I groan when I find the door unlocked. I always tell Mom to leave that shit locked up when I’m not home.
“Ma,” I call out, walking through the messy living room and down the hallway.
She doesn’t answer, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Ma,” I say again, slowly pushing her door open.
She’s in bed, wearing nothing but a bra and panties. She’s only fifteen years older than my twenty-two—too young to have a son my age, yet looking older than she should because of her lifestyle. It only takes one look at her to know she’s drunk. There are two hundred-dollar bills on the nightstand, and her hand’s shaking when she lifts it to run her fingers through her blond hair.
My spine stiffens, my muscles going rigid. “Did someone hurt you? Was it Bruce?” If that slumlord laid a hand on her, I’ll fucking kill him.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I made some money!” She grabs the bills and tries to throw them at me, but they flutter like broken butterfly wings and fall to the blanket.
She doesn’t have to say more. I can feel the guilt radiating off her, thick and heavy and choking.
“Jesus, Mom. What did you do?” There’s no doubt in my mind she did something. Every time I try and get things straight, she fucks it up again.
“I messed up.”
“No shit.”
I shove out of the room and go straight for mine. I hear her scramble out of bed behind me.
“Shai. Wait.”
She tries to jump on my back but doesn’t make it.
The second I see the typically padlocked closet door open, the simmering rage beneath my skin cracks and pops with even more intensity.
Please only let it be the money that’s gone, please only let it be the money that’s gone.
I rip the closet door open—and breathe out a sigh of relief when I see my guitar’s still inside. I can deal with almost anything, but if she’d pawned my guitar, I’d be fucking done.
I grab the money can, rip the lid off, and…
Nothing.
“All of it!” I shout. “Fucking all of it?”
“I can’t help it!”
“What do you mean you can’t fucking help it? I sure can’t help it for you. What did you even spend it on?” But I know the answer: drugs, alcohol, gambling. Three of her favorite things. If she had a man around, she would also spend her money on him, trying to buy his love.
“I’m sorry.” She starts crying.
I knew I should have brought the money with me, but I don’t trust keeping a bunch of cash on my person either. I’ve seen too many people get jacked.
“Rent is due tomorrow! What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
“What about your job?” she asks.
“I’ve worked two shifts, and it’s part-time.”
“Can’t you take the money from there?”
“Sure. Just let me steal from the register, and then I’ll get fired and any legal way we have of getting paid goes down the drain.” It’s not a bad idea, though. The issue is, I don’t work tomorrow. I could go back tonight and break in, but I’m sure they’re not dumb enough to leave any money in the till overnight. “How did you even leave?” I have our only car.
“It’s not hard to find men to do what I want, Shai. You should know that. It’s not hard for you either.”
