Page 7

“Take a left here,”

I tell Jake as we exit the freeway. Instead of taking Caylee to his mom, Brandon and Kendra stayed at his apartment with her, offering to take her to the park when she started pouting as we walked out of the door.

The ride to Tacoma is quiet, my nerves getting the best of me. Jake uses his phone to text me and asks if he can hold my hand, totally different from the man who made me cum not once, but twice in the few days I’ve known him. But it’s cute, so I reach over and take his hand in mine with a smile on my face.

“You ready?”

Jake asks, letting go of my hand to downshift into second gear at the turn.

“I am. I really appreciate you bringing me. Thank you again.”

I watch the streets I grew up on pass by. Streets that I know like the back of my hand—each corner, each pothole that makes a car bounce. I can’t help but notice them, the cracks in the pavement, the faded curbs, and the way the trees along the sidewalk have grown wild, like they’ve been left to their own devices for too long.

We pass by an old park, the one with the rusted swings and a weathered slide that used to burn my legs in the summer heat.

The closer we get, the more my stomach sinks. We pass houses that are pristine, their lawns trimmed perfectly, their paint fresh and new. Then, just a few blocks over, there are the run-down ones, the houses with peeling paint, cracked windows, and rusty fences.

“It’s no problem. My cousin lives around here, actually. I’ll probably swing by her house instead of waiting at Starbucks.”

I wonder who his cousin is because I’ve lived here for 15 years, and if she's around my age, I probably went to school with her.

“Next street, take a right and go down a block until you see the big blue house on the left.”

I shift in my seat nervously. This is the longest I haven’t seen Damian since I left him.

“Just shoot me a text whenever you’re ready, no rush,”

Jake says with a smile as we park behind my dad's Camry. “Have fun,”

he adds before I shut the car door and all but run to the house.

My mom does her usual inspection of my pupils before she stands aside and lets me in. She crosses her arms as I step over the threshold. Damian shrieks down the hall, a giggle following shortly after, and her lips press into a tight line.

She might love me, but she's always in momma bear mode for Damian when I’m around. That’s fine, I'm not here to see her.

I walk into the living room, and there he is. Stepping over the baby gate and crouching down a few feet away from Damian, I watch him play.

He’s so big now. I blink away tears as I look at him, my baby. My throat tightens as I fight against the sob trying to work its way out of my throat.

“He’s talking more now, and climbs anything and everything in his way. We had to lift the gate up a few inches,”

mom laughs, coming to stand behind me. “Not high enough that he can crawl under, just tall enough he can't throw himself over it anymore.”

Damian stops playing and looks over when he hears my mom's voice, and I hear her walking away, but my eyes stay on him.

“Hi buddy,”

I whisper, afraid to scare him if he doesn't remember me, “whatcha got there?”

He watches me for a second before smiling and looking back at what he's playing with, pointing, and saying fire truck but it comes out as fire fuck.

“Wow, that's so cool!”

I laugh and move closer to him. “What else do you got over there?”

I ask as I sit beside him.

He wastes no time before bringing me all of his toys excitedly and I cry softly because he’s happily playing with me with a smile on his face, instead of crying for my mom to come back.

We play for an hour before he starts getting tired, and my mom brings me his sippy cup and tells me I should put him down for his nap. I shoot Jake a text as I lie down with Damian, letting him know I’ll be ready soon.

After we’re settled on the couch, Damian puts his hand on my cheek and smiles as he drinks his milk, and his eyes slowly drifting closed. He fights sleep for a while, not wanting to take his eyes off me, like he’s afraid I won't be here when he wakes up, and my heart breaks.

When I left, it was supposed to be for a night away with Kay, to get a break because I had been overwhelmed and struggling. That night away turned into this. I’ve been gone for almost a year, my parents have temporary custody, and I can apparently go four months without seeing my son.

I hate who I have turned into, and I know I can only blame myself for getting high the night I left, and for every time I’ve gotten high again since. I’d never done drugs before. I didn’t really understand addiction or how it ripped every piece of yourself away, slowly, bit by bit.

The room feels smaller as I stand from the couch and see my mom standing in the doorway. She is standing there, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes red, but she doesn’t move. She just stares at me like she isn’t sure what to say, or maybe she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

“Mom…”

My voice cracks on her name. I can barely make it past my lips, but it is all I have. I swallow hard. I want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come.

My fingers dig into the sleeves of my shirt, trying to hold myself together, but it is pointless. The tears start to spill over, quietly at first, until a sob breaks free.

And then, finally, she unfolds her arms. She takes one slow, uncertain step toward me, and I meet her the rest of the way. For a second, she is as stiff as a board, but then she pulls me in.

“I’m sorry, Elle,”

she whispers, her voice shaky, raw, “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know how to fix this, Mom,”

I choke out, my face pressed into her shoulder.

Her arms tighten around me, but she doesn't say anything, and we just stand there, crying, until Jake arrives.

The drive home is harder than I thought it would be. I can't stop thinking about all the ways I fucked up; all the ways I ruined my life. I can feel it pulling me under, that familiar, all-consuming guilt and hate that eats at me day after day. So, when we get back to Jake’s, and Bianca is there with ecstasy, I don't think. I don't hesitate.

Anything is better than the thoughts in my head.