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We have new neighbors and they’re into sharing. Let’s go. ”

Snatching Mom’s hand, I push past her and into the apartment. “You need to pack. ”

“Elisabeth! Don’t!”

“What the hell?” The place is trashed. Not like normal trashed. This is beyond dirty dishes, mud-caked floors, and fast-food wrappers on the furniture. The cushions of the couch lie on the threadbare carpet, both ripped open. The coffee table could now be used as kindling. The insides of Mom’s small television lie exposed near the three-foot kitchen.

“Someone broke in. ” Mom shuts the door behind her, locking one of the dead bolts.

“Bullshit. ” I turn and face her. “People who break in steal shit and you don’t have shit to steal. And what the hell is that stench?”

I dyed Easter eggs with Scott once and our trailer smelled like vinegar for days.

“I’m cleaning,” Mom says. “The bathroom. I got sick in there earlier. ”

Her words hit me hard. Puking can mean an OD. My worst nightmare for my mother.

“What did you take?”

She shakes her head and nervously laughs.

“I told you, pot. A little beer. I’m barely buzzing. ”

Ah, hell. “Are you pregnant?”

I hate it when she has to think for an answer.

“No. No. I’m taking those pills. It’s good you found a way to have them sent to me in the mail. ”

Kneading my eyes with my palms, I gather my wits. None of this matters. “Get your stuff together. We’re leaving. ”

“Why? I haven’t received an eviction notice. ”

“We’re gypsies, remember?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “We never stay still. ”

“No, Elisabeth. You have the gypsy soul, not me. ”

Her statement stops me short and I wait for her to explain. Mom sways from side to side. Whatever. She’s high and I don’t have time for this. I step over the shredded coffee table. “Isaiah offered to take me to the beach and you’re coming with us. We’ll lay low until I turn eighteen next summer and then we’ll be home free. ”

“What about Trent?”

“He beats you. You don’t need that asshole!”

I spot a couple of plastic shopping bags in the corner. Those will do. Mom owns few items worth packing.

“Elisabeth!” Mom kicks the remains of the coffee table as she bolts after me. She grabs my arm. “Stop!”

“Stop? Mom, we have to go. You know if

Trent comes back and finds me here…”

She cuts me off and runs her fingers through my hair again. “He’ll kill you. ” Her eyes pool with tears and she sniffles again. “He’ll kill you,” she repeats. “I can’t go. ”

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My entire body bottoms out like a fast sobering from a high. “You have to. ”

“No, baby. I can’t go now. Give me a few weeks. I got some business to take care of and then we’ll leave together. I promise. ”

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