Jack almost tore off the tie he wore as soon as he entered his house. He felt like a monkey dressed up in a costume for the amusement of the management board of his parents' company.
Which, considering how fond he was of turning into an actual monkey by using the monkey staff, wasn't so far from the truth. Chase would probably get a good laugh at him now. Or not. Maybe he would just scoff at him and tell him how pathetically disgusting he was.
He bit his lower lip. His emotions had started coming back to him. Slowly and randomly. The numbness and the cold rage had overtaken him for a while, but now he had spells of silent crying followed by moments of hysterical laughter. It made him dizzy most of the time.
Jack passed a hand through his hair. It had gotten a bit too long for him, and he had caught a few of the assistants of the management board members staring at it judgmentally during the meeting. Because of course, none of the big guys wanted to even speak to him unless his mother was present.
He took off his suit jacket and threw it over a chair. Black suit. Black shirt and tie, and whole black leather gloves. Mourning suited him better than normal life.
His gaze fell over the empty space where the coffee table had been, and the events of that day flashed before his eyes again.
He closed his eyes and shook his head to ward against those thoughts.
Instead, he focused on the glasses upturned on the sofas.
As he climbed the stairs, he found a broken glass near the stairs, and had to take a moment to sweep up as much glass as he could. Everywhere in the house stank of alcohol now, and his mother had been there for only three days.
Three days, drinking constantly.
In a way, her state had kept Jack from falling apart himself. Because hell knew how much he wanted to cling to her and cry his eyes out, and wait until she solved his life, and hers, and they would both go back to their previous lives.
Jack opened the door to his mom's bedroom, and found that she had fallen asleep crying while holding on to one of his father's shirts. Jack sat down on the bed next to her.
'Did you anticipate this in your list dad? Why is there no –Comfort your mom- item in it?' he thought, patting her hair.
Jack wondered how much alcohol was enough to kill you. He wondered how long alcoholics tended to live.
The word shook him. He and his father had never called it that. His mother just had 'difficult times', or 'bad days'. But now he had to call her what she was. She was an alcoholic. And she would continue to be one, until suddenly she wasn't, and Jack became an orphan.
And he would have to go through all of this again. Alone.
His mother stirred, and opened her eyes. "Jack? You're…back early," she said, but couldn't push herself up.
Jack held her hand. "Mom…If I asked you to get help, would you do it?" he asked.
'Please say yes. Please say you'll do it, so I don't have to force you,'he thought.
Because he was not letting her drink herself to death right before his eyes.
Like his father did.
"I don't want to leave you alone," whispered his mom, holding his hand.
"Then, please get help."
They stayed in silence for a moment. Together.
"I will. I will do it. I love you dear."