CHRIS POV
The week's almost over, and I still haven't found anywhere to live. Mum told me to get out by the end of the week, and I'm not sure if she's aware of how unrealistic that is. But I'm not going to argue. In fact, I'd love to be out by the end of the week, especially since it's getting colder, and my mother is refusing to let me open the windows to release her tobacco fumes. To avoid this, I've been hiding in my room with my laptop, scurrying downstairs only to gather as much food as possible when she's in.
"Where the fuck are you going with all that food?" she retorts. I sigh as she makes me put most of it back. "When are you going?"
"I don't know." I tell her. She frowns and lights a cigarette. I can still taste the one she lit twenty minutes ago.
"Make sure it's soon." She grumbles. She's obviously wanted rid of me for a while. Anyone else would find it a bit harsh, but I'm unfazed. I'm used to my mother's blunt attitude. I find myself coughing and decide to get out the house for a bit.
"Where are you going?" My mother yells as I head out.
"House shopping!" I lie, slamming the door behind me.
"She's doing my head in, PJ." I sigh as I start to dig through my best friend's cupboards. "I have an actual headache."
"Not surprised," he says. "What are you looking for?"
"Dunno." I shrug. "I usually look in your cupboards. Isn't this where you keep your porn stash?"
"No!" He says quickly. I hear him mumble "I keep it under my bed," as he sips his drink. I roll my eyes and head to the fridge. I grab a can of cola and sit next to him on the sofa.
"How the hell am I supposed to find a house within two more days? The woman's mad."
PJ smiles at me. "Was that a hint?"
"What?"
"You want to stay here, don't you?"
"I didn't say that."
"Do you want to? Just while you find a place of your own. And don't bother bullshitting me by saying I don't have to."
"I don't bullshit you!" I object.
"I call bullshit." He laughs.
After a moment I sigh and look quizzically. "Are you sure?"
"You practically live here anyway." He says. He's probably right. I'm more comfortable here than I am at home, which probably isn't a good thing.
"You're sure?"
"Yup."
"Well... Okay then. We're having a big boy sleepover!" I giggle, jumping off the sofa.
"You should probably tell your mum."
"Does that mean I have to go back home?"
"Well, you're not wearing my underwear!"
"Why not?" I joke, and he hits me with a cushion.
"Get lost; I need to enjoy my last moments of peace." He smiles. I try to look offended as I walk past his window to the bus stop.
"Good news! You've got rid of me."
"About fucking time!" My mother said cackling. She sauntered out of the kitchen with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "I'll ring Nigel."
"Nigel?" I ask. "What kind of name's that?"
"What's fucking wrong with Nigel?"
"Who's Nigel?" I ask, raising my voice for the first time in months.
"Friend." My mother says.
"Friend." I repeat. "Why does your friend care if I'm living here or not? What don't I know?"
My mother sighs rather dramatically and tells me that Nigel's her boyfriend who she wanted to move in.
"So you wanted rid of me so he had room? I'm your son!" I pause for a second. "That's disgusting. I'm glad I'm going."
"Chris, you're an adult. You're supposed to fucking move out, and be fucking happy about it."
"Who the hell can move out within a week?"
"You did!"
"I'm only staying with PJ until I find somewhere!"
"PJ... Isn't that one your boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend!" I yell. Mine and PJ's "relationship" is the sort of thing I love to joke about. But not with my mother. She doesn't get jokes, especially since she seems to think I'm gay anyway, and that gay is a terrible, terrible thing, even though she has no religion that says so. That's just my mother.
She rolls her eyes and takes a swig from her bottle before picking up her phone. I scowl and start to look for my suitcase. I can hear her unnaturally peppy voice and wonder if poor Nigel knows what he's getting himself into.
I walk into my bedroom, and suddenly realise that I'll never sleep in this room again. Nostalgic, I start to scan the room slowly. It's small, but somehow holds a lot of secrets.
I shift my wardrobe slightly and find that the cigarette I tried when I was 13 is still hidden there. Needless to say, I found it absolutely disgusting that so many people could inhale something so vile so many times a day. I'd panicked when I heard someone come home, so I'd put it out in my cup of orange juice (which I then poured out the window) and rolled the cigarette under the heaviest thing in my room.
I inspect the crack in my wall that I made when my parents were arguing especially loudly one night. They then argued over who made me do something as stupid as break my thumb; and the feud continued on the drive to the hospital.
Sometimes I wonder if they ever apologised.
Sometimes I wonder why they were together in the first place.
Sometimes I wonder if it's mum's fault that dad took drugs.
Sometimes I wonder if it's mine.