The logical part of me yells that I should let it ring. Who the hell gives a shit what my druggie mother wants? All she’s ever done is torture me, chance after chance. I gave her so many damn opportunities to be better, to be my mom. However, she let me down every single time. I’m an alcoholic because of her.
When I was young, I always pictured myself slowly sinking to the bottom of a dark, empty ocean. My body looked peaceful as it sank, but if you looked closely, my hand was slowly reaching up, searching for warm skin, like my own. When I didn’t feel anyone’s warmth nearby, I stopped trying. There was no one there to help me because they didn’t care to look closely, so I just let go. Just like everyone else.
I look down at the phone as my finger hovers over the Accept button.
“I’m going to take this,” I mumble.
Pressing the button I know I shouldn’t, I walk to my bedroom and close the door behind me. I wait for her to speak first.
After just hearing her loud breaths on the other end for a while, I speak up. I don’t want to be here all day. “What do you want, Mom?”
“Can’t I just want to hear my son’s voice?” she rasps.
She’s high. I can tell by the scratchiness in her voice.
“You’ve never cared before, so why now?” I keep my voice emotionless even though my throat feels like it’s going to close up and strangle me to death.
“What could you have possibly given me before at such a young age? Now, you’re a man, a millionaire.” She laughs darkly.
I hear something shuffle, and I realize what that sound is. She’s snorting her powder.
She’s snorting her fucking powder.
“Mom, I’m about to hang up. Is there a point to your call?”
She demands over the line, not missing a beat, “I need money.”
Of course she needs money for her drugs. So, she’s coming to her now-rich son—that’s all I’m good for.
No way in hell am I giving this lady a fucking penny.
“I’m not giving you money for your drugs,” I deadpan.
Her voice sounds evil as she stutters over the line, “Levi, I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I need help. I’m your mother. It’s your job to help me.”
“As my mother, it was your job to raise me. What you did was torture me. I owe you nothing. So, don’t use the mom card on me.”
“I never laid a damn hand on you—”
“Verbally, mentally.” I inhale sharply, trying not to lose my cool. “Never call me again to get money for drugs. I will never give those sick bastards a penny, and you know that.”
“You owe me, Levi Miller. You wouldn’t be here without me.”
“Yeah, and I thank you every fucking day for that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she barks.
“You ruined my fucking life. You watched your own son become an alcoholic and thought there wasn’t anything wrong with that,” I hiss, nearly fisting my phone, wanting to smash it onto the ground.
“I was saving you—”
I laugh, but it’s full of an emotion that I bury deep down in my chest.
“You saved me? You got me addicted to something that could eventually kill me, and you think I was better off?”
“Yes, drinking has always helped me.”
Standing in front of a window, I watch the blue sky as I try to calm myself. “Well, Mom, I’m fucking done with that life. I haven’t had a drink in months, and I’m not planning to ever again. So, go find help elsewhere. Lose my number.”
