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Chapter 30
As soon as my foot moves through the threshold, a boulder grows in my throat. I know that I have to hurry. She needs me. I can't hesitate.
Lingering cigarette smoke nearly suffocates me as I stand rigid, frozen in place. My boots stick to the beer-stained carpet that I'm sure hasn't been washed since I watched Allen soak it with a freshly opened Corona when I was fourteen, face held in a tight sneer that I’ll never forget. He did it in front of Mom and she flinched back, covering her arms around herself, wearing that flimsy diner outfit. I don't remember why he was upset with her, but I remember the fear etched deep into the stress lines that covered her face. I've tried to forget what her fear looks like, but it seems like an impossible task. I see it in my nightmares far too often.
The familiar recliner is still shoved against the wall across from me, hiding the several fist-sized holes in the cracking drywall with its torn fabric. An old coffee tin rests on the ground beside it, packed to the metal brim with ashes, chewed tobacco, and what looks to be a crushed white powder. It's made abundantly clear to me that both my mom and Allen still haven't learned to clean up after themselves. I wish I could say I was surprised. Our house was always a fucking mess.
It's been a long time since I've been here, in this disrespectful attempt at a childhood home. And for what? What could possibly be so important that I would drag myself through these shattered walls and shrill silence?
My mom. That's who's so important.
Like every time I bring myself to relive all of my childhood trauma, it's for her. The woman who would have sold me for a new crack pipe if given the chance. Come to think of it, I'm surprised she never tried to trade me off for a quick fix. But who knows? Maybe she did try. Maybe I just wasn't a good enough offering.
I was halfway home from the airport, buzzing with anticipation, ready to see Gray when I picked up my phone and heard Mom crying for help. I knew that I shouldn't have said I would be right there. I knew that it would only continue to enable her destructive behaviour knowing I would always come rescue her. But dammit, she's my mom. And no matter how many times she tosses me to the side like a used tissue, I have to keep trying to save her from herself and this life she continues to live. She can't keep going on like this.
I can feel my blood pump in my eardrums, my body's harsh reminder that I need to move quicker. This isn't the time to relive my childhood memories and feel sorry for myself. There's plenty of time for that later. When I know Mom is okay.
"Mom?" I call into the silence, hoping to God my nerves aren't making my voice shake. My fear turns to full-blown panic when there's no reply. I pick up my pace, pushing myself up the rotted old staircase as I take each step two at a time.
Please be okay.
I push her bedroom door open, rushing inside as I look in every nook and cranny. My throat closes up, strangling me with my fear when I don't find her hidden in the small room. "Mom?" I call out again, and this time I know my voice shakes. I can hear it.
A subtle thump catches my attention, the sound coming from down the hall. My feet move quickly, dragging my newly numb limbs to the closed bathroom door. My fist slams against the cracked wood and echoes down the hallway.
"Mom? It's Tyler. Open the door." I hear a small groan as I rattle the locked doorknob. "I need you to unlock the door for me." I focus on the sound of a body sliding across the stained tiles that I know lay right behind this door. The sound makes my muscles tighten. My breath catches in my throat.
For the first time in my life, I hope that she's just high.
"Tyler. I can't” Her voice is placid as she manages to slam what I assume to be a hand against the thick wood. My pulse lurches and my stomach dips as I run a shaky hand down my face. Think, Tyler. Fucking think. I need to get this door open.
"Mom, I need you to move away from the door, okay? I have to kick it open." Once again her body moves slowly across the floor. A painful cough tears through her as a loud bang rings from the side of the bathtub. I take a step back before raising my leg and pushing every inch of my terror into the kick. My boot makes contact with the door, sending the now shattered wood slamming back against the bathroom wall. My jaw drops when I finally lay eyes on her. I can feel the bile rise in my throat as my wide eyes move over her beaten, broken body.
"Mom," I choke, my chest closing in on itself.
"Tyler." She forces the words through her bloody lips, a few stray tears sliding from underneath her swollen, purple eye. Her head rests against the red-stained bathtub, providing the strength for her to keep herself from sliding to the floor. She coughs again, sending a wave of fury through my veins when my eyes wander to the prominent finger marks wrapped around her neck. I drop to my knees in front of her and grab her bruised cheek in my hand. Trailing my fingers along the fresh bruises, I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Did you take anything?" I nearly choke on the question as I grab hold of the bathtub with my free hand to steady myself. She doesn't reply as her normal coloured eye starts to slowly shut. "Fuck, Mom. Stay awake. Did you take anything? Are you high? I need to take you to the hospital." My vision becomes hazy as my anger starts to morph into a fury that terrifies me to my very core. It's in my chest, my mouth, my veins. Fuck, it feels like it's crawled under my skin, rippling underneath of it like a worm in fresh mud.
"I don't know."
My head drops as I take a shuddered breath. "What happened? I need to call an ambulance."
That gets a reaction from her as her eye pops open and she shakes her head furiously. "No. No hospitals. No cops."
Narrowing my eyes at her, I growl my next words. "You're high, beaten, and you might have a concussion. You need to go to the hospital."
"Hospital means cops," she replies slowly, playing with each word.
"And? That bastard deserves to be locked up. Look at what he did to you!"
"I made him mad. My fault."
Not believing what I'm hearing, I shoot up and away from her. My jaw slacks as I shake my head incredulously. "You're kidding me."
When she doesn't reply, I pull out my phone.
"Who are you calling?"
