CHAPTER 25
BELLA
The dull thud that has lingered behind my eyes all morning deepens as I push open the door to the hellhole that is my childhood home.
The putrid scent of stale vodka and mouldy food smacks me in the face with a violence that makes my already sensitive stomach roll. My top lip curls involuntarily.
“Mom?” I call out, holding back a gag.
I could try to breathe through my mouth opposed to my nose but I’m afraid of inhaling something that might possibly kill me. I lift my t-shirt over my nose instead. Not that it does much.
“Mmm,” a mumbled response comes from deeper within the house and it’s quickly followed by a loud retching sound.
Same, sis.
With burning eyes, I tiptoe, yes, tiptoe because I’m afraid my shoes will stick to the carpet, through the living room and past the kitchen toward the downstairs bathroom.
The door is open, my mom’s feet poking out of it as she kneels on the dirty tile and throws up into the toilet bowl.
Concern hits me and I step a little closer. “Are you okay?”
She heaves again; this time nothing coming out and nods her head. “F-fine.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, my t-shirt still pulled over my nose. Thank God. The smell of the house might not have been enough to send my stomach over the edge, but the smell of vomit definitely would have.
I step back into the kitchen and search for a clean cup. It takes three attempts of opening cupboards before I find one and I eye it wearily, not certain it’s clean at all.
Rinsing it under the tap quickly, I fill it with water and return to the bathroom, offering it to my mom. Her head lifts, turning slightly and she shakes her head, pushing the cup away with a disgusted grunt.
“You need some water,” I insist, pushing the drink back at her. She rejects my offer again and I roll my eyes.
After another few minutes, my mom moves to stand on shaky legs and my arms shoot out, nose protection forgotten as I ready to catch her if she falls. She tuts, shooing my hands away as she pushes past me.
“What do you want?” She finally asks, her voice hoarse from the years of chain-smoking and the violent throw-up session.
I scoff. “Nice to see you, too, Mother. I brought you some food.”
Her eyes scan the kitchen, landing on the bag of groceries I dumped on the countertop as I passed it. She sniffs, wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of the ratty over shirt she’s wearing.
She doesn’t thank me for the food. Not that I expected it at this point. But instead, she turns and pulls the fridge door open, reappearing with a glass bottle that’s half filled with clear liquid. My blood boils.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I almost yell, yanking the bottle from her grip as she brings it to her mouth. Liquid spills down her chin and her weathered grey eyes widen.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She gasps, lunging for the bottle and I hold it above my head.
“You’ve just thrown up the entire contents of your stomach and the first thing you reach for is vodka?!” My voice is loud, my tone incredulous as anger builds inside of me.
“I don’t see what the problem is, Isabella,” she argues, reaching for the bottle again.
“The problem, Mom, is that you are killing yourself. Don’t you see that?” Despite my anger, my voice hitches on that last part, my eyes burning with tears that I refuse to shed.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had to physically wrestle the bottle out of her grasp. It’s not the first time I’ve had this exact argument with her. But unlike my brother, I’m not able to just give up on her.
Killian still pays the bills. He keeps the lights on and the water running, but that’s it. He used to give her an allowance of some kind, but that stopped when she disrespected his wife. And as much as I wish I was capable of just walking away and never looking back, I can’t.
I can’t live in this town, knowing that my mom is right up the road with no food in the fridge. I can’t run into her in the supermarket and turn a blind eye while she shoves something up her sweater and makes a run for it.
She’s my mom.
And I’ll never stop holding onto the hope that maybe one day, she’ll finally change.
I blink down at her through bleary eyes as she continues to struggle against me, reaching for the bottle and much like it does every time I step foot inside this house, a little part of me dies inside. My shoulders go slack, head dropping in defeat as I hold out the bottle.
She snatches it with a relieved sigh and throws her head back, taking long mouthfuls. When she’s done, she breathes heavy, giving me a look that tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and she doesn’t give the slightest fuck.
Tilting her chin, she eyes the bag slung over my shoulder. “You got any money for me?”
And there it is.
I shake my head, turning away from her in disappointment and making my way toward the door. “Cigarettes are in the bag. I’ll see you next week.”
