Page 8 of Bound by Vengeance
He nods once, saying nothing else.
“Can Austyn get through this? I mean, I don’t know shit about what to do.”
Green shakes his head then rubs his finger and thumb over his lips. “She can. It takes a shitload of time and someone being there for her. It’s shit, all of it, but yeah. Leah is slowly comin’ back to herself. I don’t know if she’ll ever be the same, but she’s claiming her life back piece by piece. Austyn’ll do the same, I imagine.”
“What can I do?”
A slight smirk tips his lips. “Be there for her. Be her friend.”
“Friend?”
“Yeah. Shitty, but that’s what Leah needed, and not some hound dog trying to get in her pants. Be friends, and the rest of it will flow. Be patient and understanding. And demanding things from her will only piss her off more. See, Leah didn’t have any control, so she started to grasp at things she could. It was a coping mechanism. I let her do what she had to do.”
We stare at each other for a moment as he picks up his paper. “Look, brother, it’s not easy, but it’ll happen in time.
Gotta go.”
“Right. Thanks.” I hang my head briefly. Austyn has been through so much, but damn if she isn’t always on my mind.
I look at my watch, jump up, and head to my bike. I call out goodbyes as I turn over my ride and take off. An hour later, I’m pulling up to my mother’s house, or what could be called a house. More like a rundown piece of shit shack her “husband” put her in.
The siding is from the nineteen-seventies and probably has asbestos or some shit in it. It’s gray and pieces are hanging off everywhere. The porch is a slab of concrete with parts of it cracked off. Regardless, she tries making do with what she has by planting flowers and shrubs around the place, taking some of the damage away.
Killing the bike, I make my way to the front door that opens immediately.
My mother looks worn down and tired. Her eyes have no spark, and the lines around her face are showing signs of aging.
“Matthew,” she greets, holding the rickety door open for me, and I step through.
The inside of the place isn’t any better than the outside. Holes are in the flooring and walls, exposing wood underneath them. I know if I go into the bathroom, it will be full of mold and mildew. She lives in shit. And she wants to live in shit, which is her choice.
I look around, searching for her husband. It’s more for show than actuality because I wouldn’t be here if he was.
“Whatnot hanging out with wives three, twelve, and twenty-four today?”
“Matthew, that’s enough.” Her scold is nothing to me, though I bet it works on my siblings. They’re stuck, and that is something that scrapes my balls.
A chuckle escapes. “Just stating the obvious.”
“You have no right to dictate my life.” She looks me up and down, the corner of her lip rising. “I mean, look at you.”
Holding my arms out wide, I let her have a good look. “What ya see is what ya get, Ma.”
“Do you have it?” Her question comes out fast as she peers out the window, no doubt looking for anyone who might see my bike in the driveway. She lives in a well-populated neighborhood, but I’d bet my right nut no one knows what goes on behind these closed doors.
“What? No hug?”
Her eyes narrow briefly, but she catches herself, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long time.”
“Two months, Ma, and you still won’t let me see my brothers and sisters.” There are six of them, and it’s been years since I’ve been allowed to see them or talk to them. Seventeen to be exact.
“James doesn’t feel it’s a good idea.” She moves around her small house, beginning to pick up some magazines and organize them on the small table in front of the couch.
“And we always do what he says, right?” That’s just a small part of it. My sperm donor is a piece of shit in every sense of the word. I can’t fucking stand him, yet my mother seems to love him. Truth is, I think she’s brainwashed to do so.
She’s been with him for over thirty years. That does a lot to a woman’s mentality. Considering she’s only forty-nine, that’s some sick shit right there. She had me at eighteen, her first.
“He’s my husband. It’s ordained. It’s faith. God chose, and this is the path we are meant to take,” she protests, pulling up to her small height, her chin up.
