“Shut up,” I respond, still unable to stop myself from coughing. I grab my beer from the table and down it.
“The first time always sucks. Want to try it again?” George asks, looking down at the joint I’m trying to give back to him. I stare at it intently, basking in the sensation of floating that washes over me. I know my mom’s drug of choice is cocaine and sometimes heroin—whatever’s available, but that’s not what she started with. This was. The thought hits me out of nowhere, regret consuming me just as quickly.
“I’m good,” I say, coming to my senses. I told myself I’d never smoke. I’d never give in to the master that controls my mother. Feeling like I betrayed not only myself but Ethan as well, I get up and go to the kitchen. I need to breathe for a minute. I grab another beer from the cooler, pop it open, and down it in one go.
I know it’s probably a little hypocritical to say no to drugs, and then drink alcohol but I need something to take the edge off. I need to forget what it’s like to walk in on my mother with a needle in her arm or with her nose to the table.
I take a second beer out of the cooler—feeling myself calming down—and join the guys back on the couch.
I swallow the rest of my drink, feeling the buzz trickle through my body, numbing me. I try to focus on the room, on the way people are dancing together, making out with each other. I don’t know how much time passes before I feel someone walk their fingers up my chest. I turn, finding a girl seated in my lap.
When the hell did that happen?
I don’t entirely feel like myself right now.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, staring at me with hungry eyes. Looking beyond her to Tyler and George, they give me the thumbs up and wink.
“Why don’t you take me upstairs,” she says. I try to focus on her face in an attempt to figure out where I know her from. Do we have a class together?
“You can take my room,” George says with a smile.
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
The girl gets up from my lap, and I walk ahead of her, leading her towards the stairs. I get all the way to the top, not bothering to look behind me to see if she’s following. I’m sure she is.
I open the second door on the right, letting myself into George’s room. Turning on the light, I feel the girl behind me, trying to lift up my shirt.
“Hey,” I say, halting her movements.
“Are you ready?” she asks, like she’s about to change my life.
Doubtful.
I look at the way she's swaying on her feet. “How much have you had to drink?”
She pouts. “Only a couple of beers. Oh, and two shots!” Although her lips say two, her fingers signal three.
I shake my head. “Get on the bed.” She smiles, kicking off her shoes and doing as she’s told.
“Under the blankets,” I instruct. She looks at me, puzzled, before doing exactly as I say. As soon as she gets comfortable, she yawns.
Good.
I shut off the lights.
“Come join me already,” she says, stumbling over her words.
I turn around and open the door. “Not tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t sleep with drunk girls,” I tell her. I lock the door behind me and walk out. I stand outside the room, hearing her exasperated scream. A few minutes later though, it’s quiet.
I walk down the stairs and find Tyler and George in the same spot as I left them.
“Good man!” George says, high-fiving me as I take my seat back on the couch.
Tyler cheers me on too. “Way to handle that shit!”
I don’t bother to tell them I didn’t sleep with her. I let them think whatever they want.
I’m an asshole, but I’m not about to take advantage of a drunk girl.
I shoot the shit with the guys for a couple of hours, waiting until I’m sober enough to drive. I say my goodbyes and wander outside, sitting in my car for a moment. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be there, to potentially see my mom passed out. Ethan’s not there, so I really don’t need to go home just yet. As I approach the turn that’ll take me back to my house, I wonder if I should just keep driving, to take advantage of this opportunity to have some time away because it doesn’t happen often.
I let my street pass me by as I head in the direction of the highway. I drive down the interstate, eventually taking a familiar turn. A few minutes later, I slow the car to a complete stop. Getting out, I cross the road, stepping into a large field. Above me, the sky stretches on forever, the stars burning brightly in a blanket of dark blue silk.
As I pass, I touch the delicate petals of the slumbering flowers. This is where I brought Ethan after we went for ice cream the other day—the day his image of me started to fall apart. That was my fault. I wanted him to see the flowers, the open space. I wanted him to run around freely, to do whatever he wanted. To be a child.
As I walk through the field, I remember how much he laughed chasing after me while we played tag. His carefree laugh made me smile in return. It reminded me of how we’d play hide and seek a long time ago. Being here with him helped me forget the bad things even if only for a moment.
Looking around the massive dark field, it seems larger. I continue to walk around it aimlessly and when I find myself in what I think is the middle, I open my arms wide and welcome the breeze.
It’s 3am so no one is around. There’s nothing in sight for miles.
So, I let go.
I scream at the top of my lungs, letting out all the frustration, the anger, the pain.
I shout until my throat is raw and tears sting my eyes.
I don’t know if it’ll help but at this particular moment, it feels good. My legs seem to give out then, and I collapse to the ground. Breathing in the fresh night air, I think about the future, of what I want to do with my life—who I want to become.
But just as the breeze causes the flowers to move, my dreams for the future are blown away with it.
