Page 119 of Heartache Duet

“What’s your favorite game of all time?” she asks.

“Umm… 1980. Game 6, Lakers versus 76ers.”

“Yesss. Magic came to play!” she whoops.

“You?” I ask.

“Without a doubt, 1976, Game 5, Celtics versus Suns.”

I shake my head. “Such a weak answer. That’s everyone’s go-to. Do you like the actual game or the fight?”

“I mean, it went triple OT, so it was a good game, but man, I do get all tingly between the legs when I see guys beating the shit out of each other.”

“You’re weird.”

“No, you.”

AVA

“Mama, stop, please!” I cry out. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” I hold her head to my chest, try to stop her from banging it against her bedroom door like she has been for the past fifteen minutes.

I can barely see through the tears of frustration constantly filling my eyes, and now Trevor’s at the front door letting the crisis workers in. More money wasted.

Mom stops with the headbanging, only to start smacking the heel of her palm against her head. She’s rocking back and forth, her knees up between us, and I don’t know how much longer I can take this. “Just stop, Mama!”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! I don’t understand—”

“What don’t you understand?” she screams so loud I release my hold. She continues with the pounding, and I grasp her arm, try to get her to stop. “I don’t want to be here, Ava!”

“Don’t say that!” I cry out.

She glares up at me, eyes wide. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. HERE!”

I cower, wiping the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hands, my breaths coming out in puffs. “I know!” I yell, exhausted. Mentally. Physically. All of it. “I know you don’t want to be here, but I need you here! Why can’t you see that?!” I break off on a sob. “Look at me!” I clutch a hand to my chest to stop the pain. So much pain. Years and years of it. “This is killing me as much as it is you!” I try to push down my hurt, but it just grows and grows and grows, every fucking day, and I’m done. “I can’t do this anymore,” I cry. “I just can’t.”

“I never asked you to!” she screams, her spit flying. “I hate you for what you did to me, Ava! I hate you.”

Everything inside me stops.

My breaths.

My pulse.

My cries.

I look at her, try to find any semblance of the woman I love, the mother who raised me. But she’s gone. She’s so far gone, and there’s nothing left of her. And nothing left of me. “I’m trying,” I whisper, getting to my feet. My chest heaves, but I’m breathless. Lifeless. “I’m trying so fucking hard, and it’s not enough. It never will be.”

I grab my phone before storming past Trevor and the crisis workers and run outside.

I need time.

I need space.

I need air.

I need Connor.

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