Page 13 of Always You

“I’m not in denial!” I think.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that, girlfriend.” She chuckles, and it’s filled with mischief.

3

Ipark my truck in front of the house, taking a deep breath to brace myself for whatever it is I might find as soon as I walk over the threshold. My mother could be all nice, buttering me up, pretending to be the most wonderful mom there is, but those moments are becoming as rare as an eclipse, so I’m not holding my breath. I grab my backpack, climb out of my truck, then make my way toward the front door. All the while, my mood is getting more gloomy with every step I take.

“Hey, Mom,” I bellow out of habit when I walk through the door.

It’s something my father always required from us. I still do it in his honor, wanting him to be proud of me even if he’s not here to witness it. And even if my mom doesn’t give a shit if I’m home or not.

When the house stays silent, I let out a deep sigh of relief, hoping I can just chill for a few hours before it’s time to head out to the bonfire. I’m smart enough to do my homework at school, since I never know if I have to flee again as soon as I cross the threshold.

I peak my head into the living room, noticing a heap of hair plastered over the cushions of the couch, with the rest of my mom’s limp body draped over the burgundy piece of furniture. My eyes search her face, waiting for a sign of life so Ican move on with my day. When she finally snores like a fucking bear, I almost jump out of my skin, but at least I know she’s alive.

Settling my heart with a deep sigh to relax my lungs, I stroll toward the kitchen to grab a Coke out of the fridge. There is an empty bottle of Ketel One on the counter, and an empty tumbler with barely frozen ice cubes in it, telling me she will be out of it for at least another two hours.

Lucky me.

I reach into one of the cabinets looking for any food, but shockingly, there is nothing more than a box of crackers and some Pop-Tarts. Dragging my feet upstairs and to my room, I flop myself onto the bed, staring at the white ceiling. I grab my hacky sack from the nightstand and start throwing it in the air, my mind wandering off to a set of eyes that remind me of a clear-water lake.

Charlotte.

I never knew her name. We haven’t talked once in the last three years, but I did know of her existence. I remember my first day of freshman year; a girl with pigtails walked down the hallway with a denim skirt and a white t-shirt that read:reading is life.

She was cute, and dorky as fuck, but it was her eyes I’d remembered ever since. They were vibrant and alive, a hard contrast with the grief that was radiating from my own. The blue-green hue that flickered through her gaze was something I’d focus on every time I’d see her around the school premises, like an unspoken promise that there was more to life than just agony. Her gaze always radiated a hope I couldn’t find inside myself.

She was pure, and I wouldn’t dare to taint that. So I never took the step to get to know her. But when her eyes met mine yesterday at the creek, I knew right away it was her, even thoughshe ditched her dorkiness over the summer, as if she shed her cocoon like a caterpillar.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Still cute with her kind eyes, and just a handful of sass, making me want to know more about her, while I think about ways to get her attention.

Seeking every opportunity to leave the dreadful four walls that are my home, I’m at basically every event possible in this small town, but I know she’s not. She rarely pops up at a dance, a bonfire, or whatever other stupid thing the student body comes up with. But I hope she comes tonight. I hope that by breaking the ice the way we did yesterday, I can somehow find a way to keep her around.

With heavy eyes, I rest my hacky sack on my chest, still thinking about Charlotte’s pretty face before my thoughts go blank. I must’ve dozed off, because next thing I know, my mom bursts through the door, and I jolt up with a pounding heart.

Jesus.

“Couldn’t hurt you to do some groceries, could ya? You lazy fuck,” she yells straight away, making me want to disappear into the mattress.

I’m almost eighteen, and I shouldn’t have to put up with this shit anymore, but for some fucked-up reason, I still want to do right by her. Hoping one day she’ll realize they died, but I’m still here, feeling just as lonely as she is.

“I could’ve. But you took all my money, so unless you want me to go stealing some shit, you go.” I huff, growing more pissed by the second as she sneers at me. “God knows you can afford it now, or did you spend it all in the liquor store?” I hold her furious gaze with defiance, her brown hair sticking to her head like a bird’s nest.

She used to be beautiful. A bright smile and twinkling eyes that comforted me after nightmares when I was little. But allthat’s left are the wrinkles on her face, laced with a despair that tugs on my heart every time I look at her.‘Don’t worry, my sweet boy,’ she would say, stroking her palm over my cheek, ‘I’ll be here until morning arrives. I’ll always be here.’

Up until a few years ago, I believed her.She would always be there for me. But now I know that was a lie.

I glance outside, seeing twilight appearing, before I get up, pulling a hoodie out of my closet, and gathering my wallet and keys.

“You watch your tongue with me, boy. In a few months, you’ll be eighteen, and you’ll be all on your own.”

My snort could wake the dead. I’m surprised she even remembered my birthday. But I guess it’s convenient, if it means she’ll finally get rid of me, right?

I know it’s supposed to be a threat, to scare me into complying with everything she says, like she’s done in the past. But in reality, my heart pumps faster at the thought of finally claiming my freedom from the hellhole I call life.

“Well, it won’t be any different than it is now.” I hold my stuff in my hand while I try to move past her, ready to leave her toxic words behind for the rest of night, and still hoping she doesn't drink herself to death while I’m gone.

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