Page 28 of Truck Off

When he looks back up at me, I know what he’s thinking. He’s not thinking about heartbreak or what his life would be like without her. He’s thinking about how the loss could push him in a direction he never wants to go again. A direction that could end his life.

That’s not something I can let happen ever again. I almost lost Christian twice to his addiction, and I’ll fight my way through hell and back to make sure we never end up there again.

“I hear you. I’ll fix it the next time I see her. I promise.”

“Thanks.” He steps toward the door with a nod. “See you at Mom’s later?”

“Yeah. See you later.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone in my turmoil.

I blow out a puff of air and curse, knowing I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Christian from his demons. Even if it means I’ll lose the only woman I’ve ever really wanted.

* * *

Per our unspoken agreement, I arrive at Mom’s apartment a couple of hours before Christian said he’d be here. Christian has been clean for a few years now, and I refuse to let anything tempt him into using again. Especially our mother.

Mom still uses and is the one that got Christian hooked in the first place. We were fourteen the first time Christian used. He was having trouble sleeping and Mom said she could help. Within a few months, he was hooked on pills. A year later, he was hanging out with the MC right beside Mom and took his first hit of cocaine. It was all downhill from there.

Rather than knocking, I use my key to let myself in. It’ll piss Mom off, but I don’t care. I pay her rent. I can come and go as I please.

Besides, she doesn’t need a warning that I’m coming. She’ll hide her stash and then offer it to Christian when he gets here. I refuse to let that happen.

Mom’s apartment is in the only small complex in Beaver. There aren’t very many units and they’re all low-income. They were nice when they first built them about ten years ago, but now they’re rundown and look twice as old. Probably because people like my mom live in them.

I’m immediately hit by the stench of rotten food, musty carpet, cigarettes, and stale beer.

Despite it being almost one in the afternoon, the apartment is dark. There are no lights on, and the curtains are shut tight.

The first thing I do is open the living room curtains. I frown when I see the mess. Mom must have had a party—maybe several—and didn’t clean a damn thing.

I close my eyes and sigh when I see her stash on the coffee table. Or at least what’s left of it. She knows we come every first Sunday, but it always seems to slip her mind. At least it makes it easy for me to clean her out.

I grab the small bag of pills and whatever is left of the cocaine dumped out on the broken picture frame glass.

I don’t see a separate bag for it, so either she’s hidden it somewhere else, or this is all of it. I’m going with the latter. She’s not smart enough—or sober enough—to hide her drugs. This is probably what’s left from whoever joined her party last night and shared.

I take the pills and cocaine to the bathroom and dump it into the toilet before I search the apartment for more. I check all her usual storage places and a few new ones. I find Mom passed out on her bed with her head buried in her pillow. After I confirm she’s still breathing, I head back to the bathroom and flush the toilet.

I know she’ll have more drugs before the night ends, but at least she won’t have these when Christian gets here.

It’s not that I don’t trust that Christian has his addiction under control. He does. I’m so proud of the progress he’s made these past few years. Getting sober and staying sober was something he wanted this time. Of course, we all wanted it for him too, but this time he made the decision. We didn’t make it for him.

I’ll be damned if anything tempts him.

To spare my brother the temptation, this is what I do the first Sunday of every month. I arrive at Mom’s apartment early, dispose of her stash while she’s still passed out, and then clean her fucking apartment.

I start with the trash. There are enough empty beer and liquor bottles here to serve a bar. I really hope multiple people helped Mom drink this shit, and it’s not all from her. If she’s drinking this much, she’s got even bigger issues than just drug abuse.

Once all the bottles are cleared away and in the dumpster outside, I clear out all the rotten and moldy food. She’s got half empty takeout containers stacked on the kitchen counter and floor. It’s so filthy and gross I can’t believe she’s not infested with bugs or rodents.

After that’s cleaned up, I open her windows to let some fresh air in. It’s a warm spring day with a nice breeze. It should help clear out the stench in no time.

Even with all the garbage out, the apartment is still a disaster zone. Every dish in the place is dirty and stacked on the counter and tables. Her cabinets are empty and so is the dishwasher. I wouldn’t be surprised if the last time it was run was last month when I did this.

I roll up my shirt sleeves and fill the sink with water. Most of these dishes are going to need to soak before I load them up to wash.

While the first batch is soaking, I gather up the rest of the dishes littered around the apartment and stack them in the kitchen. Then I grab the bottle of disinfectant spray—the bottle that doesn’t look like it’s been used once since I put it under the sink—and get to work cleaning off every surface in this place.

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