Chapter 16 #2
My heart speeds up as I turn the knob. She’s sleeping, her snores let me know she probably won’t wake up if I make too much noise.
In the darkness, I see a paper bag on the nightstand next to her bed and my mouth salivates.
I tip-toe across the room; excitement gets the best of me and my foot hits something, making it slam into the nightstand. The sound of a plastic jug.
Mom jolts from her sleep and reaches out, locking her fingers around my wrist. Her nails dig into my skin, and I hiss in pain. “S-sorry Mom, I-I was just hungry,” I stutter, barely able to drag in a breath.
Her grip on my wrist grows tighter, but she’s not looking at me. She’s looking past me, toward the open closet on the other side of the room. Her mouth hangs open in wonder. “Baby, what is that?” she asks, sounding confused.
Fear prickles at my spine as I follow her gaze, craning my neck to see. “It’s n-nothing, just your closet,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen in fear. “No it’s not. No. No. Go look.”
She sounds terrified and it’s making me scared. Every hair on my body stands on end as I take a few cautious steps toward the dark corner. I swallow deeply and reach out my trembling hand, shutting the door with a relieved sigh.
“See, Mom. It’s nothing, it’s okay,” I reassure her hesitantly.
“It’s up there,” she says, pointing at the ceiling. “I see it.”
I look up and see nothing.
“Get it,” she demands, voice turning stern.
Oh no. “Mom, I’m not tall enough, I can’t reach that high,” I mumble.
“Go get a fucking chair then! Get it out of my room!” she yells, face twisted in anger.
I gasp and run from the room as fast as I can. I grab the chair I used to climb on and drag it to her room. It’s too heavy and it’s taking too long. She’s going to be even angrier. I try my hardest to get the chair to her room quickly, but when I finally get back, she’s asleep again.
My shoulders relax and I quiet my rushing breaths, so she doesn’t wake up again.
I close her door softly and drag the chair back to the kitchen.
Fear makes me quiet as a mouse as I make my way back to my room.
I shut the door and lay on the bed, pulling the covers over my head.
It’s not bedtime yet, but if I go to sleep now, I won’t be hungry anymore.
A loud, wet cough brings me back to the present. My mom’s grabbing at her chest as she lifts from the ground. My lower lip trembles, and I don’t feel relieved anymore—I feel sick.
“About damn time,” Liam says to her. He grabs her hand and pulls her to a sitting position. “What the hell have you been doing, Diana?”
She blinks blearily, taking in the disgusting scene around her. “I-I don’t know what happened. I remember coming home from work in the morning… and that’s it,” she says, voice hoarse.
Liam shakes his head. “You need to take a shower.” He motions to her vomit-soaked strands of her hair.
She nods. “Yeah. You’re right.”
I clear my throat. “Do you need any help, mom?”
“Please.”
I rush forward and pull her up to stand and navigate her in the tight space to sit on the toilet. “Grab me a drink, Liam,” she groans.
“Already?” He scoffs.
“I’ll get sick if I don’t drink soon, so get me a fucking drink or I’ll do it myself,” she seethes, voice turning cold as ice.
I flinch at the tone, an automatic response that I can’t control.
Even now. He turns around, mumbling under his breath and rummages through the piles of trash near the mattress, looking for a bottle with some left in it.
I turn on the shower letting the water get hot and undo her heels.
Liam comes back, shaking a bottle in his hand.
“Here,” he grunts, thrusting it toward her.
She glares at him but takes it anyways, uncapping it and downing the rest of its contents.
Bile rises in my throat at the way she drinks vodka like water.
He turns around and leans against the wall outside of the bathroom. Mom drops the bottle to the floor, and the sound of the plastic hitting tile makes me flinch again. I grit my teeth together, trying to shake the feeling away.
She unclips her bra and slides her thong off.
I keep my gaze fixed on the wall to give her some form of privacy.
“Help me to the shower,” she says. I lean down and let her throw her arm over my shoulder as her other arm covers her chest. Her skin is so pale it looks transparent and paper thin; I can see the blue network of veins in her chest and every bone of her ribcage.
They jut out sharply, almost like they’ll rip through the fragile layer of skin.
Fire licks at the back of my eyes, but I blink it away and help her into the shower. She slumps against the wall, using it for support. “I’ve got it from here, Teddy,” she breathes.
I gulp and nod, taking the few steps out of the cramped bathroom.
Liam drags his gaze over me as if he’s assessing me for injuries.
They’re only on the inside, though, and he knows that.
When he meets my eyes, his stern expression goes soft.
Firm hands grab my face and he brushes his lips against mine.
My eyes fall closed, and he plants a kiss on each one of them.
“I’m going to check if she has any garbage bags and try to pick up a little. You can wait outside if you want,” I mumble. He looks at me like I’m stupid. “Or you could help.” I shrug.
There’s a small countertop with a sink and two cabinets beneath it by the front door.
She always keeps them under the sink, and luckily that hasn’t changed.
I hand one to Liam and take one for myself.
We get to work, picking up the trash and throwing all the clothes into a pile in the corner of the room.
Everything is infested with roaches, and I yelp every time one touches my hand.
It’s so fucking nasty, I don’t understand how she can live like this—our house was always spotless growing up.
Thankfully, it’s a small space so it doesn’t take long.
We’ve filled a couple garbage bags each, so we reluctantly set them outside with the other ripped up ones.
It’s better than them stinking up the place in here.
The floor is all cleared away, so I grab the broom and start sweeping.
Liam’s standing at the front door, puffing on a cigarette, anxiously twisting a dread between his fingertips.
I’m not entirely sure he’s ever seen this much mess in his life since he and his mom are both clean freaks.
Mom steps out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
She looks much more awake but not alive.
She lets out a surprised “Oh” as she steps across the threshold from the bathroom.
“Do you have a mop? I saw bleach under the sink.”
She sits down on the mattress and drags a brush through her matted blonde hair. “No, there’s no mop,” she says.
“It’s okay. I saw a towel I can use,” I mutter and rummage through the pile of laundry.
When I finally find it, I spin around and see her watching me with tired eyes.
She doesn’t look embarrassed at all. It tells me all I need to know—this is her rock bottom, and I don’t think she’s even realized it yet.
That, or she doesn’t care. Sadly, all I can think is that I’m happy I don’t have to rely on her for anything anymore.
I grab the bleach and splash it straight from the bottle onto the floor and throw the towel down.
I stand on it and shuffle it across the tile using my feet.
It’s not the best way to clean a floor, but it’s better than nothing.
When I reach the front door, I toss the towel aside and step onto the porch next to Liam.
“Just came to check on you. What are you doing for the rest of the day?” I ask hesitantly.
“Probably gonna go back to sleep. I have work tonight,” she groans while laying her head back on the pillow.
“Same club?”
“Same club,” she confirms.
I nod dumbly because there’s nothing else to really say at this point and shut the door.
“She needs some fucking help.” Liam sighs.
We grab our boards and start in the direction of the bus stop. “There’s nothing we can do. She’s a grown woman and if she doesn’t want help, then she can’t get it. We can’t force her; that wouldn’t work anyways.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know. I’ve never respected her for what she’s done to you, but it’s still shitty to see a person that deep in the trenches.”
“I never thought I’d see her like this either. Maybe I can get in touch with a family member or something. I don’t know. I just want to go to sleep and forget this ever happened.”
He turns his head to look at me and says, “We’ll figure it out.”
Either I’m the shittiest person in the world or this is how I handle trauma, but at this point. I want to wash my hands of her and never see her again. It would be easier than watching her slowly deteriorate.