Page 14

My brain fought itself as guilt and the need to flee warred inside of me. The door was right there, I could get out. Instead, I stayed planted to the spot.

I don't want to be here.

The single-minded thought filled me with endless guilt that had me knocking well before I was ready. On each side, I could hear one neighbor's television blasting and another having a field day with a woman. The smells that permeated the apartment building was a mixture of cat piss, wet cardboard, and Axe body spray. The sounds of the city seeped through the thin walls, adding to my overwhelmed senses. I closed my eyes for a split second, trying to center myself. For some odd reason, picturing a certain black-haired, blue-eyed, smart-mouthed, pretty boy came to mind. If Blake thought my place was bad, he'd probably pass out seeing my mom’s.

A smile curled my lips just as the door opened slightly, only about a crack worth. My mother's deep brown eyes stared up at me in confusion. It took a little too long for her to realize who was at her door.

"Quincy?" She sounded weaker than the last time I came around. It had been a while, but for a minute there, I'd been really busy with work. That was the only reason I skipped out.

The regret seeped in further as she closed the door. The clinking of the chain lock being undone did little to settle my stomach. A part of me hoped she'd step out of the apartment and want to go out into the city to talk. I'd even take the shitty staircase; anywhere but in there. But I knew my mother, and she wasn't stepping a foot out of her home unless she absolutely wanted to.

"It's been a while." She opened the door just wide enough that I could slip in.

There was a stack of old phone books that stopped mid-chest right behind the door. Even if she wanted to open it fully, that wasn't happening with shit cluttering up the place. I tried to focus on her, but that wasn't working; it never did. Surrounding us were piles of stuff, most of it, if not all of it, was trash. Bile turned in the pits of my stomach. There was a chill in the place that hit me square in the face. The two windows were blocked, but I doubted they were open.

As we moved inside, I observed my mom. She was so small, no more than five feet, and mostly skin and bones. Her brown skin looked paler than usual, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in months.

How could I let her live like this?

A part of me knew the truth; there was no reasoning with my mother. This was where she wanted to be. Every single time I'd tried to help, I had been met with anger and confusion. Not that I was any better. The incident with Blake played in my head and I swallowed back the ball in my throat. I always said I wouldn't be like my mom, and as long as I kept my bedroom free of the clutter, I felt as if I'd escaped the madness. However, as I stood in her place, I was hit with the reality that I was just as fucked as she was.

"Haven’t seen you in a while. It's rare for you to come by unannounced." She went for the recliner, lowering herself slowly and wincing with any sudden movements.

"Yeah. I've been busy."

She nodded as if she expected the answer. How many times had I given it to her just to avoid coming face-to-face with this place? My childhood flashed before my eyes, dragging up pain and nausea as images plagued me.

"Are you still working with that one boy?" She fixed her dress and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from a carton before pulling one free. “Shit, where is that lighter?"

How can you find anything in here?

I shoved the snappy words back down. Getting angry never worked, nothing ever worked. "Here, Mom." I stepped over piles of clothes I knew didn't belong to my mother. There were boxes of cat litter, but she didn't have pets. A skateboard was propped against the recliner, but never once in my childhood had I learned how to use one. The more I saw, the angrier I got. How sick was it that it also gave me some kind of comfort? I could imagine myself sitting up on the pile of decorative pillows and wishing there was food in our place.

"Harlow,” I finally answered her. “No, I don't work with him anymore. He got married."

Her brows lifted. "Someone married that pretty boy? The girl must be very confident."

I shook my head. "He married a guy and has a daughter now."

"Can't say I'm shocked. He was always running around here with his hair to his ankles. And that mother of his."

"Mom!" I blew out a slow breath. "Don't talk about her like that." You weren't any better. You didn't sell yourself but you had no issue taking the money from when I had to.

"What? I'm not wrong! She slept with anything that had a?—"

"Mom, I didn't come here to talk about Harlow's mother."

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. It didn't budge; there was no room for it to even rock. "Then why did you come?"

I don't know. I felt bad. The guilt was eating me alive every single day because for some fucked-up reason, I feel this burning urge to take care of you.

"I missed you."

Her smile was genuine but it didn't quite reach her doe-shaped brown eyes. "You're always welcome here."

"I know." I moved closer to her, dropping down to one knee. I hissed as I hit a toy and it dug into my flesh. I pulled it from under me. Mom took it from me before I could throw it like I wanted to.

"This is a collectible. It's going to be very valuable soon."

