Loving Him

How This Works

“Are you sure you’re not stalking me?” The familiar cracking of the outer walls, the dead grass littered with empty bottles and discarded cigarettes, we were right outside the house I’d grown up in. Except I hadn’t given Wren a single instruction he’d just driven here as if he knew where I lived all along. “Or a tracker or something?”

    “People only use those in the movies,” Wren leaned on the steering wheel and stared for longer than necessary at my house. Sure it was probably only half the size of his entire living room but that didn’t mean he had to judge it.

    Narrowing my gaze I managed not to scoff, “If there's something you want to say, say it.”

    He shrugged.

    With an eye roll, I pushed open the door and stepped out. Leaning back in I hesitated before slamming the door back shut.

    I trekked up to my house and entered slowly.

    Mom was humming in the kitchen.

    “Ellie, grab that will you.” Dancing around the stove her blonde hair flew around her like rays of light. The stove sizzled and popped as she worked, undoubtedly, on making her cupcake business soar. “Oh and make sure to open the windows. We attract more flies with honey and all that jazz.”

    My mouth coiled into a small smile. Her chipper tone morphed into a chipper humming as she moved about. I moved forward to grab the bowl she was using to mix her cupcakes. I also moved over to the window and pushed it open. I spotted Wren’s car still parked across the street.

    “Did you…did you have a good day today?” I asked turning away from the view. Her humming stops, but only for a second.

    “Don’t you just love the weather today? All the sunshine and clouds,” With a dreamy sigh she swiveled around with a large wooden spoon in hand. “Ah, we should go to the beach!”

    “Should we?” I asked taking a seat atop the counter, glancing over my shoulder I spotted Wren’s car again.

    “Mhmm, we can take those floaties your daddy got you,” She grinned, a huge smile of stained teeth. Once upon a time she had smiled just like this, we’d been cooking pancakes then. Back then we had been happier, maybe just the tiniest bit happier.

    “That—” I bit my tongue. I didn’t have it in me to squash her delusions. She was only ever happy like this once on a blue moon, on the days that she didn’t take any of her drugs or drink any of her concoctions. She was happy, she could look at me and not just see him. “Maybe we could go tomorrow.”

    She paused and looked me over, “Tell your dad for me will you?”

    I would if I could find him.

    “Yeah, I will.”

#

At around three in the morning, the thumping groaning sound coming from the living room permeates the air making it hard to breathe. I slide out of my bed and robotically check to make sure my door is still locked.

    There's a light tapping a continuous rapping that seems to want to drag me out. Come join us, that sound drawls its low and husky voice as ominous a threat as a gun.

    I step back as my mother's moaning grows louder. The nauseous feeling in my stomach grows and I run to my window and out into the backyard.

    A few years ago I’d learned to sleep with my shoes on but I’d taken off my jacket like an i***t. Now the chilly air sends a shiver down my spine as I race down the street. In the distance, I can hear dogs barking and the rumblings of cars as the people row through their lives but the sounds are playing in repeat in my head.

    Knocking the banging sounds and my mother's coy smile.

    I have to stop running to empty my already empty stomach on the curb. Years, and years of this still leaves me just as nauseated as the first time it happened and then had been much more graphic.

    I mentioned before, right? My mother operates one of the biggest bakeries this far on rough side of the neighborhood. As a baker, she cooks up the drug—cupcakes—that circulate through the streets into the mouths of addicts. But that’s only part of her hustle.

    Every night she invites her friends over and—

    Well, you get the picture.

    inside a deli, dumpster sounds more appealing than listening to my mother have s*x with the entire neighborhood.

    Anyways throwing up clears my head, like suddenly the whole world is quiet and the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing. I contemplate going back for a jacket but shoot down that idea as soon as it crosses my mind. Its times like these when I wonder about a lot of things. Mainly if there's something I could do to help my mom, to get her out of this lifestyle.

    I should know better.

    Clambering down deserted alleyways I reach the park, the one with the really pretty red-bricked bridge that crosses over a small pond. There's fishes and they swim in circles endlessly going the way they came.

    And I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to break away.