Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
ANDY
It was impossible to miss the broken look in Declan's eyes when I said what I did to him. Hearing him admit what I already knew and then finding out how long he's been sober had made me furious. It's been over a year since he was in rehab, yet he's only a few weeks sober.
Which proves my point.
He's been to rehab, yet he's relapsed since then. It would be irresponsible to allow Max around someone like that. He'll be gone in two months, but we'll still be here. It's best to cut ties now before my daughter gets her heart broken. She clings to anyone she can, which she already does with Declan. She's known him for two days. I can't imagine how she'd react when he leaves after spending two months together.
I can't do that to her.
I'm a firm believer in the saying, "Once an addict, always an addict." I don't believe addicts can change.
If they can, then why didn't my mother change for me? Was I not worth it?
My entire life, I've always been the one who was supposed to forgive her for letting me down. When I refused to have her toxicity around me, I've always been met with dirty looks and given the "but she's your mother” speech.
Yes, she's my mother, but who told her to clean up her act because I'm her daughter? Who was giving her the "but she's your daughter" speech?
I've come second to a pipe my entire life.
School plays, dance recitals, parent-teacher conferences, everything she should've attended; she was never there because she was too busy getting high. Too busy forgetting about me. Luckily, my grandma was there for me and could step in.
Even though my grandparents raised me, and I consider them my parents, the ache is still very much present and always will be.
Why wasn't I enough?
Why wasn't I fucking enough for her to fight her addiction and be sober. Didn't I deserve that?
Before I was even born, my father made the decision he didn't want me. My mother made the decision that drugs were more important than me a long time ago.
I've lost count of the times I've cried to her and begged her to notice me. Want me. Love me. Spend time with me. Every single fucking day, I fought for her attention, but she never saw me. All my mother could ever see was the pipe in her hands.
Who needed a child when they had meth or heroin.
Not Diane Harris. She had all she needed.
Am I jaded? Absolutely.
Do I view all addicts the same because of my mother? Yes.
Did I judge Declan and assume the worst of him because of my own trauma? Possibly.
However, in my defense, I already know what to expect, and I won't allow him the chance to hurt my daughter. No one will ever have the opportunity to hurt her the way my mother hurt me.
I wish I were able to say that I've come to terms with the fact I'm unwanted, but then I'd be lying. My grandparents wanted me, but they died when I needed them the most. Since they've been gone, all I've felt is like an unwanted burden, which is why I've tried to take my life. Many times, I've wanted to end it.
Living is so fucking hard. If it weren't for Max, I wouldn't be here.
I'm aware of the power words have. And that if Declan goes and does anything stupid, it'll be directly my fault because I pushed him. He's here in Loganville trying to remain sober, going to therapy and meetings. He's fucking trying, which is more than I can say for my mother. But my pride won't let me apologize. All I can do is hope he doesn't do anything stupid, but I'll accept responsibility if he does.
Though, if he does, it'll only prove me right.
Max noticed him the moment he began walking away. He left, leaving me to deal with my heartbroken girl. Can't blame him, considering I was a bitch to him.
When he was out of sight, I packed the remainder of our failed picnic and loaded it into the back of my car. I'd told Max that he had things to do and had to get back to his hotel, but she didn't believe me. She pouted and ignored me the entire drive back to my mom's house.
Luckily, when we arrived, she was gone, so I used the key she hid under her flowerpot and let us in.
We've been here for hours, and Max still hasn't spoken to me. For the first hour, I tried to get her to talk to me but eventually decided to let her have space.
Now she's in the living room playing with the few toys I brought with us while I'm in my old bedroom, lying on my back on my bed, staring up at the white popcorn ceiling, replaying my interactions with Declan from the moment he walked toward us at the thrift store.
Something happened at the store that triggered him. He'd been ready to shrink into himself and bolt, but I was the one that stopped him. I helped him through his panic attack, then an hour later, turned on him and told him his relapse was inevitable.
What the fuck kind of person says shit like that? I can't take the words back. But fuck am I remorseful now.
I'm unsure how long I've been there staring at the ceiling, replaying our conversation, when I hear voices in the living room.
Goosebumps form along my skin, the hair on my arms rising at the nasally voice I remember all these years later.
In the time it takes to blink, I'm up on my feet and running to the living room, grabbing my daughter from the floor and pulling her small body protectively into my arms.
Catching sight of me, the tall, bald-headed man beside my mom smirks. "Andy! Is that you?"
"Andy, baby, you remember Gus?" Mom claps her hands together, swaying back and forth on her feet, her pupils dilated and skin paler than usual.
Great. She's fucking high.
"We're leaving," I announce with a snarl, burying Max's face in my chest, holding her tight as she fights against me, wiggling and crying for me to put her down.
She can continue being upset with me later. Right now, we need to fucking go.
I don't put her down as I grab her backpack and my purse from the floor, quickly gathering up the few belongings we brought with us the best I can manage with one hand.
Footsteps creak down the hallway, stopping outside my open bedroom door, a shadow filling the space. One look over my shoulder tells me it's my mom, but that doesn't ease my worry.
