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Will he turn out like his father?
Fuck, will he even live long enough to do that?
What if Kyle seriously snaps and kills us both one day?
I can see it now… Abel saying something that pisses Kyle off…
My knees going weak, I shake that image out of my head.
I can’t let it get to that. I can’t.
The front door slams shut and the walls shake.
Kyle left. Probably off to do some more drinking and gambling.
If the past repeats itself, he’ll be back in a few hours, so drunk and belligerent I’m guaranteed that beating he put off.
I look up at the ceiling and ask, “What do I do?”
God, tell me what to do because I haven’t got a clue.
I need a fucking miracle.
I feel a tug on my shirt and look down at Abel.
He looks up at me, his eyes pleading.
Leave.
I know that’s what would make the most sense.
But how?
I don’t even have money for diapers or formula. Kyle wasted it all. Asking him for money for groceries is what started this whole thing in the first place.
You’d think the fact that his father is one of the most notorious bookies in the city, he’d know better than to waste our money gambling. But he pisses it all away anyway. And his father has already made it clear he won’t be loaning us more until we’ve paid back what we already owe him.
At a loss, I carry Abel out of his room and into the kitchen. Shifting him into one arm, I grab up the last canister of formula and pop it open.
Then I stare at what’s left.
There’s maybe enough for two more bottles, if I can get every little particle over the rim without spilling it.
Even if we stay here, we’re fucked.
I’m up a river without a paddle. I have nothing of value to sell. I could get a job if I could find a babysitter. But even then, it would be days or weeks before I got my first paycheck.
My mother… Fuck, she’s probably even worse off. All her money either goes up her nose or in her veins.
And my father… if he wasn’t dead, I could count on him.
But then again, if he wasn’t dead, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.
If only he hadn’t gone on that last job Uncle Mickey gave him…
Scraping out scoops of formula one-handed, I dump them in a bottle then add water.
Grabbing the bowl by the sink, I fill it up with hot water and that’s when it hits me.
