Everything started to link up after that. Her odd behaviors, her time out of the house, the guys she would bring home here and there.
That same week, I managed to print a pamphlet about addiction at the library at school. I was proud to bring it home, hoping she’d read it and want to get her shit together. Maybe opt for an outpatient rehab program. If not for me, then for herself.
“What’s this?”
Mom was laying on the couch, her hand pressed to her cheek, as I handed her the paper. I didn’t have time to trifold it before shoving it into the bottom of my bookbag. Finn’s friends were known for grabbing kid’s bags and dumping their stuff out to check for spare change. I didn’t want them to see it if they did. It would be one more thing for them to get on my case about. Luckily, I managed to stay out of their way by walking the long way home.
“Read it.” I slung my bookbag on the ground next to the futon we had in the living room. Mom got it secondhand, the wooden arms worn from years of use.
Her eyes slid across the paper, and hope blossomed in my chest.
Slowly, she sat up, scooting to the edge of the cushion. Her hazel-green eyes were darker than the last time I saw them, the creases next to them more pronounced. Mom was pretty, but she was aging fast. She didn’t have that natural beauty about her that used to be there years ago. My health and wellness teacher was the same age as her, and she didn’t look like mom did. When Ms. Darnish laughed with the class, her eyes smiled along with her mouth. Mom’s never did that.
I wasn’t sure if they ever did.
I hoped this would help fix that.
Would bring the person back who saw me eyeing that pogo stick a few years ago.
“Is this a joke?” Her voice wasn’t dull like normal, but rough around the edges. The same way it got after she hacked up a lung from smoking too many cigarettes in a row.
“What? No.”
“Does it look like I have something wrong with me, Colson?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, but I know what I saw and what I researched during my free period. Not to mention all the years prior to this moment that added up to an addiction problem.
“I—”
She snatched a lighter off the coffee table in front of her, one of many she kept there. She flicked it until a flame shot up. Slowly, she moved it over the bottom of the paper until it caught fire.
“I’m the parent, Colson. I don’t know who you think you are bringing this to me when you haven’t a clue about what it’s like to live in this world.”
I knew it wasn’t normal to watch her crush a pill and snort it, but I didn’t say that, among all the other evidence that could’ve built up my defense. The look on her face kept me silent, froze me to the spot where I stood.
“And what I do in or outside of this house is none of your goddamn business. You hear me?”
I watched as the flame took over the piece of paper, the edges of it curling into black dust as Mom tossed it into a nearby overfilled ashtray.
Twenty minutes later she left the house, the door slamming behind her. She didn’t come home that night. I made my own dinner, did my homework, and locked the front door, sleeping in the living room in case she came home at an odd hour and needed to be let in. I left for school with the house empty.
It was around then when I began to look at addiction differently, when I started to let the anger take over. How, for so many years, could she have sided with her dependence more than her own son?
I would’ve drowned in the emotions it sparked if it weren’t for Llewellyn and Gulliver’s, which is where I find myself after being let go from my job. I’m here to let off the steam of the shit hand I’ve been dealt. By the time I walk out, I’ll feel a lot better. Lighter. Being fired becomes the driving force behind my feet as I walk inside. I’m greeted by the murmur of heavy metal music, the thumping bass thrumming itself into my body and riling me more.
No one is at the check-in counter, and the office behind it is dead, the lights off and the door closed. I weave my way around a couple of people to get to the locker room as I hoist my backpack up on my shoulder. After dropping my bag into a locker, I warmup using a speed rope. When my skin is wet with perspiration, I transition over to strength and conditioning.
Leg lifts.
Pull-ups and chin-ups.
Crunches.
The ache in my core reminds me of the gut-twisting anguish that came after being fired, but this time I embrace it. Every time my back leaves the ground and my abs tighten, a rush of adrenaline pumps through me.
I’m up and slipping my gloves on minutes after I down half of the energy drink I brought from the apartment. Sebastian always has a stash and told me to help myself since he knows I like my gym time. I watch as Eli McPearson and another dude dive into the ring as someone walks up beside me.
Llewellyn crosses his arms over his chest and gazes in the same direction. “Used to think it was only a matter of time before I saw you in there.”
