Page 150 of The Temptation

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s full of her, because the scent of coconuts still lingers in the air.

I glance down at the razor I’d just put down, and smile to myself as I reach for it again.

She left me a sandwich in the fridge, so I wouldn’t starve while she was gone.

It’s not much, but damn if it doesn’t feel like love to me.

The Uber pulls up outside the place I bought for my mother, and I fucking loathe having to get around like this.

It hasn’t even been a week, and I already know I’m not going to last the other five without driving. The doctor can shove that suggestion right up his arse. I’m not built to be chauffeured around like I’m some helpless invalid.

I toss a quick thanks to the driver and step out, the sun beating down on my shoulders as I stare at the front door I haven’t walked through since I bought this place.

It was brand new when I purchased it, and now it looks like hell chewed it up and spat it out.

One of the front flyscreens is hanging half off the frame, flapping lazily in the breeze. One window near the front porch has a gaping hole punched through the corner, with spiderwebbed cracks radiating across the glass, probably the aftermath of some drug-fuelled argument.

The lawn’s a goddamn jungle, with grass almost knee-length, and there’s weeds clawing through the flowerbeds I paid someone big bucks to plant.

There’s rubbish littered throughout and cigarette butts stubbed out on the front steps. I should’ve known my mother and that fucker she was shacking up with wouldn’t take care of it.

I sink my hands into my pockets, jaw clenched, and stare at the wreck of a place I tried to make into a home for her.

I step off the front path and head around the side, pushing open the gate that’s barely hanging on by one hinge. It screeches like it’s in pain, and I grit my teeth as I shove it open wide enough to squeeze through.

The backyard hits me like a punch to the gut.

If the front of the house looks neglected, the back looks like it’s been abandoned to rot.

Bags of garbage—some split open, others piled so high they lean like unstable towers—litter the overgrown grass. Flies swarm the mess, and the stench is so foul that it makes me gag as it bakes under the afternoon sun.

There’s a broken lawn chair tipped sideways in the dirt, half-buried in weeds, and a soiled mattress propped up against the back fence.

I ball my hands into fists at my sides.

This place was supposed to be a fresh start for her. Aclean slate. But instead, it’s just another dump filled with the same kind of filth she’s always let in.

From where I stand, I can see the back door hanging half off its hinges, the frame splintered as if it had been kicked in. That’s probably how our men gained access when they came looking for her.

I hesitantly step over the mess and make my way up the back stairs. And if I thought the stench outside was bad, the one that hits me when I step inside is enough to make my stomach lurch.

I cover my nose with the back of my hand, eyes scanning the room.

It’s worse than I expected, and even with my mother gone, I still can’t shake that feeling of being let down once again. She was extended more mercy than she knew what to do with.

I bypass all the filth and dirty dishes piled in the sink, crusted over and stinking like they’ve been there for weeks. The counters are sticky, and fast-food wrappers and empty beer cans are scattered across every surface.

There’s something about the sight that is so familiar it stops me cold.

It punches through the years like a blade, dragging up memories I’ve spent most of my life trying to bury.

The mess.

The smell.

The same feeling of chaos swallowing a house whole.

Waking up covered in bugs. That’s where it started. The smell of mould in my clothes, the sticky film of sweat and dirt that never really washed off. The places where we stayed over the years were never clean. You couldn’t call them homes; they were fucking cesspits. Rotting food and rubbish piling up until it became part of the furniture. My mother never noticed, or if she did, she didn’t care.