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Chloe
Present Day
“Hey, Mom. This is a surprise. Brooke isn’t coming home until eight.” I open the door to my apartment.
She walks into the space, running her shaky hands down her disheveled clothes. Her dark, greasy hair sticks to the sides of her head, emphasizing the paleness of her skin. Everything about her resembles a corpse. From her jutting collarbones to her hollow cheeks, it’s as if someone vacuumed the life straight out from her.
The way she stares at me sets me on edge. It’s the same look she had every time the social worker tried to have us reconcile, only to have Mom screw it up again. Most people have a devil and an angel on each of their shoulders. My mom was stuck with two devils who support her preferred vices—drugs and bad decisions.
“Sweetie. I’ve been meaning to call you.” Her sickly-sweet tone sends goosebumps across my skin. She gazes at me with bulging blue eyes. “I know we had plans for tonight, but I need to cancel. I’m not feeling well.”
More like she’s not feeling high. Crossing my arms, I lean against the kitchen counter. I might as well make myself comfortable for another round of disappointment. I thought it would be different this time between us. I thought she would be different.
Stupid Chloe. When will you ever learn?
She rattles on, taking my silence as acceptance. “I’m in a tough spot. See, I owe Ralph some money, and you know how he gets when I don’t pay him.”
“Rough and handsy?”
Ralph is the reason my social worker revoked my mom’s custody. When my mom’s boyfriend wasn’t heavy-handed with Mom, he was creepy with me. The social worker pulled me out of the house and determined Mom could try again in a few years if she worked on herself and ditched her boyfriend. Mom decided Ralph being her usual drug supplier served a greater benefit than the fat check she received from the government for half-ass parenting. That is if someone could call leaving me to fend for myself in a roach-infested apartment parenting.
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t ask you for money if I didn’t need it.”
“No, Mom. You would ask. That’s our problem. Every time I give you money, you promise to pull yourself together.” And every time you say you’ll get clean, I fall for it because I still can’t move past my stupid hopeful mindset.
She tugs her cracking lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry. You know how I am.”
“A liar?”
Her laugh borders on cackling. “Oh, Chloe. Don’t be that way.”
“Truthful?”
It seems like her mood appears to take a turn for the worst as her eyes darken. “Snappy comments are cute for picking up boys, but they lose their charm when used against your mother.”
I release a tense breath from my lungs. “I don’t have money.”
“You’re lying. It’s the end of the month. You’re the responsible type with your bills.”
Of course, she would come on payday. How could I have been this dense to think she wanted to actually see me on my birthday? “No. I’m not lying.”
“Just give me three-hundred dollars and I’ll leave. That’s all I need.” She chews on a ragged nail.
“No.”
My mother’s eyes dart from me to my purse hanging on a hook by the door. The very purse that houses my monthly rent payment.
“Don’t even think about it.” I mean to snap, but my voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. Please, don’t think of stealing from me. I’m your daughter, for God’s sake. My throat tightens at the idea.
“You don’t understand. The spasms are getting worse without my stuff.” She makes her addiction to opioids sound like a casual need for ice cream. It’s always been this way, with her craving her stuff more than she craves being a mother.
“You promised to quit.” My voice rasps, sadness eating away at my faux coldness.
She sneers, her patience apparently thinning. “Yeah, well, I lied. I’m sorry. I did try, but it was terrible. I can’t live without it.”
Even though I spent most of my life listening to sweet lies and empty apologies, the words still sit heavy in my chest every time she says them. It’s like I’m taken back to the time I was a little girl.
