I slam the door open and there she is—my mother, straddling Nick, tangled in bedsheets, hair a mess, eyes wide like I’m the one who ruined the moment.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I shout, barely able to see straight as I shake the trash bags in my hands. “You packed my life into garbage bags before you were screwing this greasy discount jackass who will probably rob you next month for a pack of cigarettes?!”
She scrambles for the blanket. “Jasmine, how the fuck did you get in here. I changed the locks.”
People used to say I was the spitting image of my mother. Same gray eyes, same long wavy blonde hair, same sharp little smirk like we were both in on some private joke.
But now?
Now her hair hangs in limp, tangled waves. Her skin’s gone papery, pulled too tight over her bones, and scabs litter her arms and legs. She clutches the blanket to her chest and flares her nostrils at me.
“I was going to let you know earlier but you came back late from work, but Bud wants to move in, so you have to move out.” My mom slurs, her words sticky in her mouth, like she can barely get them past her cracked lips.
I feel my lip curl in disgust as the trash bags drop to my side. "Bud?You’re throwing me out forBud?"
My mom’s eyes dart to the man behind her like she needs backup. He just sits there, sprawled in the stained naked mattress like a king on a trash heap, scratching his chest withone hand, the other is bent behind his head. He watches me like this is entertainment, like my life getting torn apart is the best thing he’s seen all week.
“Bud wants to move in, and he has a son,” she repeats, rolling her eyes as if I was too slow to understand her the first time she said it. “So you have to move out.”
My chest caves and burns at the same time, like my heart just cracked in two. "Move out?" I choke on the words. “I pay the bills!The electricity, the water, the Wi-Fi, the fucking rent!Ikeep this shithole running while you pump what little money we have straight into your bloodstream! How the hell are you going to be able to afford tolivewithout me.”
She flinches, then sneers, clutching the blanket tighter as if it could shield her from the truth. “Bud works, and he said he could cover it.”
“Oh that’s great,” I laugh humorlessly. “Yourdrug dealingboyfriend can pay the rent! Fucking fantastic decision making skills, Patricia! What about me?”
Mom rolls her eyes, and sighs pinching her nose between her thumb and ring finger. “What about you, Jasmine?”
Tears sting the back of my eyes, and my throat tightens painfully. “I am your fucking daughter!”
Bud chuckles, low and raspy. "Feisty little thing, ain't she?"
My glare shoots to him like a blade. “Shut the fuck up before you catch something worse than a felony.”
His smirk only widens, but before I can say another word, Patricia slams her palm against the side table, rattling the empty pill bottles.
“Don’t you talk to him like that!” she shouts, nostrils flaring. “You are eighteen, and I don’t want you here anymore.”
“Mom-” I croak but she cuts me off.
““I’m not gonna let you take another man from me, Jasmine. Iwon't."
I freeze. For a second, I swear the whole room goes quiet except for the sickening thud of my heart in my chest. “What?”
Her eyes glisten, wild and desperate. "You always do this! Always!” she screams, pushing up to her feet, the blanket falling away, revealing bruises blooming over her legs like rotten fruit. “Every time I find someone good, you ruin it. You poison it!"
“Good?He’s a fucking dealer, Mom! He’s an abusive shit!” I shout back, my chest heaving, my vision swimming in red.
“You’re just jealous!” she screeches, her voice cracking under the weight of her rage and whatever high she’s barely clinging to. “You are such a selfish child. I am happy Jasmine. Do you not want your mother to be happy? I mean fuck! You have taken everything from me, at least give me this!”
That does it.
I lunge for the garbage bags, yanking them open, pulling my clothes out and throwing them across the room, my heart in my throat, my fury boiling over.
“You think this isbetter?!” I scream, tossing my ruined journal at her feet. “You thinkthisis a life? Waking up on some loser’s lap, your veins full of poison, your brain turned to mush?! You’re fucking pathetic!”
Her face twists into an ugly snarl. Before I can brace myself, she lunges at me, nails catching my cheek, scraping deep. The sting blooms hot across my skin.
Reflex takes over—I shove her back, harder than I meant to, and she stumbles, crashing into the armchair. Bud scrambles to catch her, spilling the ashtray from the folded table next to the bed.
