Page 54 of Bad Kind of Love

“Huh?” I focus back on mopping the floors, when suddenly I notice this whole time the mop rag wasn’t even wet.

Dropping the mop in the bucket, I glance up at Wes who’s wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. His movement causes his shirt to rise up and reveal his tanned stomach, and all I can do is drool over the sight.

“You're not gonna leave here and ignore me again right?” He asks with a straight face. “I was about to sneak in your house last night when you weren’t responding to my texts.”

It was an intriguing idea that I wasn’t opposed to at all. Wes sneaking into my house, my room, my bed….

“No, I won't ignore you.” I laugh, even though the idea of doing it on purpose just to see what he would do was in the back of my mind.

“Good.” He grins and goes back to cleaning.

My hand starts to burn as I’m only halfway done mopping the lobby. Since it rained today, the floors were extra muddy and gross, so I had to use extra force with the mop. As I drag it under a table, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a flash of blonde hair from outside as someone passes the building. My eyes automatically lift and I swear all the oxygen flies out of my body.

Mom?

The person moved past the window and out of my line of vision, and suddenly I felt the mop handle slip through my fingers and smack the floor.

“Becca, you okay?” I hear Wes’s faint voice ask in the background, but my thoughts were too jumbled to respond. I felt my heavy feet move towards the door before I could even process what I was doing.

“I'll be right back.” I shout to Wes, and find myself chasing after the woman. Her short figure was in front of me, stumbling over her feet as she tried to walk down the sidewalk.

“Mom?” I shouted, but she didn’t turn around. “Mom!” I yell again.

Frustrated, I called out her first name.

“Missy!”

Then suddenly, she stopped in her tracks and spun around to face me. Even from this far away, it wasn’t hard to figure out it was her. My heart picked up speed as we both stared at each other in shock. As a young girl, I thought I'd never see my mother again.

Rubbing my eyes, I blink a couple of times to make sure she was actually there and not just a figment of my imagination. When I realized I wasn’t just seeing her, I ran as fast as I could towards her.

“Becca? Is that you?” She calls out, her voice sounding raspier than I remembered.

“It’s me.” I breathe out as I stop directly in front of her. She looked different, worse than I remembered. Her once shiny hair looked dull and snarly as it hung to one side over her shoulder. Her sunken in features made her appear ghostly as she took me in with her bloodshot eyes. It tore at my heartstrings to see her like this, like she’s been wandering the streets for years. “Where, where have you been?” I ask as my voice cracks.

Her eyes soften as she looks me over and fresh tears begin to fall from her face. “Oh, Becca! You’re so beautiful, so big now. All grown up.”

Her skeleton-like fingers reach out for my face, but I quickly grab them and entwine our fingers. “Mom, please.” I beg. “Where have you been?”

She drops her head. “I.. I found a job. But then I lost it. And I need more money…. Do you have any?”

“Come with me, I’ll help you.” I try to pull her back to Cool Times, but she shakes her head in refusal.

“I can’t.” She peers around her like she’s looking for someone. “This is where I belong now.”

The hopeful feeling in my chest begins to fade and I feel my anger begin to take over. “You belong home. With me. Your daughter.” I force out, holding back seven years of tears. “We can help you. Find you a job, a fresh new start.”

“Shane, where is he?” She asks as her eyes begin to gloss over.

“In prison.” I state, and her eyes flutter closed. Her hand slips from mine, and flies to her chest.

“He’s fine.” I reassure hoping to ease some of her pain. “He’s supposed to be getting out soon.”

She stands there quiet, still clutching her chest but her eyes slowly open.

“Please.” She begs. “I just need a few dollars.”

That's when I noticed her twitching. Her hands are shaky as she tries to control her movements. Back and forth, I watch in horror as my mom, the one who birthed me, the one who was supposed to raise me, stands here in front me, begging her own daughter for money.

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