No, it wasn't. "Who told you?"

Mom didn't meet my gaze. "Berry."

"The pawn shop owner?"

"It's his job, Quincy, he knows what he's doing."

I'd warned him and every single pawn and thrift store within a two mile radius to not sell to my mom. Apparently there needed to be a revisit.

"He lied."

She shook her head. "No, he wouldn't. Remember when I collected those VHS tapes, and now look how much they cost. I could be rich and free of this place."

Her wishful thoughts once upon a time used to burrow deep into my head. I used to think the trash she chose to clutter our house with was worth something.

"The VHS tapes were?—"

"I should look for them. Now is the time to have them." She was pushing up from her chair and her cigarette dropped to the ground. I quickly snatched it up and put it out.

"Mom."

She muttered under her breath as she moved trash bags filled with who knew what to the side looking for tapes that didn't exist. I watched her, feeling just as helpless as I did when I was ten and our place had caught on fire because she couldn't be bothered to put out her cigarette. The very tapes she was desperately searching for went up in smoke years ago.

Another five minutes passed and her agitation grew. She went from putting things to the side neatly to throwing them. "Where are they!" Her shout was closer to a screech.

I closed my eyes, shoving down the panic that began to rise. "Mom, remember they aren't here anymore."

She ignored me and continued to look. I stood back up, wishing I'd been able to ignore the guilt and stayed away for a few more months, maybe a couple of years.

I moved toward the kitchen, not surprised at the lack of food. The cupboards were full of trash, china cups, and broken plates. Why didn't she just get rid of the stuff? I'd asked myself that question time and time again. I'd given up. Once upon time as I watched my mother trade the food stamps the state gave us for more useless shit, I had tried to fix her. But there was no fixing what was wrong. And she didn’t want the help. Not from me, not from a doctor.

The fridge was no better. A single bottle of water and a few dolls that looked possessed stared back at me.

"Get out of there. You will devalue them." Mom slammed the fridge closed.

"Mom, why isn't your fridge working? And food needs to be in there." I looked her up and down, really taking in the sunken cheeks and bony arms. "When's the last time you ate?"

She waved me off like I was insane. "Instead of questioning me, be useful and help me look for the tapes."

"They aren't here."

"Useless. You've never wanted to see your mother be great. Just like that worthless father of yours. Always wanting me to stay cooped up and down on my luck."

My nails carved out moon crescents into my flesh as I tried to keep my composure.

"Mom, you know I want what's best for you. I've tried plenty of times to get you into a nicer place but you always come back here."

She rolled her eyes. "Pretty cages are still a cage."

The urge to shout at her, to shake her, and wake her up to the reality she refused to acknowledge was an urge that burned through my veins. "Mom?—"

"If you're not going to help, I don't know why you're even here."

"Fine!" She wanted help so badly. I grabbed the first thing I saw and marched over to the window. Shoving everything to the side, I tossed it out. I grabbed more and threw it to the street below as anger covered me from head to toe.

"Quincy! Quincy!" Her voice cracked as she climbed over mountains of shit to get to me.

"You can't find anything because of all this shit."

I knew it was coming even as I held halloween costumes that my mother had no use for. Her hand slapped across my cheek, leaving a fiery handprint behind. The left side of my face blossomed with pain. It cleared away some of the anger, but erased none of the despair that took root.

"Why?" she asked as tears streamed down her face.

Just like that, I crumbled. The anger was quickly replaced with more guilt and panic.

"I'll go get it right now." I was out of the apartment and racing down the eight flights of stairs before any thoughts registered. I found everything I tossed over and hurriedly picked it up.

"What the fuck man, you almost hit us," some random guy in the cramped space between the two apartment buildings said.

I didn't have the brain function to acknowledge him, instead I made sure to get everything. I checked every square inch knowing if I missed one thing she'd be devastated.

"Hey!"

I ignored him and headed back up to my moms place. She still stood there wiping at her tears.

"I got everything, Mom."

When there was no answer, the panic set in further. I moved closer to her like she was a bear that shouldn't be poked.

"Nothing broke."

Still no response. It could go two ways; either she'd be volatile or a broken mess that I'd be forced to fix. The first was always easiest to handle. A few slaps or bruised ribs was easy to ignore. Watching my mom break down and become a shell of herself was gut-wrenching. I closed my eyes and pulled her in for a hug. She was much smaller than the last time I visited. Seeing it was one thing, but feeling her bones was a whole other thing.

I want to get her out of this.

