Page 121 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

“What if she says no?”

“It’s your choice, Harlow. She can’t tell you where to go to college.”

“Unlike you, my mom will be footing the bill.”

“Then take out loans,” I say, unsure of the different options. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll have me; we’ll figure it out.”

She gives a weak smile and slowly starts walking backward. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll be fine,” I tell her before she turns and heads inside.

When I make it back to my house, my stomach sinks the way it always does. This place used to hold so many great memories, but my mother has done a good job of destroying each and every one of them. As the time passes, I find it harder and harder to remember the life we once had.

When I step inside, it’s eerily quiet until I hit the stairs and my mother calls out a faint, “S-Sebastian?”

“Yeah.” I walk down the hall that leads to her room and find her sitting on the edge of the bed in tears.

“I need your help.”

“Where’s Kurt?”

“He got arrested,” she says. “Can you call to see if a bail has been set?”

“Fuck that.”

She reaches out and clamps her cold hands around my forearms, begging, “Please.”

“When did this even happen?”

“The other day.” Her blinks are slow as she struggles to get the words out. “I don’t know. What day is it?”

I would tell her, but it wouldn’t mean anything. She’s so lost in her drunken world.

“I’m not calling,” I say. “He can sit in jail for all I care.”

“He can’t. I need him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Mom,” she starts crying, “look at yourself. He’s sucking the life out of you.”

She shakes her head—it’s all she can do, and when I kneel in front of her, she clutches my arms tighter.

“Just let him go. Forget about him.”

“I love him.”

“He’s a piece of shit. You can’t see it because all you do is sit around and drink, but he’s destroying us.” I do what I can to talk some sense into her. “Can’t you see the hell we’re in? I can’t do this anymore.” Her puffy eyes lift lazily to mine, and I look her dead on when I tell her, “You’re going to lose me.”

“I can’t.”

“You will. I’m over this shit, Mom. I’m done.”

She pulls me into a hug that is neither warm nor comforting. I don’t know who she is, but I hug her back and pretend that some version of my mother still lives inside of this woman.

She reeks of alcohol and body odor when she used to always smell of perfume. To think about the way she used to be hurts, and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.

---