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A sweet temptation, one I should never have.
But that won't stop me.
After all, rules are meant to be broken.
PROLOGUE
Eden – Age 14
I shove the key in my front door, wondering what state I will find my mom in today. Yesterday was a bad day when I got home……. I found her passed out on the kitchen floor surrounded by empty liquor bottles and Xanax.
Please be okay today, Momma, please, I chant over and over in my head. I take a deep breath and push the door open, stepping in I call out to her, “Mom?” No reply. “Mom?” I call again while still chanting a silent prayer in my head.
I check the kitchen first, there is no sign of her. I head back toward the entryway calling out for her. “Mom!” I call again, the worry in my voice evident. Still, I get no reply. My pulse picks up as I start to panic, my heart beats against my ribs as I make my way to the living room. I freeze just inside the door, scrunching my nose up in disgust. The smell hits me first…vomit.
Tears prick my eyes as my gaze lands on my mom, laid out on the couch, an empty vodka bottle beside her. I rush to her prone form - avoiding the puddle of vomit by the couch - relaxing a little when I see her chest rising and falling. At least she isn’t dead—this time. I think to myself bitterly. Grabbing her hand, I gently shake her.
“Mom. Mom. Mom.” I repeat. She doesn’t respond, too passed out from the liquor and God knows whatever else she took. I shake my head.
I shouldn’t have to deal with this at fourteen years old, but I do. Living with an addict for a parent, I’ve had to grow up quickly. To be there for my mom. When I look at other kids my age, I see the difference between me and them. But scenes like this have become a regular occurrence over the last few years.
Ever since myfatherleft, I have had to step up. I hatehim. I hate that he just left us. Left me. He gave up on us for a younger woman, moved to another state. I resenthimfor leaving me to clear up the mess he created. I resent my mom for not being stronger. For constantly putting me through this. I resent her for losing her nursing job due to addiction. Leaving us to depend on the monthly maintenancecheckshesends. Fortunately, our two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Seattle is paid off, otherwise that would have been another thing to worry about. Although it’s small, it suits us just fine and is in a nice neighborhood.
Mom stirs, dragging me out of my thoughts.
“Honey is that you?” she croaks, her voice barely audible, weak like the person she’s become. I hate that she has made me feel so bitter towards her. I shouldn’t blame her. She was so in love with my dad. That all-consuming type love. He was her life. Then one day he decided he didn’t love her anymore, Leaving mom heartbroken.
Anger courses through me at the thought, I take a deep breath to calm myself. “Yeah, Mom, it’s me. Let’s get you a shower, then into bed.” She mumbles something unintelligible, as I help her sit up. It takes her a few seconds to steady her swaying body as I hold her. She opens her eyes, tears fall from them, down her face, my chest tightens at the sight.
“I’m sorry for being this way, baby.” she sobs, and it breaks another little piece of me, making me feel guilty for my earlier thoughts. I rub her back in a soothing motion, trying to calm her.
“Ssshhh, it’s okay, Momma. Everything will be okay.” But even as I say the words, I know I am lying to myself. Things have not been okay for a long time now and I cannot see that changing.
My cell vibrates in my pocket. Pulling my hand from my mom’s back, I fish it out. My best friend Piper’s name flashes on the screen—she is the only person who knows what I am going through with my mom. The only person who knows everything and I have for support. I don’t think I would have been able to cope if it weren’t for her. I decline the call, dropping my cell on the coffee table and make a mental note to call her later.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” I pull her to a stand, holding her fragile, unstable body as if she is going to break. Tears prick my eyes thinking about who my mom once was. She was beautiful - still is in a broken way.
Back when she was eighteen, she became Miss California, had everything going for her. But eversinceheleft……. Well let’s just say, there is barely anything left of her, thanks to the alcohol and pills. Her appearance is haggard, skin sallow, hair brittle and unkempt.
I clench my jaw in frustration. I wish she would get better; wish she would realize thatheis not worth all this. More than anything I wish she could be there for me in the way she is supposed to. Glancing at my broken mom, I instantly hate my selfish thoughts. But then I remember it’s my truth and sometimes the truth is ugly.
A few minutes later, I manage to get her up the stairs and in the bathroom. I’m not a big girl by any means, but mom is now pretty much skin and bones, so I don’t struggle to much getting her up the stairs. I strip her out of her clothes while she drunkenly mumbles - bits I hear, bits I miss- but what I do hear has my blood boiling.
“I will get better, honey. It’s just hard right now with your dad leaving,” she slurs the same thing she tells me every time this happens. I resist shouting at her, but all I want to do is screamthathehas been gone for two years, and she is worse. Not better. It wouldn’t do me any good though, so I leave it.
Twenty minutes later, I have her showered, changed and in her bed. She passes out as soon as I lay her down. I sigh as I leave her room, exhausted and hungry. Heading downstairs, I tidy up the mess my mother left behind. If I didn’t, it would be left, and I refuse to live in a shit hole.
After I finish the cleaning, I search through the cupboards, finding some ramen noodles for my dinner, which I quickly prepare and eat. I will need to go shopping tomorrow, get some decent food in but for now these will have to do.
When I’m done, I make my way to my room. Hopping on my bed, I lay down and stare at the ceiling. Thoughts race through my mind. How did we get here? Why did he leave? Were we not good enough? It’s a vicious cycle. One that’s left me with an addict mother who cannot let go of a man who no longer wants her.
My thoughts drift tohim.He was a good father up until he left. We were a family. A happy one at that. I was a bit of a daddy’s girl. Mom worked shifts at the hospital, so my time was spent with my father. When I told him I wanted to dance,Hewas the one who found me a dance school and took me to classes. When I knew I loved cupcakes,Hewould make sure we had them every Friday.
And now? Now, I cannot remember the lasttimehecalled to check in on me.Hethinks sending a monthly check is enough, thinks by doing that it makes him a father. I wonderhow hewould feel if he knew how things had turned out, knew I was failing school. Would he come back and help?
I snort bitterly. He can’t even call because he is too busy, so I doubt he gives a second thought about me or my life.Heis too caught up in his trophy girlfriend, his new life in California.
A stray tear rolls down my cheek. I swipe at it furiously.Hedoesn’t deserve my tears. Closing my eyes, I pray.
