Page 13 of Heart of a Rebel

I tip my head back and consider heading back to Adrian’s house. That’s probably where Sebastian and Rome will end up crashing, and I’m sure Adrian would let me use his guest room if I wanted to get some sleep. But I peel myself from my car, needing to check on Mom first.

A week ago, she was sober again, but with the scene around me, I’m not sure that’s the case.

I recognize a few faces as I make my way inside. They tip their chins up at me like we’re friends, even though we aren’t. If it were up to me, they’d take their drugs and leave us the fuck alone. Then maybe she’d actually clean up her act.

Sebastian has all but checked out when it comes to dealing with Mom. He’s written her off, and I think she’s done the same with him. According to her, he looks and acts a little too much like our father, and it’s been enough to create this rift between them I’m not sure will ever close.

I wish I could walk away as easily as my brother. It would be freeing to put Mom in the past with all the bullshit she’s subjected us to. But something compels me to try and be the good daughter. Like it’ll have the power to turn this into the relationship my heart’s been screaming out for all these years.

Stepping inside, I spot Mom sitting on a couch. She’s sandwiched between two men whose bodies might as well be made of wires. They’re thin, twitching, on edge.

Mom doesn’t look much better. She might still have the weight she put on from her last stint in rehab, but she’ll be shedding it soon enough. The skin of health she can’t seem to wear for more than two minutes.

“Eloise.” Mom smiles when she sees me walk in.

When she starts to stand, her legs wobble, planting her back in place. She laughs, but her eyes are vacant craters so it’s dark and cold.

I’m pretty sure at some point in her life she looked a lot like I do. She has the same sandy brown hair that refuses to hold a curl and the same dark eyes with golden flecks. But her hair is thin, and her skin has aged beyond her years from the drugs. Any softness in her gaze is a distant version of a woman who gave up trying a long time ago.

I walk over to the couch, clutching my purse tighter because I don’t trust this place when her friends come around. Parties that turn from one-night to week-long benders. Random people crash on the couch, and I’m forced to lock my bedroom door to prevent anyone from getting in.

Growing up, Mom never worried about the men she brought around. As long as they fed her a steady stream of whatever she was getting high on, she implicitly trusted them. But I saw the look in their eyes.

So did my brother.

Sebastian insisted we share a room as kids. I knew it wasn’t because he actually liked sleeping with his twin sister five feet away. He was worried about whoever was coming and going, so he acted as my shield.

Most kids would probably dread their parent’s going on rotating jail and rehab sprints—we didn’t. At least when she was locked up, we knew the house would be safe and she would be sober.

“Mom.” I walk over to her and stop in front of the couch.

One of the men sitting beside her skims me with his gray eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Thought you were feeling good after this last stint.” I stare down at her, already spotting the lies working behind her stare.

“I am feeling good.” Her fingers twitch in her lap, and she grips the hem of her shirt like I won’t notice she’s trying to stop herself from fidgeting. “I’m clean, promise. I’ve had one drink, right, Lee.”

“Right,” the guy, presumably Lee, says with a chuckle.

Like after all these years, I’ll actually believe her shit.

“Lovely.” I turn to leave, not able to stand another second in this place.

Everyone in here is twitching like their skin’s crawling. And while for them, it’s probably a result of heroin, mine prickles for another reason. I’ve spent my life around this—around her. I’ve tried to save her, over and over again. I’ve tried to prove my love for her is enough to keep her going without the drugs. Repeatedly, I’ve lied to myself, thinking my brother and I are reason enough for her to get clean.

She never does. It’s a rabbit hole I’m tired of falling down.

“El, wait.” I hear Mom stumbling behind me as I make my way to the front door. She must find balance on her legs this time because her hand wraps around my arm and stops me. The motion jerks me around and she almost falls against my chest, as she grabs onto both of my shoulders to steady herself.

“Mom, you need to sit.” I help her steady, but she shakes her head.

It baffles me that she thinks I won’t notice how messed up she is. Like I don’t know the look in my mother’s eyes when she’s clean. It’s a far cry from the black holes currently staring at me.

I guide her to a chair in the den and kneel in front of her. Music pounds through the walls loud enough to make me feel frantic. At least this room’s empty, so I feel like I can take a breath.

Mom rests her hands on the arms of the chair, gripping so hard I think her nails might cut through the fabric.

“What did you take?”

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