Page 28 of Truck Up
“Mom,” I whisper.
She takes a step toward me but collapses on the floor before she reaches the counter. Chase and I lunge for her at the same time. I reach her just before her head hits the ground.
“Goddammit, Mom.” With her head in my lap, I examine her arms. They’re bruised and covered in needle marks. She’s so thin, I don’t even know how she’s finding veins to stick. “Who are you getting your shit from?” My words come out harsh and angry.
Mom stirs in my arms. When she opens her eyes and meets my angry glare, she frowns. “Let me go.”
She pushes me away and tries to get to her feet, but she’s too weak to hold herself up.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Chase asks.
She glares at him and growls. “Don’t lecture me about eating. I eat when I’m hungry.”
“More like you’re too high to even notice you’re hungry,” I say. I reach for the pack of rolls I bought and dig one out. “Here, eat this.”
She knocks it out of my hand and turns her face away from me. “I’m not hungry. Where’re my needles?”
“In the trash.” Chase barks. “Along with everything else I found.”
“Needles? Really?” I reach for her arm to hold her close, but she pushes me away. “Mom, stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“The only ones doing to the hurting are you two.” She cries. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“Because you’re our mom,” I say. It’s not entirely true. At least not for Chase. He’s not here because she’s our mother. He’s here because of me. Because I refuse to abandon her.
“Fuck you!” Mom cries. Her words sting far worse than they should. She says shit like that to Chase all the time. But never to me.
With me, she’s always kind and gentle. We’ve always shared a bond that she and Chase were never able to forge. Probably because of my damn addiction. But still. She’s never spoken to me like that.
“Mom, don’t.” I beg, but it’s no use. She pushes against my chest and scrambles to her feet. She wobbles but catches her balance before she falls.
“Get the fuck out of here,” she says before she sways and stumbles out of the kitchen. She’s not in the mood for either of us today.
Something about her actions hit me hard. Much harder than it should. Mom has always been a hateful person, and the drugs are nothing new.
But she looks far worse than I’ve ever seen her. Her refusal to eat isn’t a good sign either. Soon she’s going to be craving that next hit, and when she doesn’t get it, that anger of hers is going to multiply.
I know because I’ve been there. I’ve never used needles, nor did ever lose that much weight, but I know that anger all too well. I may be in recovery, but I still feel that anger every day of my life.
“Don’t touch me!” Mom yells at Chase for the hundredth time. Mom is always so mean to Chase. She says horrible things to him.
“Mom.” Chase rubs his forehead in exhaustion. “Just sit down and eat.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, either.” She grumbles, but does what he says anyway. Then she looks over at me and smiles. “There’s my good boy.”
Apparently, she’s already forgotten how she just yelled at me too.
Her words suffocate me. My clothes suddenly feel too tight, and I can’t breathe. I’m no good boy. Good boys don’t do drugs and hang out with a motorcycle gang. And they certainly don’t knock up the one woman they should never touch.
She reaches out and squeezes my arm, and all I see are the bruises and marks from needles. I study her face. It makes me sad to see her like this.
She’s killing herself, and she’s too strung out to even notice it.
“Fuck,” I mumble, push to my feet, and rush to the front door.
“Where are you going?” Mom cries out, but I don’t answer.
I can’t process this. Not right now. Seeing Mom like this is more than I can handle.