I bat away a tear that’s rolling down my cheek. “You did. I just didn’t listen. Goodbye, X.”
He stands there, making no attempts to persuade me to stay, while I walk through the door and out of his life forever.
I crouch under the coffee table of our small one bedroom apartment and pray she doesn’t call for me again.
I hate it when she does that.
I don’t like helping her.
Her footsteps shuffle across the floor, and I watch her take a seat at the small kitchen table with its mismatched chairs. It’s gotten worse over the few weeks—the need to take her medication. It’s becoming a daily thing, and when she doesn’t have it there’s always hell to pay.
“Xavier?” Mama calls. “I need your help, son.”
My entire body tenses as I hold my breath, praying no sound comes out of me this time. Maybe she’ll believe I’m not here.
“Come on, son. Mama needs your help.”
I jerk my hand back as a cockroach crawls across the floor and the top of my head bumps the table. Instantly, I freeze.
Her head whips in my direction. It takes a couple of seconds, but her eyes finally zero in on me under the table. “There you are. Why didn’t you answer me before? Come over here.”
I slink back, refusing to answer her.
Her eyes narrow, and she demands, “Get your ass over here now!”
All the muscles in my body begin to tremble as I stand and take a hesitant step toward her. “Why do I always have to do it?”
She shoves her greasy brown hair away from her red, splotchy face and sniffs. “I’m not strong enough to get it tight. You, you’re strong.” She hands me the old black leather belt that’s on the table. “Hurry up, baby. I need my medicine.”
Tears stream down my face as I stare at the worn leather in my small hands. “Please, don’t make me.”
“You know I love you, right, baby? Help Mama out. If I don’t get my medicine it’ll make me upset. You remember what happens when I get upset, right?”
This is her way of threatening me—the way she always forces me to do what she says. Typically I do it just so she doesn’t become violent, but she looks worse today and I’m afraid of what another dose will do to her. I stare at the ragged t-shirt she’s wearing. It’s the same one she sleeps in, and she’s been so high she hasn’t bothered changing at all this week. Stains speckle the front of it from where I’ve tried to keep food in her.
I refuse to help her hurt herself any more.
I square my shoulders. “No.”
She narrows her blue eyes at me. “What’d you say to me?”
I lift my chin. “I said no.”
Without warning she draws back to smack me in the face, but like she said, I’m strong, and I snatch a hold of her wrist before she can make contact. “You little fucker. I hate you! No one will ever love you. EVER! You’re a selfish little bastard.”
I know this is the addiction talking. The books I’ve gotten from the library taught me that much. She wasn’t always like this. There have been some good times too, and those are the memories I try to hang on to. Thoughts of the woman I hope she’ll be again one day, when she kicks this habit.
“No, Mama! I want you to stop!”
“Leave then, just like your father did. Leave me here all alone.” She sobs as she comes undone, and my heart crushes. “No one ever wants to stay with me. I’ve made you hate me too.”
I wrap my arms around her, instantly sorry I made her cry. “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t want to leave. I want you to get better.”
She turns her tear-streaked face up at me. “Then help me. One last time, then I’ll get better. I promise.”
I stare down at the belt, thinking that maybe this time she means it.
“Okay.”
She grins and holds her sleeve up as I loop the belt around her arm and synch it as tight as I can. “That’s good, baby. Look at that big vein.”
The glee in her voice makes me shiver. I turn my head the moment she pulls out the needle and jabs herself with it.
A couple of seconds later, her body visibly relaxes.
“Much better,” she sighs as she drops the needle to the floor.
She reaches out to try and pat me, but she misses. “Thank you, baby.”
I gasp as I sit up in bed and reevaluate where I am—alone in my hotel room.
Beads of sweat cover every inch of me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that dream. I was hoping my fucked-up brain had somehow blocked my childhood out, but I will never be that lucky.
It’s probably because of all of Anna’s poking around about my past. I know she believes she’s helping, but some people should learn to let sleeping dogs lie. Talking about shit only makes it worse. Bringing up the past brings back the nightmares of shit I don’t want to remember.
Nervous energy flows through me, and there’s only one way I know how to get rid of it.
Working out.
After a couple quick stretches I get down on the floor and begin hammering out push-ups. Focusing on the burn in my muscles takes my mind off the pain of my emotions. This is one of the reasons I got so big to begin with. Nothing else compares to the way I feel when I work out.
Working out, and fucking women: the two things that completely take my mind off everything. And they’re my two greatest addictions.
Well, if I’m being honest, I suppose that was true once, but not now. Being with Anna takes my mind off my shitty past too. That is, until she tries to bring it up.