Page 49 of 1 Last Shot

“You always were such a stupid boy,” she says in a cruel voice. “You run away from me, but don’t bother to change your number? Why are you even surprised I’m calling you?”

I don’t tell her that it’s because I can’t remember the last time she called me. That her preferred method of contact is showing up on my doorstep after she’s tracked me down with the type of determination that only addicts are capable of when they want something.

"What do you want?" I repeat.

"That's it? That's all you want to ask me? After three years, I don't even get ahow are you, Mom?"

My eyes slide closed as I battle with what Ishoulddo, vs. what she always makes mewantto do.

I lose the battle. Every single fucking time. A twenty-six-year-old grown man, and within ten seconds, I'm succumbing to the toxic, manipulative, fucked up will of my mother, the same way I did when I was a child.

"How are you?"

Another laugh, though this time I can hear the poisonous victory in the sound. "I'm okay, baby. I moved out of West Baltimore, so I even managed to clean up for a while."

Which could be her way of saying she stopped using, but not drinking. It doesn't change the fact that I hear the slur in her words, though, or that she used the past tense of the word.

"That's great, Mom," I say in a flat voice. "I'm happy for you."

"I even got married," she continues. "You had a real stepfather."

"Had?" I latch onto that word immediately.

A pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear her fidgeting with something. I know what's coming before she even says it.

"He left," she finally admits. "Guess he wasn't man enough to stick around. Just like your father."

Which, guessing from her defensive words, translates tohe caught her with another man. Mom always did manage to sabotage her own happiness.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I force out. "So where are you living now?" Not that I care, but she's taking this conversation in a specific direction and I want to get there as soon as possible so I can hang up as soon as possible.

Another pause. "I'm staying with a friend of mine for now."

Code for:I got kicked out of wherever I was living and now I’m sleeping with anyone who will take me in.

Suddenly, I'm sick of this entire fucking conversation. I'm sick of reliving my past, my past that'son repeat, and I want to vomit from the knowledge that I managed to get away from it for three years. None of which did any fucking good, because, of course,here we are again.

"Mom, I have to go," I say hurriedly. "Thanks for calling. I'll talk to you later."

"Don't you dare hang up on me, boy," she snarls.

And there she is, the real woman beneath the mother’s mask.

"I just told you I got a divorce and I’m crashing on someone's couch, and you can't even offer me a place to stay? I'm yourmother, for fuck's sake. Have some goddamn respect."

That's all it takes to revert me back to the scared little boy that used to hide in the coat closet at his mother's request. The one that is trained to do whatever she says, either because of her manipulation, or for fear of repercussion. By her hand or someone else's.

I can hear her slurred voice just as clearly in my head today.Leave mommy alone for a little bit, Kane. After everything I do for you, I need some adult time. I deserve that.

"What do you want from me?" I ask. "What is it this time, Mom? Money? Drugs? I can't offer you a place to stay that's better than where you are now."

"Oh, no?" she asks.

And at her smug tone, my blood chills.

"You don't think Philly is just a little better than Baltimore?"

My eyes slide closed, my chest starting to rise and fall with rapid, panicked breaths.

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