4
It isn’t enough—not anymore
It’s been two weeks since the incident with Richard, and the tension in the house is nearly unbearable. Mom hasn’t so much as looked me in the eye since I hurt her precious drug dealer. When I can, and when I know Ethan is in a safe place, I hang out with the guys. Tonight, they decided we’d start celebrating my birthday. They were the only ones that remembered, and when they gave me shot after shot, I downed them.
Now, I’m being driven home, although I can’t open my eyes enough to see who it is.
“Go sleep it off, Lincoln,” they tell me, reaching across me to open the door. I fall out of the passenger seat of the car, getting on my feet and stumbling up the front steps of my house. I didn’t think I was this drunk.
It’s actually a miracle I’m walking in the first place. I should be passed out somewhere. I get to the front door and turn the knob. It’s locked. Swaying, I pat down my pockets until I find the one with the keys. Behind me, the car that dropped me off drives away, and I briefly wonder who it was. I squint, focusing on the tail lights that move further and further in the distance as another light approaches.
The sun.
Remembering the task at hand, I fish my keys out of my pocket and insert each one into the lock until I find the one that fits perfectly.
Turning the key to the left, I unlock the door and let myself in. All the lights are off, and while the sun peeks through the clouds, the silence I walk into assures me that everyone is still asleep.
I take the steps two at a time, walking past my mother’s room, but stopping in front of my little brother’s. I know he’s sleeping over at yet another friend’s house tonight, but I still open the door. Expecting it to be empty, I’m shocked to find a small figure laying asleep in the bed.
Internally, I panic. He wasn’t supposed to be home tonight. Knowing he wasn’t going to be here was the only reason I allowed myself to go out in the first place. I walk over to his bed, being as careful as possible to not wake h
im up, and look to see that he’s okay.
I don’t think my mother would physically hurt him—it’s the emotional scarring I fear the most, but I check anyway. Satisfied, I close his door and head over to my own room. Without bothering to even take off my shoes, I drop into bed and give in to sleep—both fatigue and guilt serving as my blankets.
I’m startled awake by screaming.
“Where are they?” someone yells. The question is too-familiar, and that’s when I realize Richard is back.
“I…” my mother says, but I miss whatever else she adds.
“You took them? Are you kidding me!” Richard screams back.
“I needed some. I’m sorry,”
“Where’s the money for it?”
“I don’t have any,” she says, sobbing.
I shake my head, feeling the pounding headache take hold. I get up, going to Ethan’s room. He shouldn’t have to hear this.
I open his door slightly, finding him still asleep. I look at him for a beat, wishing I could do so much more to protect him.
I turn on the speaker we keep next to his nightstand. George was getting rid of his old one, so I asked him for it to give to Ethan. Ethan was really excited to have something to listen to music on. I was excited to have something that would drown out the noise from just outside his door, like the yelling and screaming that’s happening right now.
I find one of his favorite songs on an old iPod I got from Tyler and play it. I don’t raise the volume because I don’t want to wake him up.
Closing his door, I walk quietly downstairs.
“Get off me!” Richard screams. In the kitchen, I’m disgusted by the scene that greets me. My mother is on her knees, clutching onto Richard’s leg for dear life.
She’s sobbing, her mascara running down her face. “Don’t leave! I’ll get you some money. I promise,” she begs.
“Get off!” When she shakes her head, he starts walking towards the living room, dragging her along with him.
“Can you both keep it down,” I say in a leveled voice. I don’t want to add to the noise, to wake Ethan.
Richard turns around, glaring at me. “Mind your own business, kid!”
“Asshole,” I say under my breath. I look down at my mom, but she doesn’t even glance my way.
“Fuck off!” Richard says, looking down at her, but his words are directed at me. He pries my mother’s hands from his leg, shoving her away so hard she hits the wall with a sickening thud.
Fisting Richard’s shirt, I get up in his face, aching to start a fight. Again.
“Don’t you ever touch her again.” I say each word slowly as I wait for him to remember who was begging for air the last time.
“Or what?” he spits back. “What will you do?” He says this with an air of confidence—a smug smile—and I cock my arm back, ready to knock out what’s left of his teeth.
I’m stunned when my mom wraps her fingers around my wrist and squeezes. “Stop, Aron.”
My eyes dart to her for a second before I turn back to Richard. “Get the hell out of our house and never come back,” I tell him. Knowing my mother is still standing right behind me gives me some assurance she’s finally seen through his act—can see the evil he brings.
“Don’t you dare speak to him that way.”
My mother’s tone is low—dangerous—and I’m caught off guard; I’ve never heard her speak like that before. I turn, stunned to see she’s talking to me like I’m the enemy.
“He’s a piece of shit,” I say, trying to get through to her.
She slaps me hard across the face, the sound echoing off the walls.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
Holding back the tears.
Not because of the slap, but because of what it confirms. My mother doesn’t give a shit about me. All she cares about is him and his drugs.
“I’ll be back later,” Richard says with satisfaction in his voice. My mother begs him to stay, but judging by the sound of the door slamming, I think her pleas aren’t answered. I stand there, wondering what happened to the woman I used to know.