But there was no helping someone who didn't want help in the first place. It was a vicious cycle that I voluntarily put myself through each time. Besides, I couldn’t see her break.

I just couldn’t.

"Mom, we'll look for the tapes later," I suggested.

She tilted her head back, her lashes wet from crying. "I know I have them."

I nodded, knowing she was still pretending the fire never happened. Anything my mom deemed too much to handle, she conveniently forgot about. Anything outside of her bubble of imaginary happiness was thrown away, and that included me on many occasions.

I led her back over to the recliner before rushing back over and closing the window. The air was frigid, winter was no joke. While over there, I found a stack of bills and notices for shut offs.

"Mom, you haven't paid any of these?"

"The apartment takes care of it. Quincy, can you grab my blanket?"

I picked it up and shoved the letters in my back pocket. I tucked the thick blanket around her small frame and found a seat amongst all the junk. She instinctively reached for my head and I rested it on her lap. They were small gestures, tidbits of moments like this that always fed the delusion that I meant something to my mother. It's what kept me coming back time and time again. The abuse and neglect felt like small sufferings just to have the tiny inklings of love from my mother. She was all I had. And I needed to remember I was all she had. Without me, no one would come and check on her. And I didn't come see her enough.

The guilt was back with a vengeance turning my stomach upside down.

"I'll make sure to come by more often, Mom," I promised.

Her fingernails lightly scratched over my scalp as she began to hum. The years of smoking and living in shit holes hadn't destroyed her beautiful singing voice. She couldn't hold a note like she used to, but the way her voice filled me with warmth had me clinging onto the moment, forgiving and forgetting everything like always.

The smell of cigarette smoke burned my nostrils as ashes rained down on me. I closed my eyes, and instead sank into the feeling of just being there.

The longer I sat surrounded by all the junk, the more I felt as if I was being sucked in. My legs were heavy and my breathing was slow. I cleared my throat a few times, hoping it would help but I knew it wouldn't work. I was suffocating with every passing breath.

I sat up, breaking the little connection we had and stared at my mom. I wanted to ask if she was hungry or cold. I had on a full winter coat and I was freezing in the small apartment.

"Mom—" I licked my lips, faced with the reality that no matter how I pleaded with her, she was never going to change. "I'll take care of the bills and I'll talk to the landlord about fixing the heat in this place."

"I don't like strangers in here."

How could I ever forget? "I know, Mom, but you'll freeze to death in here. And your fridge, how long has it been broken?"

She shook her head as if my suggestion was outrageous. The anger settled back in the middle of my chest and I forced it away. I pulled out a wad of cash. I wasn't swimming in it right now, but what I could, I gave to my mom.

"Here."

She took it with eager hands. The smile that overtook her face lit up her brown eyes.

"Mom, it's for food, not more junk." I knew my words fell on deaf ears but saying the words helped my guilt. I could tell myself in those fucked-up moments that I tried. "Your phone is off again, I'll get it turned on."

She waved it off. "No, they bugged it."

I had no idea what she was talking about. I didn't have the mental capacity to have long drawn out conversations that would amount to nothing.

"Okay, but you need something in case of an emergency." I'd get her another burner that would join the ever growing pile of them in the far left corner.

Getting her food would work if I didn't know she'd let it rot and never touch it. I'd come by next time and there would be mold and fuck knew what else covering the place.

I couldn't get out fast enough. The moment the outside air hit me, I sucked it in trying to banish any emotion that tried to strangle me. I closed my eyes, taking in the city and centering myself.

The visit with my mom had gone exactly like the others, but I never went in without hoping it would be different. It was bound to never change, and the sooner I accepted the fact, the faster I'd get over it. The thought of going home to emptiness where all I had was trash waiting for me, always filled me with dread. I was no better than her. I stood there judging her, but I was the same. My reasoning meant nothing when faced with the reality that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

I need a drink. Fuck, maybe six.

My phone chimed and I pulled it out of my pocket to see Blake’s name.

Blake: Are you allergic to anything?

Warmth ate away the cold that coated my veins. I wasn't alone right now. Blake was back at home.

Quincy: Commitment, boring sex, and mushrooms on pizza.

Blake: Wtf? Answer the question seriously, you asshole.

Quincy: Why? Are you planning to poison me?

Normally after visiting my mom, I found myself at the bar or at Silver Dreams. Sex, drugs, and booze dragged me out of the stupor that visiting her never failed to put me in. Instead, I was smiling as I texted the annoying roommate I reluctantly had.

