Page 68 of Crybaby

Clearing my throat, I dig into my pocket, deciding to call Nonna to check on my mom. I don’t release Darcie’s hand, however.

“Hello?” It’s good to hear her pissed-off voice.

“What’s up?” I say coolly as I know she’d be beside herself with worry. “How’s Mom?”

“Rev! Where have you been?”

“Sorry, I got into some trouble.”

“Yes, I saw whatcha did on the TV. So did your mom.”

Her tone makes my stomach drop.

“Where is she?”

Darcie turns her cheek, realizing something is wrong.

“Nonna, answer me.” I don’t mean to be rude, but her silence only confirms my worst fears.

“She saw what you did, and I don’t know…she took too many pills.”

“For fuck’s sake! Where. Is. She?” I don’t have time for guessing games.

“She’s at Oakland Villa, Rev. She OD’d.”

I don’t give her time to say anything else because I hang up, dragging Darcie away from her paradise.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, trying to keep up withmenow. But my injuries are obsolete compared to the one on my heart. “Rev!”

She digs in her heels, forcing me to stop and explain.

I release her hand and, with a roar, punch the trunk of a tree. “Fuck!”

“Stop it. You’re hurting yourself—more than you already are.” She knows not to touch me. “Is your mom okay?”

“No, Darcie, she is not fucking okay.” I instantly regret speaking to her that way. I need to calm down.

I take three deep breaths and meet Darcie’s eyes.

“She’s at the fucking psych ward she was at when she tried to kill herself. And just like I did when I was ten years old…I’m going to break in and get her the fuck outta there.”

I’ve asked Darcie to keep watch because I don’t know what shit I’m about to run into.

The last time I did this, I promised myself it would never happen again because my mom would never be trapped in this place again. It was the reason I decided to better our lives any way I could.

But as I jump over the high brick wall, it seems life has a fucking sick sense of humor because here I am—again.

I keep to the shadows, sticking true to my name because no one sees a Rev. I sneak to the back door where I know lazy orderlies spend most of their nights, smoking or dropping the drugs they stole out of the medicine cabinets.

I poke my head around the corner and see a plume of smoke fill the starless sky. A man in white scrubs smokes a joint while scrolling through his phone. I weigh my options—I can take him out, orI can play it smart and find common ground.

I decide to go with the latter.

Putting my hood on, I keep my chin low to hide my injuries and casually walk toward the man.

“Hey! You can’t be back here.”

“Shh, chill out, man,”I reply calmly because if I act like something is amiss and I’m not supposed to be here, my cover is blown.

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