Page 88 of End It All

"No, that won't do." She tugged on my shirt. "Get up now. You're in my way." Mom pulled on my clothes frantically, and I knew if I didn't move, it would turn into a hysterical moment.

"Mom, please, not right now." I turned over to look into her eyes, pleading with the side of her that was my mother on occasions and not this thing I was forced to endure. "I just want to rest for a little longer. Please."

"I know, why don't you go outside and hang out with some friends?"

My jaw ached with how hard I ground my molars. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"Then go to your place. You don't live here," she shot back.

"I pay the fucking bills! I might as well."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, Quincy Jeremiah Adachi. I gave you life. I have no issues taking that away." Even as she fussed at me, her gaze kept going to the area she wanted to get to.

Even in anger, I wasn't really on her mind. "Life?" I sat up, stretching my arms out. "This is fucking living to you?" A manic laugh slipped free. "This is hell." There were stacks and piles of stuff that had no real meaning or value. She didn't even throw her trash out if she felt like the can was special.

"No one is making you stay here."

I shook my head. It was like talking to a brick wall. "I came here thinking I could get some love, or fuck, I don't know, understanding from the one person who's always supposed to be on my side."

"You're not a child, Quincy." She tsked, still tugging on my shirt. "I did my job. What more do you want from me? Do you have any idea how hard it was?"

"Yes!"

The tears were already falling and I could do nothing but stare at them.Does she even feel anything right now?

"Quincy, please get up."

Why bother?Why did I even come here?Maybe a part of me desperately wanted to be punished further. I said all kinds of shit to Blake, shit he didn't deserve, and I sought out the one person who could easily tear me to shreds without even trying.

I got up, knowing it would never be over. She rushed past me and instantly went to fixing everything up. I leaned against the table that was covered with dictionaries over the years. Some of the pages were visibly showing signs of molding. I stared at it for a while. Before, I would have rushed to switch it out with a copy. I'd trip over myself to be the son she wanted.

"Hey, Mom, did you even want me?" When she ignored me, I pushed off the table and gently touched her shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

"I thought you left." She yanked free and went back to what she was doing.

"Mom."

A heavy sigh was my only indication that she'd heard me at all. "Your father was a sweet talker. Always making me believe he'd leave his lifestyle if I had his baby." Mom sat back, reevaluating her organization, and started over again. "We both know he didn't quit. He just wanted to trap me, make sure I never went anywhere."

I nodded. "Okay."

She went back to ignoring me like always, and I watched her silently, making sure to stay out of her way. I reached into my pocket, searching for my phone and sighed when I came up empty. Tossing it should have been the first thing I did but I'd stupidly held onto it the first night, driving around the city waiting and silently hoping Blake called. When nothing came through, I knew he was gone. I had no one to blame but myself.

"How did you know you were in love?" I was pretty certain I wasn’t in love and wasn't sure anyone would ever have such a feeling toward me. But I found myself wanting her answer regardless.

Mom jumped a little at the sound of my voice, her head whipping toward me. She looked shocked to see me. "Love? You just know, not that it's real." Her fingers trembled a little and her teeth chattered.

The building's heat was controlled by the landlord and he still hadn't come to fix hers. I should go raise hell, but I knew the moment he caught sight of her place, it would be more shit for me to deal with.

Maybe I'm not rushing to get it fixed because this is her punishment.

Not that she ever noticed. As long as she could have her stuff, Mom was happy. Or at least her version of happy.

"Well, I don't know," I said. Over the years, her version of love was nothing like what the songs and movies portrayed.

Laughter that I associated with good times wrapped around me. For a second, my chest throbbed a little less until her words hit me dead in the center. "You don't have to worry about that. You're your father’s son."

Don't ask. Walk away.