring her exaggeration of his wealth.
Envelopes piled on the counter marked “final notice” and “past due” didn’t exactly scream rich.
He bit his tongue. Nothing he said or did would make a difference. The bitch got meaner and meaner toward the end of each month. She didn’t get her allowance from Dominic until the first. Dominic sighed in defeat and put the dishes in the sink. “What do you want, Mother?”
Hair hanging down her back and wrinkled breasts pushed upward, she pressed her hand to her chest. “I don’t know what you mean. Why can’t I visit my only son without a guilt trip?” A bit of outraged spittle flecked to her chin.
Dominic turned to face her and crossed his arms. She wouldn’t stop there. She never did. He hid his cringe behind a sarcastic smirk. And waited. She’d never changed. She’d been selfish and cruel as long as he could remember.
She didn’t make him wait long and dropped her hand to her side. No humility or grace colored her skin, no, she sneered when she should’ve plead. “I could use a little extra money.”
“I don’t have extra.” He chewed the inside of his lip. A Pavlovian-style fear built inside him. Even as a grown man, he didn’t have the balls to face her. Please. Please don’t demand it. Please.
His mother stepped close to him and traced his arm with her blood red nail. Lips painted to match the talons drew tight. Lipstick bled through the tiny cracks and up close gave her the look of a creepy clown. She looked at him from under thin lashes. “You’ll get me money, Dominic. Or you know what I’ll do.”