I saw how thin she looked earlier but paired with the paleness of her skin and the faraway look in her eyes, it hits harder.
Leaning back against worn cushions, her eyes follow her son as he walks up to the coffee table and grabs the same cardboard box that I saw her pull from under the couch. The side of it tears when he picks it up. He looks inside. “Where’s your stash?”
Engaging can’t be something he should be doing while she’s in this state. She looks…way too out of it to give him the answers he clearly wants. Would she entertain his spiraling emotions sober? I can’t be sure. My gut tells me no.
As expected, she doesn’t answer, her head nodding off. Kudos to her, though, because she’s trying to stay with it, to focus.
He tosses the box down and grabs the back of his head in exasperation as paraphernalia clatters to the floor. Something catches his eye, and he picks it up. A syringe in new wrapping.
“What the fuck are you doing to yourself?”
She mumbles. He turns around, puts his hands on his hips for a second before his arm rears back and crumbles into drywall.
His mom’s head picks up, her eyelids not as heavy as the last few seconds. It’s muffled when she yells, “Hey!”
Colson’s head lowers to the spot just above the hole in the wall. Underneath it, there’s a smaller version of it. Breathingheavy, my feet stay rooted where they are. I’m not getting in the middle of this. Hell, I haven’t even met his mom, so I watch him from afar, fixated over the way he so easily sent his fist flying as my heart skips into each new beat.
This isn’t him.
The man I’ve seen, who has become my friend, wouldn’t lose his cool so quickly. Too much turmoil exists in this space, in this house, in the relationship he has with her.
“I dun duet all th…ti?—”
His shoulders tense at her voice. Not gonna lie. Mine do, too. It’s soul shattering to hear her speak so unclearly.
“You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t stop,” is all he says as he continues to face the wall. “You need help.”
Her head slumps down, but she catches it, leaning it back to rest on the cushion behind her. I hold my breath, waiting for another burst of Colson’s anger. It doesn’t come, but she does respond, saying, “Juz like yer father.”
That’s it.
Four words that, ironically, are clear enough for even me to make out.
Just like your father.
The way Colson turns around tells me one thing: this might be the first time she’s ever commented on his biological father. The way his body tightens makes me want to reach out and hold him. I’m a fly on a wall, watching and waiting.
One glance at her and he disappears down the hall and into his room. And what the hell do I do? I stand there, finally taking in the mess of the kitchen. The dirty plates. The clutter on the counters. Only when I’ve taken a deep breath and am confident that I can help him through what he’s facing, do I follow him.
I’m fumbling with my hands as I approach, taking careful breaths as I step in and close the door behind me. There, thatmight prevent him from stalking out and ripping through more of the house.
With his back to me, he builds a wall up around himself. I’m not sure what has him more bothered, his mom’s condition or her comment. He runs a hand through his hair, grasping at the back of his head before looking to the ceiling.
I almost don’t hear him when he says, “I can’t do this anymore.”
The way his voice breaks nearly brings me to my knees. I’d offer him my heart if it’d make him feel better. Anything to heal the hurt. I wish she could see how magnificent he is. If she did, maybe the drugs wouldn’t matter.
The tension rips through me like a Mack truck colliding with a train at a crossroads. I was barely holding myself together earlier, and now I have to watch as he fights for the same sanity.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes out.
I walk up behind him, hesitating for only a second before I run my hands up his back and rest my forehead against him. “Don’t be.”
“I don’t…” he clears his throat, and it tugs at my heartstrings. “You don’t deserve to see me like that. I normally keep my cool, but…fuck, you shouldn’t be seeing any of this.”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t grow up with his mom, but being here for as short as I have, I can tell that he’s still working through that struggle. “You did what you felt you had to.”
“We should leave.”
