Chapter 216 Touch Me Here!

Chapter 216 Touch Me Here!
"You wanna be dirty?" I snarled. I was already fuming at my mother, and now this has angered me even more.

He shouldn’t have messed with me right now.

"Let me take this to your mother. Let me show her what kind of sick fantasies her precious son has."

"No!" Maxwell stumbled backward, his face going pale. "You can't!"

"Why?" I pressed forward, fury burning through my veins. "Are you scared now?"

We struggled over the papers, Maxwell clutching them against his chest while I tried to pry them away. In his panic, he stumbled backward and crashed into my dresser. A ceramic vase toppled over and shattered against the hardwood floor with a loud crash.

Maxwell's face went completely white. His hands shook as he stared at the broken pieces.

The sound brought footsteps pounding down the hallway. My bedroom door flew open, and both my mother and Amelia rushed in. They took one look at the scene—me leaning on Maxwell and trying to grab something from him.

"What happened here?" Amelia demanded, her eyes darting between us.

She immediately moved to Maxwell's side, pulling him away from me like I was some kind of threat.

"I was just being nice!" Maxwell whimpered, actually starting to cry. Real tears streaming down his cheeks like the innocent victim he was pretending to be.

"Show your mother what you showed me," I said, my voice deadly calm. "Show her how 'nice' you were being."

"What do you want from my son?" Amelia's voice was sharp, accusatory. She pulled Maxwell behind her, shielding him from me like I was the monster in this situation. “Here I’m arguing with your mother to treat you right while you are attacking my son.”

"But he must have done something to upset my daughter," my mother argued. She stepped closer to Amelia, her eyes narrowing.

"Hah?" Amelia's voice rose an octave. "So when she fights with you, that's your fault too?" Her breathing was getting heavier, like a bull preparing to charge. "Your daughter just loves drama."

"And your son loves perversion," I shot back after I had enough.

It’s been some time since these people around me started to portray me in whatever light they wanted to.

"What did you just say?" she gasped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"He drew me dirty pictures. Why don't you ask him what's wrong with him?"

Maxwell was still hiding behind his mother, playing the scared little boy act perfectly.

“Your son is drawing my daughter?’ Mom took a step ahead and glared her in the eye.

If somehow it was true and I was Axiom’s daughter, then this was just purely disgusting.

“Show your mother what you drew of me,” I demanded, bobbing my head and asking her questions. She looked petrified when her son started shaking his head.

“Show her!” I yelled at him.

“Maxwell!” Pamela turned to him after eyeing me into silence and forced a smile across her lips, “Sweetie! Is it true? Did you make a drawing of her?” She asked him in a maternal tone.

"Yes!" Amelia said, like it was the most innocent thing in the world.

I snorted in disgust. Of course he'd admit to drawing pictures, but not to what kind of pictures they were.

Amelia's expression softened as she looked down at her son. "Let me see them, baby."

Maxwell hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to his mother.

I held my breath, waiting to see Amelia's reaction when she saw what her precious son had really drawn.

Amelia unfolded the paper carefully, her eyes scanning the image. For a long moment, she was completely silent, just staring at the drawing. Then she slowly turned the paper around so we could all see it.

It was a picture of a girl playing in a field of flowers.

I felt like a tidal wave of heat crashed over me, drowning me in humiliation and confusion.

"You called my son a pervert," Amelia said, her voice barely controlled, "because of this?"

Before I could process what was happening, Amelia's fist connected with my throat. The blow sent me stumbling backward, gasping for air.

"You fucking dare lay a hand on my daughter?" my mother screamed, lunging at Amelia.

But I was already falling, my hands clutching at my throat as I struggled to breathe. The room spun around me, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision.

"Mom," I wheezed, "I can't breathe."

"What did you do?" my mother demanded, her voice filled with panic.

My vision was starting to blur. Each attempt to draw air felt like trying to breathe through a straw. I could hear my mother's frantic voice, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

Amelia grabbed Maxwell's hand and rushed toward the stairs, her face pale with fear.

"Hold on!" my mother said, her voice shaking. "I'm calling for help."

She ran into my room to grab her phone, leaving me alone on the floor. That's when I noticed it—a crumpled piece of paper that had fallen during Maxwell's collision with the dresser.

With my vision fading and my lungs burning, I crawled toward it. My fingers closed around the paper just as my mother returned with a loose sweater.

"We're leaving," she said, helping me slip the sweater over my head.

The paper crinkled as I shoved it into the sweater's pocket, my movements hidden by the fabric.

"Alexander is coming to take you to the hospital," she said, her voice tight with worry.

At the mention of Alexander's name, I began to cough louder. I did not want him to get into trouble for me.

My mother helped me outside, where we sat on the front steps. She rubbed my back gently, and slowly, very slowly, I started to calm down. The tightness in my throat began to ease, but I could feel the bruising starting to form.

Alexander emerged from the tall grass that bordered the property, looking like he'd run the entire way. His hair was disheveled, his breathing heavy, and there was genuine worry etched across his features.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, his voice deep and heavy with concern.

I looked up at him, trembling with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. My mother stepped back, giving us space.

When Alexander started to kneel down beside me, I forced myself to stand up.

"I'm... fine now," I managed to say, though my voice was still rough.

"Doesn't look like it," he said, his eyes scanning my face and throat.

His fingers brushed against the bruising on my neck, and he leaned down to get a better look. The touch sent an strange sensation through me, something I couldn't quite identify.

The paper in my pocket felt like it was burning against my skin, a reminder that this whole nightmare was far from over.