Blake: Poison’s not my thing.

Quincy: What is?

Quincy: Let me guess. Me!

Blake: Fire.

My head tilted as I read the message over.

Blake: I'm making dinner and I don't want to send you to the hospital.

He was making me food? Blake cleaned my place and now he was making me dinner. What the fuck kind of alternate universe was I in?

Quincy: Not allergic to anything. Hate peas and turkey.

Blake: Peas are a good source of iron and how you fight you should be eating more of them.

Quincy: Put peas on my plate and I will shove them up your ass.

Blake: I'm not the one who takes it up the ass between us.

A shocked laugh burst free before I could catch myself. "Motherfucker."

Quincy: Yet.

The little dots danced on the screen and I found myself holding my breath, waiting to see what smart shit the little runt would say. Blake was no more than five-foot-six feet tall and full of audacity.

Blake:

Blake: Best you ever had.

Fucker let that get to his head.

Quincy: I bottomed one time. Doesn't count.

Blake: Lies. Are you asking me for a repeat?

No, yes, maybe. Who the fuck knew what was wrong with me. I was confident when it came to sex, but Blake had me questioning my perceived taste.

Quincy: Be home shortly.

Blake: See you when you get here.

I chewed my bottom lip, contemplating my next move. Before I could talk myself out of it, I called Blake.

"Hey."

There was music playing in the background, and all I could picture was Blake in the kitchen, naked.

"What are you wearing?"

There was a laugh that felt light and I wanted nothing more than to take some of it and implant It in myself.

"Quincy, did you call to ask that?" There was movement that came over the phone. "Where are you, anyway?"

Not there. I headed down the block. "On my way back home."

"Yeah, but what did you do all day?"

"Aw. You wanna hear about my day, baby girl?”

"Fuck you, Quincy. I will hang up."

When Blake didn't rush to do so, my lips curled up in a smile. "You miss me?" I don't know why I asked. We didn't have that kind of relationship. Shit, we barely knew each other. I knew next to nothing about Blake Vitale and he sure as shit didn't know me. And yet, I was desperately holding my breath to hear his answer.

"Well, I never noticed how quiet and clean the place is without you dirtying it up and yapping," Blake said.

An ache started to pulse in the middle of my chest.

"But yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, I don't know anyone and you're the only one I like talking to right now."

The more Blake spoke, the quicker the ache turned into a flower of warmth. "Baby girl, you're going to make me blush."

"You have some serious issues. You know that, right?"

"Nothing sex and drugs won't fix."

Blake snorted out a laugh. "There is nothing that will fix you. Maybe a lobotomy."

"Hey, I take offense to that. There's nothing on his earth that could snuff out my sparkle."

Talking to Blake came easy, he was laid-back and fun as shit to tease.

"How far are you?"

I glanced up checking the streets. "Thirty minutes or so."

"Perfect. I should be done by the time you walk through the door."

"I still can't believe you can cook."

"What does that mean? I'll have you know I'm a master in the kitchen."

I hummed lightly, flagging down a taxi. "You'd make some man truly happy with your wifey traits."

"Fuck you."

"How was the meeting with your brothers?"

Blake was silent for so long, I pulled the phone away from my ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

"Was it that bad?" For some reason, anger simmered in my gut on his behalf. "Do I need to go to Benito's place and raise hell?"

"What? No." Blake cleared his throat and turned down the music a little. "It wasn't bad, it was different."

"That's not telling me a whole lot, doll. I need to know if I should go kick their asses or not."

"You protecting me now, Quincy?"

My stomach flipped and I cleared my throat. "It's part of the perks of me being your babysitter."

"No. I—" He hesitated for a second, filling the line with silence. "I grew up an only child. We changed places so often, I never really made friends. And today was the first time I was kind of a part of a big family."

"Kind of? You're one of them."

"I wouldn't go that far." Blake was silent for a bit. "Is it weird I'm hoping to be one day?" He was quick to keep talking. "I didn't come here for that shit. I didn't even know I had brothers before arriving in this hellscape. But?—"

"But now you have them and you want to be a part of them." I could understand more than most. "Nah, you're not weird. Everyone wants a family." I slipped into the back of a cab and gave him my address. "I'm on my way home and you can tell me all about your brother bonding moments."

"Why are you like this?"

A chuckle rumbled up my chest. "Don't act like my charming personality isn't why you like me." The tension that had been building to unbearable levels wasn't so bad anymore.