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Mom and a short, middle-aged guy are on the couch. She’s clearly strung out, her head weaving back and forth a little, her eyes shuttered. She barely seems aware of what’s going on, and her robe is half open.
The john of the day has one hand on her chest, groping at her, and the other between her legs. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, and it sets off a protective instinct inside me.
“Get the fuck off her,” I snap. “And get the hell out.”
He looks over at me, eyeing me up and down, and I can read the clear dismissal in his eyes. I know what he sees. A slender slip of a woman, standing here with nothing to back her up. He thinks he can ignore me and do whatever he wants, and he’s probably the sort of man who has been doing that to the women in his life forever.
“Why? Who the fuck are you?” He scoffs. “Her mother? She likes it, see?”
Mom just giggles, listing to one side enough that she nearly collapses onto the couch cushions.
“She doesn’t know what she likes right now,” I bite out. “And I’m sure you already got your money’s worth. She might not be in her right mind to know that, but I am. So I’d suggest you leave before I call the cops.”
He scowls, dragging his hand out from between her legs. “They’d arrest her too, you know.”
I shrug, not budging an inch from where my feet are planted in the living room. “I don’t care.”
It’s only half a bluff, and maybe he can tell how close I am to following through on that threat, because he makes a disgruntled noise and heaves himself off the couch.
“Fucking cunt,” he mutters under his breath. “This is why all you bitches are better on your back. Or on your knees, so I don’t have to hear your yapping.”
He walks past me toward the door, clipping me with his shoulder as he goes, and my pulse spikes as I curl my hands into fists. I’ve still got that knife in my bag, but if he decides to lash out, I’m not sure how much good it would do me.
Just go. Please, just get the fuck out of here.
I watch him like a hawk as he heads toward the door, and when he pauses with his hand on the knob, I tense up all over again. Then he yanks it open and steps outside, slamming it behind him.
I let out a relieved breath, my body still shaking from pent up adrenaline, then go over to where my mother is sprawled on the couch. She’s muttering to herself now, and her eyes are half closed until I put my hands on her shoulders.
“Mom.” When that doesn’t get much of a reaction, I try her name. “Misty. Are you okay?”
“What?” She blinks at me blearily, and I can tell it takes some time for her to focus on my face. “Willow. What are you doing here?”
“I came to make sure you’re okay.”
Her jaw falls open a little, and she gazes at me, blinking again. In the space of a few heartbeats, the hazy, dazed out bliss of her high flips to the other side of the coin, and her chin wobbles, her face crumpling up.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she slurs, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m a mess. You had to come all the way here to get that fucker off—”
I clench my jaw, shaking my head. I can’t deal with this right now. “It’s okay. He’s gone. Let me get you some water, okay?”
“Okay.” She sniffs. “My mouth tastes like an asshole.”
Oh god. That colorful bit of description makes me shudder, and I step over a pile of clothes on the floor to go to the kitchen and fill a cup with water.
Even now that I don’t live here anymore, doing stuff like this is like muscle memory. Making sure the johns leave and don’t try to get more than they’ve paid for. Cleaning up the messes left behind. Pulling my mom off the floor or the couch while she’s high off her ass, and making sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit when shit gets really bad.
I could do it all with my eyes closed. I’ve been doing it since I was too young to even be seeing stuff like this.
It’s a part of me now.
After flipping off the tap, I bring the glass back into the living room and hand it to my mom.
“Don’t spill it,” I say, just in time for water to slosh out of the side of the cup and onto the couch.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “I’m such a mess. You always have to do this. I’m so sorry, Willow baby.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her with a sigh.
