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Mom went to rehab.
She fucking cared.
She tried.
My head is spinning.
Can't think about this anymore.
I pull out my e-reader. "Gonna finish this book."
Dad nods. "You don't have to wait. I can call you when your mother wakes up."
"I know." But I want to.
It's morning when I give up and take a cab back to my parents' place. The house is as big as I remember it. It's four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a drought-be-damned green lawn, and a pool in the perfect backyard.
And it's the same inside. Same family photos on the walls. Same cozy cloth couches and rustic dining chairs. Same widescreen TV. Same collection of tearjerkers in the bookshelf.
Fuck, my head is heavy. My heart too. Everything is heavy. And it's spinning.
I go straight to the bathroom, my bathroom, strip, and step into the shower. The water pounds my back, neck, head. It's cold at first. Then warmer. Then hot.
It's hot enough to burn, but I do nothing to change the temperature. I need to wash today off. To wash my entire fucking life off.
There's the same shampoo, conditioner, and soap in here. Same as last time I was here, two Christmases ago—was just out of rehab and in no mood to travel last Christmas.
The shower isn't doing it today. It doesn't feel like that warm, comfortable embrace.
I need that.
My thoughts go straight to Piper. To her gorgeous blue eyes and her sweet smile and the way she pushes through her flushed cheeks to ask for what she wants.
I want her here.
Want her in my arms.
That's not happening.
I shake my head as I turn the shower off. I want comfort and I'm thinking of Piper.
Usually, I think about getting high.
I'm sure I could find Mom's stash if I applied myself. Could get out of my head by the end of the hour.
But I don't want that.
I still want to live up to the guy she thinks I am.
Fuck, I'm tired.
I dry off then sling my towel around my hips. Last thing I need is the maid screaming over the naked man in the house. Lord knows how many maids Mom has been through since I was here last.
The hallway is the same. Beige carpet, wedding photos and my grade school artwork on the walls. I still hate the clown I drew in third grade. Not only is it creepy as fuck, it's also shitty. Good for a third grader, sure, but not something that needs to be on the wall.
Not like I need the reminder that my parents had their shit together once.
Not like I need the reminder that we aren't a family anymore.
