Tell Me to Stop

by Charlotte Byrd

  “What about my prescriptions? I have to go to my doctors every month to get them filled.”

  If there’s something she can buy at those truck stops along the way it’s opioids, but Mom has never made a drug deal in her life. She always left that kind of dirty work to her kids. Her diabetes medication gives me pause. That’s going to be harder to find.

  “I’ll get you new identification,” I say. “I know a guy who does really good work. You’ll just have to tell them that you don’t have insurance and pay for them out of pocket.”

  “What if the doctor discovers that I have a fake ID? What if the pharmacy does? Then they’ll call the cops and the whole thing will be up.”

  Well, not exactly because the cops aren’t exactly Marlo, but it’s not going to make things easier.

  “It’s the only way I see around it, Mom. It’s the only thing you can do.”

  It’s a lie and I hope that my face doesn’t betray that. It’s not the only thing I can do. I can also call Nicholas. His offer will probably still be on the table. I can make this whole thing go away with one phone call.

  But I’m tired of making sacrifices so that my mother can sit on her butt and do nothing. If she’s really afraid of Marlo, I need to see it.

  “I will get you more pills tonight. They will tide you over for a week or two,” I say. “It will take you a few days of driving to get out there. I’ll get you a new phone and you can call me and tell me where you are. I’ll find you an apartment. Where do you want to go? Arizona? You’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”

  “No, there must be another way,” she says, shaking her head.

  “If you have one, I’m all ears,” I say.

  Mom looks up at me with her pleading doe eyes.

  “What if you just go work for her?” she says. “She asked about you again.”

  27

  When she pushes me…

  I bite my tongue, trying to keep the anger boiling up inside of me from exploding to the surface. My hands ball into fists.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Mom says, raising her eyebrows. “You’re not that innocent.”

  Beads of sweat soak into the shirt underneath my arms. How does she know?

  “I don’t want to embarrass you, honey,” Mom says sweetly. I can almost taste the saccharine in her voice. “But, c’mon, would it be such a big deal? You are a pretty woman. New girls in the neighborhood always fetch good prices. You could have this worked off in two months tops.”

  My index finger runs over the knuckles of my other hand, feeling the smoothness of the taught skin over the cartilage.

  I don’t know the extent of what my mother knows about what happened back then.

  Ashley had just left and an older girl from school befriended me. I never had money for anything, not like her. She didn’t have rich parents, but she had the right shoes, the right jacket, the right jewelry. The only right thing I had was a leather jacket that I tried on in the store and walked out with, without paying.

  Beyond all the material things, this girl also had Tyler, the right boyfriend, at least that’s what I thought at the time. He drove a red BMW convertible with the roof down, even in the middle of a Boston winter. He smacked her on her butt and said funny things to her friends.

  “I don’t know why I have to tell you this, Mother, but I am not going to prostitute myself so that you can pay off your gambling debt,” I say sternly.

  “I came to you for help, Olive. I need your help.”

  “And I’m here for you.”

  “No, no, you’re not,” Mom says, shaking her head. “I can’t just run away. I can’t drive away from here and start my life somewhere else. My life is here.”

  “There are people who live elsewhere. You’ll make new friends. This is what you have to do when you fuck up,” I say. “You can’t just have Owen and me clean up your shit all of your life. At some point, you’ll have to grow up.”

  Mom looks frail sitting in her rocking chair.

  When I was a child, I didn’t think she was scared of anything. I thought that she was fearless because she was so mean. But now I know that what made her so mean was that she was afraid of her own shadow.

  “Leaving the state will be good for you,” I say. “You’ll finally get to see the real world out there.”

  “You’re talking to me as if you’ve ever been anywhere yourself,” Mom says.

  I shrug. “I’d like to.”

  “So, why don’t you fucking go?”

  “Because I have to babysit you. I have to be here cleaning up your vomit and your literal and metaphorical shit, Mom. Without getting anything so much as a thank you in return.”

  “You want a thank you, you ungrateful little bitch?” she asks. “For what exactly? I raised you for eighteen goddamn years. I changed your diapers. I wiped your snot. I rocked you to sleep. And I never even wanted you in the first place. Your father made me keep you. Your father was the one who wanted a girl. I never wanted you. I never wanted anyone but Patrick.”

  Her words are like slices of razor blades against my heart.

  “Yes, we know that.” I roll my eyes trying to keep my tears away.

  Don’t break down in front of her.

  Don’t do it, Olive.

  Mom gets off her rocking chair and walks up to me. She stands so close to me I can hear her wheeze as she breathes.

  “Listen to me,” she says. “I am not going anywhere. This is my home. This is where I live. But you, you’re going to do something for me.”

  I start to inhale, but she grabs me by my shirt and my body shuts down just like it used to when I was a kid.

