They both watch me closely. Little shits would make great mothers.
Flicking the now-empty bottle on the table in front of me, I watch it bounce twice before it lands on the floor near Axel’s feet.
His bored eyes find mine. “I’m not picking that up.”
“Rowan will,” I say casually as I scan the crowd below us.
“Yeah, sure, dipshit.” He snorts and rolls his eyes. “I forgot I was your maid.”
If I didn’t have several pairs of eyes on me right now, waiting for a new story, I would playfully attack him. However, since I already have a terrible reputation in the media, I stay in my seat.
“It’s sometimes funny how you’re such a dick,” Rowan mutters and fist-bumps Axel.
The two laugh and point over toward me.
What the fuck is so funny?
They get my two middle fingers in response.
Axel leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “All jokes aside, we love you. You’re our bro. We only want what’s best for you.”
I know he means well, but to sum up what he’s really saying:
1. We just got a record deal a year ago. We’re finally making it big, so don’t fuck it up.
2. Your sister will be doomed without you.
3. If you die, we won’t have a third person in our band.
The three of us have been best friends since kindergarten. We’ve seen each other at our lowest and our highest points in life. Not to mention, we grew stronger together.
We all come from fucked up families.
Axel was put into adoption when he was a newborn. He’s never had a family, never had a room to call his. When he walked through a new home, he would walk out a couple of days later. Rowan’s dad left one day and never came back. His mom became depressed and couldn’t bear to see daylight. She was put into rehab when he turned fifteen, making him live with his grandma.
Now, me, Levi fucking Miller. Never had a dad. He left. Never had a mom—well, I do, but she’s no mother to me. From the moment I was born, she’s been the worst mother. I resulted from a one-night stand. My dad wanted nothing to do with me, so my mother became a druggie when he left.
It’s always just been me, her, and her drugs.
The moment I learned how to live, I started taking care of not only myself, but her too. She wouldn’t feed me; I had to feed the both of us. She didn’t tuck me into bed at night; I did when she couldn’t because she was too high.
I watched men come in and out of the house, and she even snorted her powder on the table next to my toys. And when she ran out, all the blame would be on me.
Blame me for being alive.
Blame me for my dad not staying.
Eventually, I started blaming myself. I hated myself just as much as she did. We bonded over that.
She saw the hurt in my eyes and taught me the only way to get rid of it was alcohol. I believed her; I wanted to trust my mother for once. I was a stupid, naive teenager. I started drinking with her every night. That was the only way she would have conversations with me. I just wanted to feel for once what it felt like to have a mom.
One night, I begged her to get clean. I told her, if she didn’t, I would leave and never come back. The worst part was, I meant it. I was going to leave. She saw my determination and stopped taking drugs. To this day, I still wonder why she did it. Was she afraid she’d lose the only person she’d ever had? Or was she just doing it because she knew she wouldn’t be able to function without me?
To my surprise, she got sober for two years. However, the best two years of my life immediately became the past when she met a man. She got pregnant again by accident, and he was a runner too. While Mom was pregnant, she was clean. I can’t say the same for after.
Right after the baby was born, she hated it. She blamed my sibling for ruining her body. She blamed the poor, innocent baby for pushing away her boyfriend. After that, she started drinking and doing drugs again, hating the world.
Not only did I become the parent again, but I also had to raise my little sister. I promised her I would give her a life I never had. I would treat her like a princess and show her I was her biggest fan.
