Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
DOTTIE
A ll I can feel is this fucking plug in my ass. It’s not uncomfortable anymore, like Damon said, but with each movement I feel myself growing wetter and wetter. A virgin three days ago, now I have a vibrating butt plug in my ass, and I like it.
I look at my phone for the umpteenth time. I still have hours to kill before I make my way to Rafters Falls.
Arrie hasn’t responded to my message since I left the office, and my mother’s message still haunts my mind from earlier. They want to see me, which is code for they need more money.
I already gave them five grand, and I’ll probably give them more. Even after everything they’ve done to me, and the endless emotional abuse they’ve put me through, I still love and hate my parents in the same breath.
More than that, I pity them.
But not the hurt little girl that lives inside of me.
She is angry and vengeful, still banging on the inside of my chest and screaming at the top of her lungs, just wanting to be seen, heard, and loved .
But my parents will only love me as long as I give them what they want.
Images of my mother resurface in my mind, the many times she attempted to take her own life, whether as a cry for help, or to bury the memories of the sexual abuse she experienced at the hands of her own father when she was young.
I couldn’t imagine what she went through as a child dealing with that, I only wish I understood her more.
And that’s why I always go back, always give in, even when I know it will hurt me in the process. So, I do what I used to always do, I allow the guilt to capsize, get in my car and drive to my parents.
My father hasn’t mentioned much about his illness, and I wonder if he has what his dad died from when he was a young boy. My Nono died of leukemia when my father was eleven, and after he passed, a part of my Nona died with him.
I think about all the fights, the drugs, the alcohol, and the verbal and physical abuse, until I pull into the driveway. I’m shot to hell when I arrive, and I spend a few minutes in my car collecting myself before working up the courage to open the door and get out.
The fishtank light is off tonight, signalling my parents have no drugs to sell, and I admit to myself at least that is at least one saving grace.
I really don’t want to be here when one of the dropkicks I went to school with, pop around for some prescription pills, or whatever my dad has managed to find.
I’m about to knock, but it opens before I have a chance. My mum stands there in her signature black leggings and a black singlet, her sad, dark brown eyes speaking a language to me that I cannot understand.
“Hey, bub. I wasn’t sure you would come over,” she says just as my dad coughs .
Anxiety I hadn’t expected to feel bleeds out. Mum looks over her shoulder, a worried look on her weathered face.
She is still beautiful to me, but she was absolutely gorgeous before her habits took hold, robbing her spirit more than it already was. My mother always said nothing when my father lost the plot, and the only time she let her mouth fly, was when she was high or drunk.
I hated those times, because the fighting and abuse was always worse.
“Mani! Who is that?”
“Come inside, bub, I made some suft.”
“Ok, ma. How are you?” I say, closing the door behind me.
“I’m doing fine. You know me.”
Those words say everything that she doesn’t. She isn’t fine, and whatever is weighing her down, she will keep to herself because she doesn’t want to be a burden.
We move through the house, the wooden floors creaking with each step.
Dad sits on the couch with a stubby in his hand and the bong on the table.
Mum gives me an apologetic look and sits next to him, grabbing her stubby.
Swallowing the many retorts festering on my tongue, I take a seat across from them and see what they are watching on tele.
It looks like a rerun of Home and Away, as Alf Stewart barrels on the screen screaming Ya flaming galah’s , so I look away and focus on my dad.
He takes a sip of his beer and leans back in the couch, his eyes finding mine.
“How are you, baby? We weren’t sure you’d come back around.”
“I’m good, dad. I’m only here for a little while longer, so I wanted to check in. How are you feeling?”
“Like death warmed up, bub, but I’ll pull through. The doc said there is nothing they can do for me now. It’s a waiting game. ”
Dread coils around my stomach, squeezing. Swallowing the melancholy bubbling on my tongue, I nod my head and find mum’s eyes glassy. She doesn’t say anything, just takes a sip of beer.
“What is the diagnosis?”
“I have cancer.”
I want to ask more questions, but I don’t know what else to say.
As cruel as it may sound, my dad made his bed, and now he has to lie in it, and I think that’s what frustrates me the most about people.
We treat our bodies like an amusement park, feeding it rubbish food, drinking alcohol, taking drugs, whatever the poison might be, and then when we get sick, we cry victim, and want everyone to stop what they are doing and help us.
That’s not how the real-world works, and by the look on my father’s face, he found out the hard way. Dad turns away from me and watches Home and Away, and when the ad comes on, I decide I’m done with the awkwardness.
“Well, I’ve got to head off, but I’ll come see you next week. I have some things I need to sort out and paint to pick up.”
“You still living that useless dream, Dottie? You know art doesn’t make money.”
“I don’t do it for the money, Dad, I do it because I enjoy it.”
He scoffs, and my mum elbows him. “Lewis, enough.”
He turns from the tele and gives her the crazy eyes he used to back when I was young, and just when I think he’s about to loop out, he just smiles at her then looks to me.
“Dottie, I need some more money. These damn quacks are milking us dry.”
“Lewis!” Mum hisses .
“Shut up, Mani. When I’m dead and gone, you’re going to have nothing, so the longer I’m alive, the better off you are.”
I watch my mother’s shoulders sag as she visibly deflates. Like the countless times when I was growing up.
“How much?”
“Five grand should get us through the next month or so.”
“This is the last time, Dad. I won’t be here when this money runs out, and I sure as shit won’t be sending you anymore.”
I see his jaw clench, but he gives me a solemn nod.
I don’t believe he won’t ask for more, but I am drawing the line here.
I can’t keep saving my mother from herself, or him.
I know she loves my father, and him her, but they are toxic for each other, and when they need money next, it will be my mum asking and not him.
He always gets her to do his dirty work.
So, I do what I swore I wouldn’t do again. I get in my car, go and withdraw five grand, drive back to my parents, and hand it to my mother at the front door. A tear slides down her sad face as she accepts it.
“I’m so sorry, Dottie, that I couldn’t give you a better life. That I couldn’t save you from your own trauma. Please know that I will always love you no matter what, and ─ and know that I am proud of you.”
Tears fall down my face and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight. We cry for a few moments, allowing the past to fall away, while I acknowledge what she finally said after all these years.
She’s sorry, she loves me and she’s proud of me. That’s all I ever wanted from them, but then dad’s voice booms from inside, and mum wipes her face free of the tears.
“Go on, bub, we will see you soon, ok?”
“Yeah, ma, you will, and I love you, too,” I say, reaching in and squeezing her again before making my way down the stairs to my car.
Opening the door, I look up and see her still watching me. She offers me a small wave, but I can tell she’s still crying from here. I hesitate, the little girl inside of me wanting to rescue her, but then she shoos me away, smiling at me.
I swallow the uncertainty clouding my thoughts, but when my dad calls again, she quickly waves again and closes the door. I stand there for a few moments, feeling all tied up in the stomach.
After a minute or so staring where she stood, I tell myself she’s fine and hop in my car.
I have a Tin Man to meet, I only hope there is no broken yellow brick roads along the way.