“I stopped watching. I didn’t want to see what came next.”
He takes me by my arm, guiding me backward step by step. “This is why you don’t belong here.”
I try to look around him but he’s too tall and moves in line with me perfectly. “Should we call 911 or something?”
“No.”
Fear goes off in me like a firework. “Colson, she could overdose.”
“She won’t.”
I dig my feet into the floor to stop us. “How do you know?”
And then he shouts, his voice bellowing out of him like a man who’s finally erupting. “Because this is what she does!” He points in the direction of the living room so fast I flinch. “She goes out there, finds whatever the fuck she wants, and comes home to do this. She gets high and passes the fuck out. She’ll wake up tomorrow and want to do it all fucking over again.”
A knot forms in the back of my throat, making it difficult to swallow or get out a word. His eyes, mirroring the defeat he must feel in his heart, stare into me.
People say that your eyes are the windows to your soul. I used to think how silly of a phrase that was until I met Colson. As if shutters have been on his all this time, they fling to the side, offering me the purest, rarest gaze.
Every hardship he’s been through barrels into me, wreaking havoc. What do I do in this moment when so much of his emotion passes through to me? When he’s silently telling me to go, but all I want to do is stay and be his shoulder?
He tells me to go back to his room one last time then chokes out, “And stay there until I come in.”
If I didn’t care what went on out here, I would. I’d march my ass right back in there, lie down on his less than inviting bed, and drift off to sleep without a care, but he forgets the connection we have. That we play this game of taking turns being there for each other. I won’t be able to live with myself if I just go back and wait.
There’s a fire burning beneath him. Maybe it has been all this time, but it’s never had the chance to fully thrive. Suddenly, he’s a man on a mission, moving around me to push open the door across from his. The door flies back, bouncing off the wall behind it.
I look back to the living room, wondering if his mom truly is okay. I’m afraid to see for myself. I trust Colson knows what he’s talking about. He’s been through this more than I have. If she wasn’t okay, he wouldn’t have walked away from her, would he?
I follow him to what I now know is his mom’s room. He yanks the drawers to her dresser open, not caring if shit falls out of them. Digging through clothing and whatever else might be in there, he searches and searches. “Colson?”
He ignores me calling out. But damn it, he has to know that this isn’t going to help. We need to get his mom supportive care, not rip the house apart.
“Whatever you’re looking for isn’t going to change what already happened.”
He acts like he doesn’t hear me as he shoves everything around after picking through items I can’t make out. Next is the drawer. He pulls the entire thing out and tosses it on the bed, which happens to be on a box spring rather than the floor.
I walk into the room, pushing to stand by his side. I grab at his arm, lean muscle flexing as he continues his search. My arm jostles from the movement, but I stare up at his stone-cold face, anyway. “You have to stop this,” I tell him. “You’re making it worse.”
“I’m making it worse? I’m not stopping until I find all the drugs she has in this house. Then I’m going to flush them down the goddamn toilet.”
“If she has drugs here then why would she have gone out to buy more?”
“Because she puts them in places sometimes, then forgets.”
I’m rough when I yank on his arm. “I know you’re angry and upset.”
“Angry and upset doesn’t really pinpoint what I’m feeling right now.”
Colson steps away, looking for the next thing he plans to destroy before moving to the kitchen. I’m careful where I position myself, moving so my back is toward the living room. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle seeing his mom in a certain state while trying to calm him.
A drowsy, hoarse voice comes from behind. “Whatha hell?”
Anxiety dives from my head to my belly, and my eyes snap to Colson. He rears back, halting just before opening the next cabinet he plans to slam shut like he’s done to all the others.
“Whadderya doin’ to my shiyt?” Her syllables merge, and it’s hard as freaking hell to figure out what she’s saying. Colson narrows his gaze at his mom. My heart beats extra hard, thumping in my chest like crazy. He plunges into the living room, leaving me no choice but to twist around.
The desire to run back to his room hits hard. I wasn’t prepared for how much it’d affect me to see his mom in a state as guttural as this.