  “Your friend, Samantha, has moved up in the world. She’s got a spot in Beacon Hill now, servicing senators, congressmen, and hedge fund managers. It’s all discreet and you are the type of girl who is right up her alley. Educated. Without a trace of that accent that everyone tries to get away from. She gives her cut to Marlo but she pays her girls well. Real well. More than you get paid at that stupid job of yours.”

  After letting me go, Mom straightens my shirt with her hand.

  “How do you know all of this?” I ask.

  “People in this neighborhood like to talk. Especially her mom.”

  You’d think that nothing would surprise me now, but my mom’s knowledge of Sam’s business practices sends a shock wave through me.

  My mouth drops open.

  In high school, Sam met up with men in motel rooms and Tyler stayed out front making sure that she didn’t get hurt. Even back then she had her sights on something bigger. I was the first girl she tried to recruit. She would take half of my fee in exchange for setting the whole thing up.

  The one and only time I went to that seedy motel room on the outskirts of town was when we got evicted and I came home to find all of our belongings on the curb.

  Mom never bothered to tell me that she hadn’t paid the rent in months.

  Instead, she just said to pack a bag and go stay with a friend. I called five of them, but the only one who took me in was Sam.

  I was hungry, I had no money, and my college applications were due in a week.

  A snowstorm was supposed to blanket all of New England with feet of snow in the coming days and the weekly rent at the motel was $250.

  If I wanted a roof over my head so that I could finish my essays and get the applications in on time, I needed to take Sam up on her offer. She promised me $300 for a night’s work.

  “C’mon now, Olive. You never know, maybe you’ll even make a connection with one of them. You are pretty easy on the eyes when you try even if you could stand to lose forty pounds. But some men like that kind of thing.”

  Mom’s words come in one ear and go out another. I hear her but my mind is somewhere else.

  I remember how much my body shook that time I walked up to the door.

  My boots made a loud clinking sound on the pavement and the bracelets Sam made me wear jingled when I knocked.

 
My face was smothered in so much makeup that I could practically feel it caked on my skin. My lips tasted of chemical cherry lip gloss.

  “You can work the appointments around your schedule,” Mom says, taking my silence as acquiescence.

  The guy who opened the door was a few years older than I was. He was a senior when I was a freshman, but I didn’t know him well.

  Even then I knew that Sam was just trying to break me in softly.

  “Look, this isn’t going to be that bad,” she said. “He’s not old or gross or a total stranger.”

  It worked for a moment and I walked inside. But then he came closer to me. All he had to do was touch my hair and I turned around and fled.

  Luckily, the snowstorm caused power outages around the Northeast forcing the city to create additional shelters to provide temporary housing for everyone who lost heat. I got a cot and spent my week going to school and working on my essays, doing anything to take my mind off the path that I’d almost gone down.

  I walk out of the room without saying a word.

  “Where are you going?” Mom hollers after me.

  “I’m not an escort. I’m not a prostitute, and I’m not a streetwalker. And if I were to ever have sex for money, I surely would never do it on your account.”

  She stares at me, dumbfounded. Grabbing my bag and walking out of the door, I add, “I told you what you can do to get out of this mess that you got yourself into. I told you how I would help you.”

  28

  When I see him again…

  I spend the next two days trying not to think about what my mom had asked me to do for her. It would be a lie to not admit that there are moments when I waiver in my decision.

  She may have asked me to prostitute myself, but she only did that because she is desperate.

  Marlo is not someone you fuck around with.

  She’s not someone you don’t pay your debts to.

  Her request was insulting, but she only asked because she thinks I don’t have any other options.

  She doesn’t know about Nicholas.

  She doesn’t know about his offer.

  My thoughts return to Maui. The soft breeze coming off the ocean. The luscious peach colored flowers growing out of every bush. The way the palm trees remain constantly in motion.

  If I had stayed there for just a little bit longer, then I wouldn’t be dealing with this shit right now.

  If I had stayed there for a little bit longer, I could’ve found out more about Nicholas.

  Who is he, really?

  Sydney stays in almost constant contact with me, putting my mind at ease for leaving her.

  She sends texts, pictures, and videos doing everything that I’ve dreamed of doing in Hawaii: snorkeling with brightly colored fish, swimming in clear blue waters, laying out on the white sand. James is there with her in all of the pictures and, in the latest one, so is Nicholas.

  Nicholas and James are tossing a frisbee around in the background of Sydney’s selfie. They are on the sand and he’s wearing only a pair of board shorts.

  They hang low on his long defined torso, revealing the protruding muscles in the form of a V going down into his pelvic region.

  My mouth waters a little bit as I zoom in on him and look at the way the light wraps around each one of his abs.

  Wish you were here, Sydney texts.

  What are you doing with him?

  James invited him for lunch to his house. I’m making salad!

  Her texts are both informative and without substance.

  Why are you spending time with him?

  Why is he there?

