Page 43 of Taking Care of You
Today, though, I’m just going to grab some clothes and leave again. I really don’t want to be home. The more time I spend at Ethan’s amazing house with the amazing people that live there, the less I want to go back to my depressing house. I’m sure Ethan will get sick of me pretty soon, but until he does, I plan to stay over as often as possible.
He pulls up to my house and I tell him I’ll be out shortly. “Need some help?” he asks.
“Nope. I got it.” He will never set foot in my house. Hell, he might fall through the shitty porch before he can even cross the threshold.
I slide my key in the door and walk in as quietly as possible. Heading to my room on light feet, I shut the door and toss downthe bag of clothes I’ve had for the last week. I washed them at Ethan’s, but I’d still prefer to have a different set of clothes.
I empty the old clothes and slide in new ones without making much noise. I’m hoping to be in and out without my mother knowing.
But I don’t make a clean getaway. My mom steps out of her room as I’m leaving mine. Had I not taken so long to get my bag packed, I would have avoided seeing her. She’s probably only coming out now to use the bathroom and ended up running smack into me.
She sees the bag slung over my shoulder and her lips turn up into a sneer. She staggers over to me and tries to yank it from my hand. I take a step away from her, towards the living room and the front door, and she stumbles more. She doesn’t like that.
“Get the fuck over here, boy. Where do you think you’re going? It’s a school night. You’re not staying out.”
I don’t even try to remind her that I’ve been staying out on school nights since I was young, and I’ve still never missed a day of school because of it. Besides, she can’t make me stay. In the eyes of the law, I’m an adult. I can leave whenever I want.
Except she can. I may be an adult, but when it comes to my mother, I’m still a child.
“I have a project to do with a friend. I’m catching a ride with him to school tomorrow,” I lie in a quiet voice.
Her eyes narrow at me just as my phone vibrates in my hand. I look down at it and read the message from Ethan.
Ethan: Comin?
Before I can replyto his text, my mother slaps my phone from my hand. “Don’t disrespect me like that! I’m talking to you, you ungrateful bastard!”
My heart clenches at her attack.
I reach down to grab my phone and she swipes at me, like she wants to hit me. I stagger back from her, eyes wide.
My mother has never hit me. Not ever. I was never a badly behaved child, so she hasn’t had to. This is a first, and my eyes tear up. There really is no hope of getting my mother back. She’s gotten to the point of being a violent drunk. Usually she attacks with her words. Now she’s using her hands.
She looks downright evil in this moment. So angry, like my mere existence is pissing her off. Her eyes are wide and her nostrils are flared. She’s taking harsh, angry breaths, like she’s working herself up. I’ve never seen her like this, and I don’t want to wait around for her to actually hit me.
Hurriedly, I grab my phone and bolt out the door, not bothering to shut it. I jump off the porch, stumbling in my haste. I right myself and jog over to Ethan’s car and rush to get inside.
When I shut the door, Ethan turns to me with a smile, but it drops when he sees my face. “Koby, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head, swiping at the tears that have started making tracks down my face. He looks back at the house and I follow his eyes, seeing my mother standing there, in her tattered robe, calling after me.
“Drive, please,” I beg him urgently in a low voice, then I really start to sob.
“Yeah, okay.” He puts the car in drive and U-turns out of there.
I’m not sure how long I cry. I’m not sure why I’m even crying at all. I’ve known my mother is a terrible person. She’s been using her words to cut me down for years. I really never thought she’d try to hit me, though. I’ve tried to stay out of herway, tried to stay as invisible as I can so she won’t feel like I’m a disappointment, but that was pointless.
In no time—or no time to me, since I’ve spent the whole drive sobbing—Ethan puts the car in park and I lift my head, looking around. We’re back at the pier where he let me sing last time. I look at him and sob more.
Will he ever not get me? Will he ever not know what I need, even when I don’t? This spot made me feel better last time. The view, the company, the music. It worked wonders in the short period of time when he brought me here. When I think about the pier, I think of calm, of peace, of acceptance. I think of love.
Ethan gets out of the car and rounds the front. He opens my door, undoes my seat belt, and gently pulls me out. I let him, not wanting to move, but wanting to get closer to that good feeling this place reminds me of.
Taking me by the hand, he leads me to the end of the pier. We sit down and he gathers me in his arms and hugs me to him while I get the last of the tears out. If there’s one thing I know about Ethan, he will let me cry on him and not complain about the wet stains on his shirt. He rubs my back and supports me with his strength.
When I’m all cried out, Ethan lifts me from his chest and wipes the tears that are still on my face. “Better?” he asks me tenderly, making my heart melt.
I open my mouth to say yes, but what comes out is, “Can you…kiss me, please?” My voice sounds weak, almost desperate.