***
It’s almost dark out by the time I get back to Noah’s house. After leaving my mom’s, I spent the entire afternoon driving around mindlessly.
Every week, it’s the same. I drop off groceries, she does or says something that has me leaving there half the person I was when I walked in the door and I spend the next few hours driving around, numb.
When I lived with the girls, it was a little easier.
I knew I was returning to a house full of energy and life with friends that could put a smile on my face within seconds of me walking through the door.
But when I moved in with Justin, I knew I couldn’t go home straight after.
I did once. And he took one look at me, taking in the deep set to my shoulders and the redness circling my eyes and he shook his head in disgust, picked up his coat and walked right out the front door.
I’ve kept up the same routine since then, not wanting to bother anyone with the burden of my alcoholic mother. After all, I’m the one who chooses to continue torturing myself.
I reach over and grab my bag from the back seat before climbing out of the car and locking it behind me. Noah’s truck is parked at the bottom of the steps, and I’m surprised by the relief I feel at the sight of it. I really don’t feel like being alone right now.
I’m barely through the front door when Noah’s calls out for me. “Bells?”
“Yeah,” I reply. If I weren’t so mentally drained right now, I’d find it amusing how he calls out for me every time one of us walk in the door. It’s not like it’s going to be anybody else.
“I have a surprise for you.” His voice is giddy as he rounds the corner to the entry hall, the smile quickly dropping from his face when he catches sight of me.
“What’s wrong?”
I pull my lips between my teeth and avert my gaze, busying myself with removing my shoes to keep my emotions in check. Once I’m certain I’m not going to break down in tears for a third time on this man, I look back at him. “I went to my mom’s today.”
Noah’s expression morphs from concerned to knowing as he nods. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I say on a sigh, not needing to explain to him. He’s witnessed it firsthand throughout the years.
“Wanna talk about it?” He asks, and I don’t doubt for a second that if I said yes and recounted every little detail, he would listen.
But the last thing I want to do is talk about it. So, I shake my head. “No. I really don’t.”
He dips his chin. “Okay. Do you want to see your surprise?”
My body goes lax with relief and I nod. “Yes.”
Noah smiles and holds out his hand. “Come.”
I take it, following him into the living room.
My mood instantly brightens when I see the array of blankets and pillows spread out all over the floor.
All of the furniture has been pushed to the side to make space for the blankets.
Netflix is queued up on the TV, a comedy already selected and ready to press play.
The overhead lights are off with only the small lamp in the corner bathing the room in a soft glow.
The end table has been pulled forward, two glasses of wine, a pack of cards and a pile of board games sitting atop it.
I blink up at Noah at a loss for words. He smiles down at me and those damn butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach. “There’s pizza on the way, so you have time to shower and change if you want to.”
I swallow down the boulder of emotion that lodges in my throat and nod, doing exactly that.
CHAPTER 25
NOAH
By the time I hear Bella’s soft footfalls on the stairs, the pizza’s have been delivered and are sitting in the middle of the blankets I arranged on the floor.
I had been confused and slightly disappointed when I got home earlier to find the house empty.
I’ve gotten so used to Bella’s smiling face being the first thing that I see when I walk through the door that I just kind of expected it when I returned earlier.
Funny, really, considering I spent the entire day trying to bat away thoughts of her.
I picked up some board games from the big house on my way home.
I don’t know why, but I think subconsciously I thought that it would be a perfect way of convincing Bella to spend more time with me.
But then when I came back to an empty house, I started panicking that it was a dumb idea.
So, I decided to find a movie that I knew she hadn’t seen yet but would enjoy instead.
And then I remembered the way her eyes had lit up when we went to the drive-in, and I grabbed every throw blanket and decorative pillow I owned and started rearranging the furniture in my living room.
I filled two glasses of wine and left the games out anyway, just in case.
When I was done, I stood there scratching at my chin and questioning whether it was all a little too… intimate. But then the front door opened and it was too late to change anything.
Now, though, I’m glad I didn’t.
“Smells good,” Bella says, rounding the couch and coming into view.
I sit up, opening my mouth to respond to her but all words fail me when I look up and get my first look at her.
Holy. Shit.