  Didn’t you read a word I wrote?

  I call her, but the call goes to voice mail.

  Instead, she sends a canned response: Sorry, can’t talk now.

  My heart skips a beat. Something’s wrong.

  Are you okay? I text.

  Of course! Just about to sit down for lunch. Call you later.

  I go over everything that happened that night.

  Could I have been completely wrong about him? Yes, he did scare me a bit. His request was unusual and out of line.

  But was I actually ever really frightened? Did I ever think that he would actually hurt me?

  I didn’t get much sleep.

  There’s a good chance that my intuition was driven by insomnia and its radar was off.

  Or maybe this is just a ploy.

  Nicholas and James are friends. He knows that Sydney is my friend.

  Maybe he’s just using her as a way to get closer to me.

  But why? Why me? Why is he so interested in me?

  There’s a knock on the door.

  It startles me. I’m not expecting anyone and I immediately think that it must be my mother. But she has never even stepped foot in here. I’m not even sure if she knows my address.

  “Who is it?” I ask, looking through the peephole. He’s in his forties with short dark hair and dressed in a casual jacket and slacks.

  “I’m one of the managers of the building. We’ve been having some issues with the boiler and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  As soon as I open the lock, he pushes the door in my face and closes it behind him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

  He shoves a revolver in my face.

  My eyes stare down the barrel of the gun.

  Everything else becomes a blur.

  “Your mother said that I’d find you here,” the stranger growls.

  “What do you want?” I ask, moving my head away from him.

  He presses the gun to my cheek again.

  A sweet smell of iron and sweat permeate through my nostrils.

  “She owes Marlo a big debt.”

  “So what?” I ask, brazenly.

  “She can’t pay it.”

  “That’s not my problem,” I say.

  That’s partly true.

  The other part is that I don’t want him to know that I care about my mother at all.

  In his business, feelings are leverage. He’s got plenty without me giving him anymore.

  “Well, neither can she, so I thought I’d make it your problem,” he says.

  I cross my arms and pop my hip out to give myself as much attitude as possible.

  “My mother and I are not on good terms. So, I don’t know what exactly your game plan is here but I don’t owe anyone any debt.”

  He stares at me for a moment, and then exhales and lowers his gun. He reaches into his front pocket, pulling out a card.

  “We are holding your mother in an undisclosed location,” he says. "You have five days to come up with fifty-thousand dollars. If you don’t come up with it, they’ll never find her body for you to bury.”

  29

  When I ask for help…

  He hands me a card with the name Shephard Sudler and a phone number on it.

  “That’s my cell, call me anytime you get the money together. Your mother will only be safe for the next five days. No extensions.”

  “What do you expect me to do to come up with this?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “You’re a smart girl, figure it out.”

  He turns around and walks toward the door.

  “How am I supposed to get it to you?” I ask.

  “I accept only cash. But I will drive anywhere in the tristate area to pick it up, if necessary,” he says and closes the door behind him.

  I drop Shephard’s card on the table and melt into the couch.

  What a clusterfuck!

  I should feel angry instead I feel nothing.

  I stare into the distance at some point in the corner of the room.

  I can’t even bring myself to feel scared for her.

  She has been a disappointment all of my life and yet I keep going back and helping her. When I walked out of her apartment, I was so certain that I’d cut off ties. I was so certain that she would go on the run and maybe escape her crappy little life once and for all. Now, I know that was noth
ing but a dream. A fantasy.

  My mother is never leaving Boston.

  My mother is not one to think outside the box to solve a problem.

  She’s not one to take a chance.

  She gambled and drank and did drugs her whole life thinking that was the only way to make her life better. But you can’t keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results. That is the definition of insanity.

  But what now?

  I can do nothing and just let things take care of themselves.

  Let Marlo do to her what she probably did to my father.

  Perhaps that would serve her well. Perhaps that is what I should do, just cut my ties with her once and for all. But there’s a child inside of me that just can’t let the adult in me do that.

  I can’t give myself permission to let her perish. Especially since I do have another way.

  Sydney.

  Sydney’s family on her mother’s side is incredibly wealthy and generous. She has been saving up her allowance to start her business but she might lend it to me if I were to explain what’s happening.

  Later that evening, she returns my call. We connect over video chat and she turns the camera away from her to show me the beautiful aquamarine water, her toes buried in the white sandy beach, and the enormous margarita in her hand.

  It’s not lost on me that if I had stayed then it wouldn’t be up to me to save my mother from Marlo’s henchmen.

  “I’m so jealous,” I say.

  “I’m having an amazing time!” Sydney squeals.

  “Where are you?”

  “I stayed at a hotel that first night but I’ve been at James’s house since then. He invited me over and I never left.”

  Her skin is a few shades tanner making her teeth even more pearly white than usual. She’s wearing her hair in two braids. She doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on and she has never looked more beautiful.