Turn It Off
I was at a loss for words. My mouth hung open dumbly as I struggled to search for words that were inevitably out of reach in my mind. This place was a wreck. I barely even had time to shut the front door before I heard a loud thud come from the back of the house. The air in here seemed dead. It made me worry. Angrily, I threw my backpack down on the floor.
Great. This again.
Using my feet to kick and shove clutter and junk that spread across our ugly, stained, living room carpet, I made a pathway to the hall. I made my way to the end of it carefully, stopping silently at the half- open bathroom door. It was practically begging to be opened the rest of the way. So that's what I did.
I had heard the faucet dripping ominous beads minutes before, assuming the culprit was a leak. Hot moisture hung dense in the air, choking my already uneven breath. Squeezing my eyes shut, I jerked the sickly pale green colored shower curtain away.
Hearing nothing but the steady drip of the faucet and my own breathing, I was almost certain it was okay to open my eyes. Boy, was I wrong.
A gasp unconsciously escaped my lips. There laid my mother, her head resting awkwardly on the opposite end of the tub on the edge. It was filled halfway with still, clear water. Sitting about a foot away from her head were bottles of her favorite poisons: blueberry vodka and her pills. I couldn't bring myself to even begin to wonder why she seemed to love to hurt herself like this. She refused help. She got angry, livid even, if you attempted to get rid of her precious poison. She loved them. They hated her.
"Mom. Mom, come on. You have to get up now."
I tried to sound strong and stern, hoping it would rouse her from this sleep. If that was even what you would call it. In reality, I felt about as strong as a speck of dust. Laying a trembling hand on her naked shoulder, I shook her gently.
"Wake up, Mom. Please.", I begged. Nothing. I shook her harder this time and begged again, louder. A few moments later, her hazy brown eyes lifted sluggishly. I hooked my arm under hers, pulling her frail body up with little to no help from her.
"It's time for bed now, okay? It's nearly midnight.", I said eager to get some sort of response out of her. To hear her speak. At least for the sake of knowing she could hear me. A grunt was all I got, which was better than nothing. I began to lug her closer to the door when she clumsily took a dive to the linoleum, spewing her rainbow insides into the toilet.
I hurriedly retrieved a towel to cover her bare body. Standing beside her as she finished, I noticed the angry red whelp beginning to form on her temple. I choked back the tangible sadness that was stinging my big green eyes. She was so thin that it hurt me. Nearly all of the spokes of her spine jutted out under her paling, nearly translucent ivory skin.
She just sat there on her knees with her gaze locked forward, focused on nothing. I took a damp rag and dabbed the trickle of vomit on her bottom lip. I helped her up, gently cloaking her in a towel. I flushed the sickness down the toilet and sighed heavily.
This has got to stop.
Within half an hour I managed to get her cleaned up and dressed and into her empty bed. Dad was out again, which was nothing new. He normally didn't come home until the sun was starting to come up if he came home at all when he went "out".
I trudged into Noah's room, exhausted. There was no way I was sleeping in my room tonight. It was too far away from Mom's room in case she needed me during the night. He was sleeping soundly on his stomach sprawled out with one uncovered leg dangling off the edge of the bed. No room for me. I crouched down to pull out the extra covers from under the bed. I curled up after making a pallet in the floor, making a makeshift pillow out of a rolled up winter hoodie of his.
I hadn't even bothered to change out of my work shirt and my jean shorts. I hugged my knees close to my body as I struggled to restrain the lump in my throat that was threatening me with loud sobs. Once I couldn't hold it in anymore, I surrendered to the tears dripping down my face, but not the loud sobs that usually accompanied them. I had taught myself to cry as silently as possible to keep from waking Noah on nights like this. Maybe I wasn't meant to be happy.
Maybe I was cursed.
I need something to hold on to. But things like that seem to avoid me.
I squeezed my eyes shut in sad anger.
Why did my life have to be like this?
I pulled the covers over my throbbing head. That was the last thing I remembered before I drifted into a very welcome sleep.
Sorry it's so short. Next chapter is longer and less depressing, I promise. :]