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I was twelve when Abby had been sexually assaulted. She became a nightmare afterward; using drugs, sleeping around, and it ended the day she’d tried to kill herself. Dad and I had been upstairs when we heard glass breaking and her screaming.
I stopped having nightmares a long time ago, but for the longest time I remembered watching my dad kick the door in and then finding my sister barely conscious on the floor. I remember sobbing hysterically while Daddy had me call 9-1-1. He had to force his fingers down her throat to try and get her to vomit up the pills.
It took my sister a long time before she turned her life around, but she did. Now you’d never know looking at her that she had wanted to end it all at one point.
“It’s not because of that…I promise. I’ve just been so focused on getting through high school, and immediately starting college. Plus being around you and Ben, Cari and Damien, Vi and Diego, I know what I want in a man, and I won’t settle for anything less.”
Abby grabs my hand. “Don’t ever settle. I don’t think I tell you enough how much I love you. You’ve been there for me and for my family whenever we’ve needed you. You’re the best auntie to your nieces and nephews.”
“Stop, you’re going to make me cry, and you know I don’t like to show emotion.” Which is only slightly true, I just don’t like people to see me cry because people tend to think you’re weak if you do.
She wraps her arm around me and kisses my cheek. “Love you.”
“I love you too.” It isn’t long before I feel myself slip into a deep sleep.
Chris
I blink away the sleepy, booze-addled fog my brain is in. I’m pinned to the bed by two bodies, and honestly I couldn’t fucking tell you who they are. All I know is that I went out for drinks last night, and that’s it. Not smart, I know, but it’s been a shitty fucking year.
I shake the two females awake. They both push themselves up, and the redhead tries to snuggle up to me. “No, babe, it’s time for you guys to get gone. I’ve got shit to do.” I climb out of bed, and see that I have a condom hanging from my dick. Fuck me, at least I was safe.
In the bathroom, I hop in the shower and scrub myself down with water so hot I can barely stand it. Then I turn the water to cold, letting it shock my system. Once I’m done, I wrap a towel around my waist and stop in front of the mirror. Fuck, I look tired. I grab some eye drops out of the medicine cabinet and squirt a couple of drops in each eye.
I brush my teeth twice to get rid of the taste of pussy, cigarettes, and whiskey. I use my electric razor to shave the stubble from my face—my mom likes it better when I’m clean shaven, and at this point I’ll do anything to make her happy.
Just thinking about my mom makes my stomach turn. She’s dying, and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it. When they told us the chemo didn’t work and that we should put her into hospice, I’d hid in the bathroom and fucking bawled my eyes out.
At first I’d been in a state of denial, and then when anger set in I started getting drunk and high every fucking night, fucking anything with a pussy and a pulse. Last night was the last time I let that shit happen. It doesn’t fucking help, and all it does is make me feel like shit. I’ve been such a disappointment to my folks. I honestly don’t know how to make it right, and I’m running out of time to try.
At least my job has understood everything that’s going on. They helped me fill out forms for FMLA, which protects my job when I need to be with my mom. I’m a realtor, so my job is already flexible. I didn’t always want to be a realtor, but let’s face it, I fucked around in high school, flunked out of college, and have no fucking skills. I at least was able to pass my real estate exam.
I’ve always used my good looks, my cock, and my parents’ money to get what I wanted, and who I wanted. By the time I turned twenty-three, my parents finally had to give me the come to Jesus talk, and I finally pulled my head out of my ass and got my realtor’s license.
I work for Hometown Realty, and for the past three years I’ve become one of their top agents. They all fucking love me, and more than one has tried to get into my bed, but that is one thing I don’t do, fuck the women I work with. I did it once and it was the biggest fucking mistake ever.
I step back into my bedroom, and thankfully the girls are gone. Today someone is coming to help Mom with her bathing. It hurts knowing she’s not strong enough to do it herself. She didn’t want Dad or I doing it. I don’t know why…maybe embarrassment.
I throw on a pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. In my living room, I throw on my tennis shoes. I grab my phone, wallet, and keys, and head out to my black BMW X3.
My dad’s already gone by the time I pull into their driveway. He bought this house for my mom right after they got married. My dad comes from old money and it was the inheritance my grandfather left him. The same one is waiting for me. I get it when I turn thirty or get married, whichever comes first.
Dad owns his own law firm, but he’s letting his associates take the bulk of the cases right now. Today he had a meeting, so I promised I’d be here for Mom’s home care visit. I climb out of my car and look around. The lawn looks like shit. Mom usually was the one who called the lawn guy. Maybe when the person is here today I’ll take care of the yard so my mom has something nice to look at.
I use my keys to let myself in. “Mom?”
“In the family room, baby.” I head down the hall and find my mom curled up on the chaise lounge, some soap opera plays on the flat screen. She smiles when I step into the room. “Hi, handsome.”
I bend down and kiss her cheek. “Are you feeling okay?” I sit down by her feet. “Any pain today?” She shakes her head.
I got my dark blond hair from her, but right now she’s bald from the chemo. She wears scarves wrapped around her head to hide the hair loss. Mom’s always been thin, but now she’s scary thin. The pain in her stomach is the worst. She sometimes is in so much pain all she can do is lay there and cry.
The hospice nurse said they’d make sure the pain was kept under control. “Are you hungry? I could make you some soup.”
She smiles and grabs my hand—god, her hand feels cold and boney. “I’d love some soup, thank you.” Mom stops me from getting up. “Did Dad tell you who’s coming to help me get cleaned up?” I shake my head. “Haddie Carmichael.”
“Joe’s sister?” She nods. “Is she even old enough to be working? What is she, twelve?”
“Oh hush, she’s not twelve.” The doorbell rings. “Will you let her in?”