"What the fuck is your problem now, miss perfect princess?" My mother snarls, clicking her tongue as she watches me frantically pack our bags with one hand. I refuse to put my daughter down. I wouldn't bother packing anything if I could afford to replace whatever we'd leave behind.
"Quit acting like a little bitch. You're being rude to my friend." At the bite in my mother's tone, Max tightens her hold on me, no longer trying to get free.
"We're leaving, Diane." Pulling the straps of our bags over my shoulders, I step up to my mother, who is still blocking the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.
"Oh, now I'm Diane, again? I see how it is. You're only good enough to come here when you need something."
It's pointless to argue with her. She'll always be the victim, and I'll always be the disrespectful daughter. "Move." I step closer, bumping her arms with mine from the way I'm holding Max.
Throwing her arms in the air dramatically, she steps aside, yelling curses and telling me what a spoiled bitch I am as I rush out of the trailer, smoke invading my senses the moment I step outside.
With a snarl, I turn to see Gus standing against the side of the trailer with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"Climb in your seat and strap yourself in," I whisper in Max's ear, placing her in the backseat before closing the door, then I quickly throw our bags into the trunk of my SUV.
"Where ya running to, sweet Andy?" Gus speaks, using the nickname he gave me years ago that I fucking hate.
I first met him a few months after we moved into the trailer. I woke up, went to the kitchen to find something for breakfast, and found him sitting on the couch drinking a beer like he owned the place. It was nine a.m., but I was sure he'd been up all night. My mom was gone, so I couldn't ask her who the fuck the strange man was. I was used to her bringing random people around our house to party all night, but they were never there when she wasn't.
Thank fuck, Diane had returned soon after, but when I asked about the man, she informed me he was our new roommate. She spent her money on drugs and needed help with the rent, so she rented our third bedroom to a man who was a friend of a friend. She met him one fucking time before allowing him into our personal space.
The second I learned his full name, I searched for him online, quickly finding out that the forty-five-year-old man was fresh out of prison for molesting a child. The man that slept next door to my room is a pedophile and on the fucking sex offender registry.
Of course, Diane didn't care. She told me that the little girl who accused him of touching her had lied, and he was only convicted because they believed the little girl over him.
I knew it was a lie. He went to prison because he was guilty.
How can a parent not care that a registered sex offender is sharing a house with their underage child? I was fourteen.
He's the reason I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow and a chair in front of my door. Ever since he snuck into my locked bedroom while I was showering and began stealing my panties.
When I told my mom, she said I was making up lies.
One day, when I got in the shower, my bedroom door had been locked. I'd undressed before my bed and left the dirty clothes on the floor. After my shower, I discovered my bedroom door was unlocked, and one thing was missing from my pile of dirty clothes.
My panties.
Over the next few months, several more pairs of panties went missing while I'd been doing laundry. And every chance he got, he'd find some way to put his hands on me. My mom thought it was sweet when he wanted to give me a shoulder massage and yelled at me for being rude when I pushed him away from me.
When he tried to spank me, I was the ungrateful child because he'd brought burritos for dinner and I had declined the food. Which is why he wanted to spank me.
Fuck her and fuck him.
Four months later, he was gone. Apparently, he knocked up a seventeen-year-old, and they moved away together. I'm unsure why he's back, but I don't care.
Tears stream down my face as I drive, unsure of where to go. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I find Max staring at me, and for once, I'm thankful she's not asking questions. I never allow myself to cry in front of her, but right now, I can't seem to control myself.
I feel so fucking defeated.
We're so close to having our own space again and not having to rely on anyone. One fucking night. That's it.
In the morning, we'll meet with the landlord to get the keys to our new apartment. Everything will be fine come morning, but until then, I need a solution.
Most people have friends or family to help them when they need it. I don't have anyone. What a fucking fool I'd been to think Diane would be capable of being the person to help me when I needed it.A part of me will always be hopeful that one day she’ll be capable of being the mother I need, the mother I deserve.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but the little girl inside me aches for her mother.
Staying at her house last night had been fine, but now she's high and with Gus. There is no way a warm bed is worth risking my daughter around that creep.
I drive aimlessly around our small town for nearly thirty minutes before Max begins complaining she's hungry. Instead of worrying about money, I order food from the dollar menu and find myself in the parking lot of my work.
The hotel is completely booked, so staying there isn't an option, but I do park around on the side where guests or employees are less likely to spot us. The parking on the West side of the hotel is rarely used since the parking spaces are the furthest away from the rooms. The only people parking here are guests traveling with oversized vehicles and trailers.
Making sure we're out of sight of cameras and prying eyes, I keep the car running for the AC and get out to go around to Max's side and get her out of her car seat. Taking a pair of her pajamas from the trunk, I quickly help her change her clothes before setting up a comfortable area with blankets and pillows. Then, I set out her food and let her use my phone to watch cartoons while she eats.
While her attention is elsewhere, I stand outside with my back against the car door, allowing myself a moment of weakness.
Heavy tears streamed down my face, and silent sobs lodged in my throat.
It's okay. We can do this. One night, that's it. We'll sleep in the car for tonight, but everything will be okay again in the morning. This is just a rough patch we're going through. Things will get better.
Life will not always be this hard.
I can do this.
I will get through this.