Page 88 of Give Me Love

I put the bucket down beside the bed and turn to go to the bathroom.

“Bryce!” she screams, and the headboard hits the wall as the metal clinks from the cuffs. My hands grip the marble countertop, and I hang my head.

Does she know what this does to me?

Does she care?

Turning the faucet on, I splash cool, cold water onto my face, resting my elbows on the counter and taking slow breaths.

How the hell am I going to do this?

You’ve already done it.

I look up at my reflection as water drips down my jaw. My eyes remind me of the little scared boy who still lives inside, needing to be loved, but never having that need satisfied. I shut them and listen as she pukes into the bucket beside the bed. I swallow the thought of letting her go and forgetting she exists. I grab the washcloth from the basket and soak it with water before manning the fuck up and going to help the woman who gave birth to me.

____________

Hours tick by, and finally she stops yelling but not crying. I sit outside her door, rolling my head against the wall, constantly hearing her moving around on the bed. Lou hits the top step, and her eyes land on me.

“How is she?” she asks.

“Sick.” I rub my hand down my face as tiredness fights the battle to stay awake just in case she needs me. Lou comes over and groans when she sits down across from me.

“What are you planning on doing when she’s clean?”

I shrug. “Keep her here until she gets on her feet, I guess.”

Lou’s disapproval rolls off of her like water on Vaseline. “Don’t forget who she is, Bryson.”

I look away as my mind plays old memories. Bedtime stories switched to yelling and disappearing. My dad’s worried mind kept him from being there for us. Drugs turned my caring mother into a vampire. She sucked the life out of my father, taking the only grownup we had and forcing me to become someone I wasn’t ready to become…an adult at eight years old.

I also became a thief and a caretaker of my little brother. When Dad hit the streets to look for Mama, I’d hit the streets to look for food. It’s not like my father didn’t care. I think he just forgot and was drunk. His whole world was that woman cuffed to the bed in there, and her whole world was a needle, a spoon, and a trip down the rabbit hole.

“I’m aware of who she is.”

“Then you know, even when she gets clean, there’s no guarantee she will stay that way.”

“Yes.”

Lou nods, and her eyes go to the bolts on the door. “She’s also a very good liar.”

“It comes with the habit, I guess.”

“I guess,” she murmurs. “Why are you doing this again? You know what happened last time.” Lou’s not new to my mother and her bad tendencies. This isn’t her first time witnessing Mom’s wrath of destruction. I’ve tried to get the woman clean before, but she checked herself out, disappeared, and didn’t look back. I let her go, but then one day I saw her downtown searching through a dumpster for cans to recycle. It broke my heart because I’d done that several times myself as a kid.

I called her over, and she gave me that look she always did.

Skepticism mixed with adoration.

Wide pupils and sunken cheekbones.

I gave her money for food, which I’m sure she used for drugs.

“She’s my mom. What else am I going to do?”

A heavy air leaves her chest, and she changes the subject. “So, are we ever going to talk about the young lady you’ve been spending your time with?”

My eyes shoot to hers, and my teeth chew on my bottom lip. I’ve been trying to avoid this conversation ever since the day Lou knocked on my bathroom door asking me about Kathrine on my living room couch.

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