[Holly's POV]
A sharp sting across my cheek yanks me from darkness into blinding light. My eyes struggle against the assault of morning sun as another slap connects, this one harder than the first.
"Huh?" I mumble, blinking rapidly as reality materializes around me.
Cold concrete bites through my thin pajama pants. My fingers grip rough edges of unfamiliar steps beneath me. As my vision clears, I see my mother looming above me, her silver hair gleaming in the harsh daylight, her face a mask of cold fury I've never witnessed before.
"Mom?" My voice sounds small, childlike.
"I'm done with you," she says, each word like ice. "Your things are packed. Your college housing is arranged. You're leaving. Now."
I blink harder, trying to make sense of where I am. The front porch. I'm sitting on our front porch steps, and I have no memory of how I got here. My head pounds with each heartbeat, and my mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton.
"What? You can't just…"
"I saw the video," Mom cuts me off, her voice frighteningly calm. "I saw everything, Holly. The original footage. I know what you did to Daniel."
The world tilts beneath me. My stomach lurches as memories flood back, dinner last night, the pasta, the wine, something tasting off before everything went black. She drugged me. Just like I drugged her.
"You had no right to go through my things," I say, trying to sound indignant, but my voice trembles traitorously.
"I had every right when you were raping the man I love," she spits, towering over me. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. "Do you understand what you've done? You drugged us both. You manipulated and blackmailed him. You're a monster."
I try to stand, but my legs wobble beneath me, still heavy from whatever she gave me. "He wanted it," I argue weakly. "You should see how hard he gets when…"
The slap comes faster than I can track, snapping my head to the side. Pain blooms across my cheek, hot and shocking.
"Don't you dare," Mom hisses. "A physical response isn't consent."
Behind her, two large duffel bags and my backpack sit in a neat pile on the porch. My laptop case leans against them. Everything I own, reduced to luggage.
"Where's my phone?" I ask, patting my pockets frantically.
A cold smile crosses Mom's face. "Destroyed. Along with every copy of that disgusting video you made."
"You can't do this," I say, panic rising in my chest. "I'm your daughter. Your flesh and blood."
"And Daniel is the man I'm marrying today," she says, her voice softening slightly. "I've made arrangements with your Dean. You have a single room at your school waiting for you. Your tuition is still covered for the next three years."
"Mom, please," I whisper, feeling tears spring to my eyes. "I love him."
"That's not love," Mom snarls, her voice cutting through my pathetic plea. "That's obsession. That's control. That's the behavior of an evil, manipulative whore."
The word hits me like another slap. I flinch, but anger quickly replaces my shock, burning away the fog still clouding my mind.
"How dare you call me that?" I struggle to my feet, swaying slightly as blood rushes to my head. "You, of all people!"
Mom's finger jabs the air between us. "I was a good mother to you, Holly. Everything I've ever done was to give you a better life."
"A better life?" I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter even to my own ears. "Like sleeping with Erin's dad when I was fourteen? My best friend's father? Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
Something flickers across Mom's face, a flash of genuine guilt that momentarily cracks her icy composure.
"I didn't know he was your friend's father," she says, her voice dropping. "Not until afterward."
"Bullshit!" I spit, gaining momentum as years of buried resentment come pouring out. "You ruined my life. She told everyone. You fuck married men all the time. You're worse than I am. At least I only wanted one man."
Mom's eyes narrow dangerously, her whole body going rigid with fury. When she speaks, her voice is dangerously quiet.
"News flash, Holly, most of my clients are fucking married. That's the reality of my work." She takes a step closer, forcing me to back up against the porch railing. "And I don't get to stand on some moral high ground in my profession. I did what I had to do to raise you after your father went missing."
I let her words about my father roll right past me. What does it matter? A man I barely remember isn't the issue here.
"So what? You're seriously just kicking me out like this?" I demand, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to sound defiant. "Aren't you supposed to love me? Isn't that what mothers do?"
Mom's face softens for just a moment, and I see a flicker of the woman who used to read me bedtime stories, who held me when I cried over skinned knees and broken friendships.
"I do love you, Holly," she says, her voice quieter now. "But I don't know if I can forgive you for what you've done."
A snarl rips from my throat, surprising even me with its feral quality. "This isn't the end of…"
Before I can finish, Mom's expression transforms into something I've never seen before. Her eyes widen, pupils shrinking to pinpoints, her mouth twisting into a grimace that makes my blood run cold. It's not anger anymore, it's something primal, unhinged, the look of a T-rex about to bite.
She grabs my arm with bruising force, yanking me close until her lips brush against my ear. I can feel her breath, hot and rapid, against my skin.
"This is me going easy on you, Holly," she whispers, her voice so low I barely hear it. "If you ever fuck with Danny again…" her fingers dig deeper into my flesh, "I will kill you."
She releases me with a small push that sends me stumbling back against my luggage. My heart hammers against my ribs, and for the first time in my life, I'm genuinely afraid of my own mother.
I stare at her, searching for any sign that she's bluffing, but there's nothing in her eyes except cold certainty. She means every word.
"You wouldn't," I whisper, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie. The woman standing before me is a stranger wearing my mother's face.
"Try me," she says simply.
I rub my arm where her fingers dug in, feeling the tender spots that will surely bruise. My mind races, trying to formulate a plan, a way to fight back, to regain control of the situation. But I'm still foggy from whatever she drugged me with, and the look in her eyes tells me pushing any further right now would be dangerous.
"Fine," I mutter, reaching for one of the duffel bags. "I'll go to the dorms."
Mom nods, taking a step back to give me space. "Smart choice."