Page 87 of The Deceptions

“So, you’re leaving me here to take care of her?” I swallow every emotion bubbling inside me. My fingers ball into fists. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gotten into a full-on brawl.

And it won’t be the last.

Mack’s brows crease. “You could always come with me. He’s got plenty of room. It’s a mansion, man! With so much food, they could feed an army. No more scrambling until the first of the month. Mom doesn’t need us.”

That’s a lie. Mom always needs us. Even though it should be the opposite, we should rely on her to raise us like when we were little kids. She was healthy then. Happy, even.

Until one day she wasn’t. She got a new boyfriend who knocked her around, and then he introduced her to drugs. Those were the days Mack and I hid in our room with the doorslocked until they went to bed. He was in my arms, crying while I consoled him.

I was his parent, despite only being eleven months older than him.

That day I watched my only companion walk out the front door with social services, leaving me behind to care for our mother as she descended further and further into drug and alcohol addictions.

And the kicker? I still care for her even when she doesn’t remember my name or what day it is. Even when she looks in the mirror and doesn’t remember the woman staring back at her, as Dementia eats away at her brain, stealing everything she once knew.

I still overextend myself to make her life better.

“It’s Dementia,” Dr. Hudson says, tightening his lips.

“Dementia?” I whisper in horror, looking at my mom as she blinks rapidly at the doctor. I don’t tell him about the drugs she’s consumed over the years. Or how she’s started drinking herself to death.

My ears ring. “Is that why she’s having trouble remembering?” I ask, scrunching my brows. “Is that why she’s been so confused?”

She’s been forgetting her car keys. Asking me if I wanted dinner repeatedly. I thought it was the drugs. But Ronnie left her high and dry. She’s been on a downward spiral, and I couldn’t help her. Until she forgot to get dressed and walked out the door.

Now, we’re here. The cops warned me she needed medical assistance.

“Unfortunately, yes. And it’s only going to get worse.” He offers me a slight smile. “It’s a lot to take in. There are medications that can help. And we have resources for care.”

Within a year of her diagnosis, she was in a care facility. I was working my ass off on jobs to save money, and now, everything I earn goes to her care, picking up the slack of what the state doesn’t cover, which leaves very little in my bank account at the end of the day.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, keeping my eyes on my brother and his stupid friend.

They lean in like girls whispering secrets to each other. No doubt waiting for their newest victim to torture a little bit more. Considering I ended their fun before class started.

Oh, what a joy it is to have to see Mack twice a week, so early in the morning, in a confined space.

I guess that’s why I’m loitering in the empty hall, leaning against the wall with an unlit cigarette between my lips and the hint of nicotine on my tongue—the poison I refuse to ever put in myself again.

I’ve seen what foreign substances in a body can do. Deteriorate it. Skin and bones. Crying for a fix. And the memory loss it brings. I once was addicted to the thing loosely hanging from my lips, aching to inhale the smoke and fill my lungs with the poison.

A buzz in my pocket pulls me into the present, and I sigh.

Malic

Heard baby bro is going to put his fists into the ring and finally face you. So unpussy like of him. *Devil emoji*

An emoji? My face twists when I read it again. That’s new for him. And odd. But who am I kidding? Malic is weird as fuck sometimes. I’m used to it by now. We’ve been friends for over five years, meeting at a time when I needed someone the most.

Wilder

And how do you know that?

The showdown literally happened forty minutes ago.

Malic

That’s the thing about me. I know lots of things about lots of things.