I jolt, pushing my knees up, and shoving against her stomach until she stumbles back into the dresser, barely catching herself before my TV tips toward her.
Her face shifts—and I know that look.
To her, I just hit her. I can’t even defend myself without her twisting it into me being the problem starter.
I sit up, my chest heaving, when her fist slams into my eye. The world flashes white. Pain rips through me, hot and blinding, and tears spring before I can even register the sting.
I’ve been whooped before—plenty of times—but this? This isn’t that.
This is the type of shit parents get arrested for.
Fucking child abuse.
My brain can’t catch up to what my body already knows is coming. The shock hits first, but I’m not even sure why I’m shocked. There’s been too many times she’s told me she’ll fight me outside like I’m a bitch off the street.
I guess I just never expected it—like I still hoped, somewhere deep down, we wouldn’t never get to this point.
But it did.
I clutch my eye, body shaking as I try to hold back the sobs clawing their way out of me. But the pain’s too much—the hurt runs deeper than I can swallow—and the tears won’t stop.
She storms out, only to come back with a cold towel seconds later.
Without a word, she presses it against my eye, my bruised skin throbbing from the pressure. I can feel the puffiness building around my eye as I blink, trying to see through it.
I’ve never been punched in the face before—let alone in the eye. And for the first time in my life, she’s silent—and that alone tells me she knows she went too far.
She slumps into the chair in the corner of my room, her shoulders heavy, the weight of it all finally catching up to her. No screaming, no blaming—just one tired sigh.
“I hope you know you’re not going back to summer school,” she states, like she’s half trying to convince herself.
My chest tightens. “But I need those credits. If I don’t finish, I won’t graduate early.”
Her gaze flicks over, stern and worn. “You’ll still graduate. Just not early. You’ll walk with your class like everybody else.”
“I didn’t start summer school to not finish.” My voice shaking with fury. “I’ve been working my ass off justtryingto get ahead. All my friends are graduating together—I don’t want to be the only one who isn’t. And now Ican’tbecause you want to fucking hit me and then act embarrassed by it—I can just say Sonny and I were fighting.”
“What the hell did I say! I’m not going to have the school calling me or the police coming to my fucking door acting like you’re getting fucking abused.”
But I pretty much am.
She perches on the arm of the chair, her tone low yet sharp. “Graduating early doesn’t change shit. You just can’t stop trying to be like everyone else can you? God how did I raise such a fucking follower.”
“Why are you so fucking evil! I scream not caring that I’m cussing at her. She obviously doesn’t care either because she hasn’t said anything about it.
“I can’t wait to get away from you,” I say, choking back tears she doesn’t deserve.
“You’ll leave when you’re ready to leave—and I won’t stop you. And the way you’re headed, you’ll be out before you even have anywhere to go. Life’ll teach you better than I can.” She stands waving a hand in the air before walking away.
Her words land like knives—breaking me, even as I hate myself for caring.
I clutch the towel tighter against my face, the resentment inside me taking over.
Respect? Gone.
The title of Mom? Stripped.
She’s not my fucking mom. She’s just Tracey Renee.
