Page 130 of Honeysuckle
“Shit, kid.” His voice was low, practically breathless as he stood behind me, his eyes trained on the locks. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t lock me in there,” I scoffed, ignoring how it made me feel to be back in the apartment. Even worse, without the backing comfort that Dean usually provided. I turned, pushing open the door to her room, and a blanket had been tossed over the window, making it dark inside and hard to see.
Silas flicked on the light beside my shoulder and swore under his breath as we both froze. I could feel him wanting to say something to me as I fought to control the panic that coursed beneath my skin as I stepped forward into the room.
Her messy hair was stuck to the yellow pillow case, and her shirt was pulled up around her pale blue back, exposing the decaying skin around her hip bones and the band of her pajama pants. My stomach churned, the walls built to keep out the sadness and grief already starting to crumble.
How long had she been like this?
I knelt beside the bed, where she lay face down in a puddle of vomit that looked days old. The bile ripped from my stomach at the smell of it, and I turned away from her, putting my face in a trash can that was shoved under the table across from the mattress.
“Josh.” Silas grabbed me by the arm, and I nearly swung on him, but he moved back, putting his hands in the air. “Let me do it,” he said, pointing to her again. “I’ll check, go…” he gagged, pushing down the vomit and moving around me to block my view. “Call the police.”
I stumbled backwards over some trash, hitting the wall hard and knocking the wind out of my chest before I turned and left the bedroom while Silas knelt to check her pulse.
I sank against my bedroom door, and as the shock wore off, I dug my phone out, dialling 9-1-1 and listening carefully to the operator's instructions. It was clear that she had overdosed on something, the signs of her distress strewn across her dirty sheets and floor.
Silas appeared from the bedroom with a grim expression. I looked up at him, and it was clear he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure how. I shook my head, all that work, all that struggle… Every ounce of pain I suffered to get myself out of this shit hole because I didn’t want to end up like her.
I never thought that I would feel guilty for leaving her behind.
I shoved whatever guilt I felt down, pushing it aside to leave room for logic.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” I asked him.
“Yeah, she’s uh… gone.” Silas brushed his hand through his hair again, turning toward the bedroom and back to me. “I’m sorry…”
“At least it’s over,” I said and watched Silas flinch. I walked through the apartment, leaving through the front door and wandered down to the front to wait for the cops. The fresh air hit me like a ton of bricks and I stared out at the overcast just trying to micromanage the way I felt.
The hardest part was trying not to blame Silas for her death. But it wasn’t his fault, he had nothing to do with this, and I knew that, but it was easy to hate someone standing in front of you. Especially when he looked so much like the man who was responsible. He hadn’t put the drugs in her hand, he didn’t fill the needle or tip the booze down her throat, but leaving her was the catalyst. She had been emotionally beaten down until the only solution was drugs and booze.
I just didn’t think she’d ever cross the line; she had drunk herself to death and left me with even more mess. Sirens lit up the silence as the paramedics and cops arrived on the front lawn of the apartment. I inhaled slowly, knowing that all my pain had come to a crashing, tragic conclusion.
The freedom I’d been chasing my entire life, left at my feet in the form of my dead mother. I closed my eyes, just trying not to lose it entirely, a few tears streaking down my hot cheeks as I worked the emotions down and back away from the surface.
“Joshua Logan!” My name was called from my left. I turned to see a reporter cruising toward me from across the patchy dry grass with his recorder held out front. “I just have a few questions!” He yelled, but Silas was there, stepping in front of me like a wall out of nowhere.
“Fuck off,” Silas barked the curse and I had never experienced such raw anger from him until now. Usually he was buttoned up, careful with his words and calculated with the press. “I said, fuck off!” He lifted his arm, and the reporter flinched like Silas was taking a swing, but he backed away and shoved the recorder into his pocket.
“Get inside.” He turned to me and I listened without protest, letting the glass door slam behind me, just wishing that Dean and I had stayed out at camp.
TUCKER
“Franklin,”avoicecalled.
I had been on campus for all of two minutes before my entire day was ruined by the sound of my name. I turned slowly, adjusting my bag to see my mother standing in the hallway. I’d stupidly taken a shortcut through a different building, forgetting that she taught a class on Thursdays.
“Hey, Mom.” I swallowed roughly and watched as she approached me.
“You haven’t been coming to dinner.” She didn’t bother softening the blow.
“Don’t have much of an appetite lately.” I nodded, just forcing a smile on my face so all the people passing by would see a pleasant chat between a professor and her student.
“You’re avoiding a difficult conversation,” she said.
My hand flexed around my backpack strap, and I fought to hold in all the anger I wanted to let go of, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good to explode in front of a hall of students.
“We have to get your illness dealt with, Dean. It’s not healthy to continue like this, it’s harmful, and I don’t want to see my baby boy in pain.” She reached out to touch my arm, and I stiffened, leaning away from her fingertips.