“Son,” she says, her voice small as she turns away from the closed door and looks at me.
With the shake of my head, I begin walking back toward the stairs.
She sniffles. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice cracking.
Her apology makes me flinch; I’m experiencing déjà vu. Sadly, we’ve been here before. I glance at her one last time, seeing the regret painted on her face.
Too bad it isn’t enough.
Not anymore.
“You’re sorry all the time.”
5
Tears flow down her face, but she doesn’t say anything
“Can we stop for ice cream?” Ethan asks the moment he gets into the backseat of my dad’s old car. It’s the only thing he left behind the day he walked out on us.
Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s almost been ten years. I remember it like it was yesterday...
My mom was pregnant with Ethan. She was glowing. I recall her long hair blowing in the wind as she set up a family picnic in the backyard. She wanted to surprise Dad with it when he got home from work. I was seven years old, but I was so excited to get to eat snacks and spend time with Mom and Dad.
To be honest, I was a little jealous that another boy was on the way. I wanted to be the only boy—the only child. I didn’t want to share my parents’ love. So, I was taking advantage of all the time I could get with them before the baby arrived and took them away from me. I knew how parents got with a new baby. I compared it to how I got when I got a new toy—the old ones forgotten.
I ran to the door the moment I saw Dad’s car pull into the driveway. I eagerly shouted his name, but he didn’t hear me. He looked different somehow—he looked sad. I asked him how his day had gone but he ignored me. He just hung his coat, set down his briefcase, and walked straight to the backyard.
I followed behind him until he told me to go upstairs and play.
I begged to go outside, but he said no.
I didn’t want to miss out on the food and I wanted to play with them. But my dad made it clear I was to stay inside the house and not come out unless he said so. I was confused. Dad had never talked to me like that before. I wondered if the baby effect had already taken hold; it wasn’t even out of her stomach yet. Did they want to be together, just the three of them?
I didn’t go up to my room right away. Instead, I stood by the kitchen window, trying to see what was happening in the backyard.
I saw my mother’s eyes light up as she stood unsteadily from the blanket, ready to hug him—to welcome him home.
He avoided her kiss, turning his face away.
My mother’s eyes were questioning, wondering what was going on. I knew, even at that early age, that she was asking him if something was wrong.
He spoke to her, her eyes watching him intensely. She didn’t seem to move until my dad said something that made her cover her mouth with her hand.
Tears began to stream down her face.
She shook her head while Dad just stood there. He didn’t try to make the tears stop.
I’d never been mad at my dad before, but he was making my mom cry.
He wasn’t supposed to do that.
He walked back into the kitchen, barely glancing at me, and into the living room. Following, I saw him pick up his briefcase.
Approaching cautiously, I asked, “Where are you going, daddy?”
Shrugging on his coat, he looked back at me briefly before opening the door and walking away.
I still remember the sound of the door shutting in my face.
That was the last time I ever heard from him. After he left, things were okay for a few years—Mom was managing—but three years later that all changed. When I was ten, Richard walked into our lives, shaking it up all over again.
“Hello, are you there? Can we pretty please get ice cream?” Ethan asks pulling me from my thoughts. I didn’t
realize I’d dived so far into my memories.
“Yeah, of course, buddy. We’ll stop on our way home,” I tell him. Putting the car in drive, I look back at my little brother. Even though I don’t remember much else about my father, I remember more than Ethan ever will. He never got to meet our father, has never even seen a photo. My mother erased his memory from our lives that same night.
I mean, she’s told me story after story. Dad lost his job. Dad stopped loving her. Dad didn’t want to be a dad. Dad was having an affair. She kept giving me reason after reason, excuse after excuse, but the story changed every time so I don’t know what to believe.
All I know is that my father wasn’t a real man. A real man doesn’t walk out on his pregnant wife—on his sons.
Now, I only remember him as the person that caused my mother to make one bad choice after another. I realize it’s not entirely his fault, but if it weren’t for him leaving us, perhaps she’d be different. Perhaps she’d be okay.
Shaking my head, I push down my thoughts and questions, pull out of the parking lot, and drive toward the ice cream shop.
“Thank you for taking me to get ice cream,” Ethan says the moment we get home.
I ruffle his hair. “No problem, buddy.”
“We should do that every day,” he says with a smile.
Yeah, right. “I’m not getting you ice cream every day. Maybe once a week. We can do ice cream Fridays.”
“That works for me,” he says with a smirk.
I shake my head when I realize he’s played me. “I see what you did there,” I tell him proudly. He’ll be a great negotiator. I wonder what he’ll want to study in the future. I wonder who he’ll become.
“You gotta be smarter than that,” he says, patting me on the back.
I nod. “I agree. I can’t let you play me like that.” I take the steps up to Ethan’s room two at a time and when I turn back, I see him doing the same. He’s emulating me, doing as I do.
Not the Same (Not Alone Novellas Book 2) Page 2