Page 2 of Riot's Thorn
I take my stuff from her hands. “How will you pay rent without me?”
“You think I need you? I don’t fuckin’ need you!” The veins on her neck pop, and her skin turns red. “Don’t ever fuckin’ come back!”
I let her beat on me as I open the front door. We both know I could easily overpower her. She’s small and thin, while I’m tall and strong from moving heavy cement bags all day. I’d never take my anger out on a woman, though. No matter what she does to me.
She’s still screaming obscenities as I walk down the road, but I just pull my ball cap down low over my eyes and keep walking. This neighborhood isn’t a safe place to be during the day, but at night, it’s survival of the fittest, a lesson I had to learn the hard way.
A shudder runs down my spine at the memory of the first time Mom kicked me out. I was eight years old and terrified. The only place I knew how to get to was the corner store, so that’s where I went.
The second I walked in and the clerk spotted me, he yelled at me to get out. Because Mom couldn’t even hold a job back then, I often went hungry. When the hunger got too severe, I had to steal, so all the clerks knew I was trouble.
I thought I was lucky when someone heard what happened and approached me where I sat on the curb. He said he’d take my money and get me the candy I wanted. Minutes later, hereturned with an armful of snacks, but not the ones I asked for. He laughed at my protests as he got into his car and drove away.
Scared and lonely, I tucked myself behind the dumpster in the alley. But instead of crying, I got angry. I vowed in that moment, with the stench of garbage in my nose from sitting on filth, that I was done trying to figure people out. From then on, I assumed the worst of everyone—even my own mother.
Exhaling that particular memory away, I hoof it to that same corner store and buy some fried chicken and a Coke. The clerks from nine years ago are long gone, and now that I’m working, I don’t have to steal. There were times when things were lean, and we had to eat spaghetti every night for a week, but we never went hungry once I was in control of my fate.
With snacks in hand, I crawl behind that same dumpster, a place I’ve made my own. It still smells like shit, but at this point, it’s more comforting than gross. I pull out the pillow and blanket I keep in a small plastic tub tucked behind the big metal bin. The employees must be too lazy to throw it away, since it’s been here for years now.
Shoving the pillow behind my back, I get comfy on the pile of cardboard I pulled out of the recycle bin and cover my legs with the blanket. It doesn’t take long for my pets to join me. I hear them squeaking before I see them, and soon, I feel the slight tug on my sweatshirt as they crawl up my body. With yellow buckteeth and black, beady eyes, my rats stare at me, waiting for me to share my dinner.
The first time I felt one of them crawling on me, I was terrified. Since I had no choice but to share the space with them, I brought food as a sort of peace offering. I’ve learned a lot about rats since then, checking out book after book at the library. They’re incredibly intelligent and can be just as affectionate as a dog or cat.
Now, I feel a kinship with them. Everyone hates them for no other reason than they don’t fit within societal norms. They frighten people because they’re misunderstood, and most people are ignorant about what amazing rodents they are. It’s the same for me. People avoid talking to me and treat me like I’m nothing because I live where I live and only engage in conversations that interest me. Why is that a bad thing?
“Hey, guys. How’ve you been?” I ask, opening the bag of chicken. You might think they’d attack and fight to get to the food, but they wait patiently for me to offer up bits to them. I don’t know if rats should eat fried chicken, but I figure since they regularly eat whatever they can find out of the dumpster, fresh fried chicken should be okay.
“Tonight was a bad one,” I say, taking a bite of the greasy meat. “You ever feel you’re everyone’s punching bag? That’s how I feel. Mom, Dad, fucking co-workers. All they do is try and beat me down. There’s only so much I can take, you know? I can tell there’s something ugly inside me, and each time someone comes at me, it just grows and grows. One of these days, I’m gonna lose it, and everyone will see I’m not the weak, pathetic kid they think I am. Just you wait.”
Niall, the alpha of the mischief, perches on my knee, as if wanting to know more. It’s pretty badass that a group of rats is called a mischief, which fits because these guys are sneaky. I rub his chest with the tip of my finger before giving him some more. I probably should be worried about eating from the same hand that touches my rats, but I haven’t gotten sick yet and they’ve never bitten me, so why should I care?
Usually being with them is calming, but I’m too worked up today. Energy builds inside me, making my leg shake and my jaw tighten. “I should just disappear on her. Then she’d know how it feels to get kicked out of your own damn house when she comes up empty for the rent.”
Niall squeaks his understanding, and I shred another piece of meat for him. One of the does, Lucinda, appears carrying something in her mouth. There’s some light overhead, but it’s not very bright, so I can’t quite make out what it is.
“Whatcha got there, Lu?” I ask, my mood changing as I patiently wait for her to climb onto my lap, where she deposits something small and pink. She lifts to her hind legs, looking proud as fuck. The little thing wiggles, and I realize what it is. “Is this your baby?”
She runs off, leaving me with the tiny, hairless thing. Seconds later, she’s back with another one. This continues until there are ten sightless pups in my lap. They crawl around, bumping into each other as they search for their mother. She curls up next to them, allowing them to nurse and play.
“Look at that. What a good momma you are, Lu. I wish mine was more like you.” I offer her a bigger piece of chicken, knowing she needs the calories. “She’s not, though. She’s a bitch who’s done nothing but confuse me. My whole life, I never knew which version of her I’d meet when I came home. I walk on damn eggshells all the time, and for what?” I pound my fist to my chest. “I pay the damn bills, I cook and clean, and I take care of her ungrateful ass. All because she fucked some asshole and didn’t bother with an abortion, which is what she should’ve done. Then I wouldn’t be here dealing with this. The only reason I’ve put up with it for so long is because she’s all I got. Lately, though, I’m thinkin’ that’s not good enough. I’m thinkin’ I need a fresh start. And I’m thinkin’ that should start now.”
I always said I’d leave when I turned eighteen. Well, I’m eighteen now and fucking tired of getting kicked out of the home I pay for. Maybe Mom is all I have, but I’m all she has, and she doesn’t treat me with half the respect I give her.
Something has to change, and I only see one way out. By the time she realizes I’m gone, it’ll be too late. She’ll have no oneleft to save her from her addictions, from Dad, and from herself. Then she’ll regret it and wish she’d have done things differently, but I’ll already be gone.
“All right, guys. I need to get up. I got something to do.” When I pull out the plastic tub, Lu begins the task of moving her pups from my lap back to her home. I wait patiently before packing everything away, putting the cardboard back, and making it look like I was never there.
This time when I open the door and hear Mom crying, my chest burns with something other than the usual resentment—excitement. I climb into bed with her and hold her, whispering reassurances because the only way I’ll make it out is if she doesn’t know.
“I just get so lonely, and you’re all I have,” she says.
“I know.”
“That’s why we need to stick together. It’s just you and me, Lucas.” Her sobs subside, and soon, she’s asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Slipping my arm out from under her, I tuck her in and leave the room, closing the door behind me. With her asleep, I can finally grab a shower. There’s only a sliver of soap left to wash my hair and body, just enough to get through my last time in this bathroom with its moldy tiles and rusted faucets.
I rinse off in lukewarm water, the hottest our tank goes, imagining the new life I’ll have. No more dealing with Mom’s rollercoaster of emotions. No more letting her beat on me because even though I don’t know much, I know it’s not okay to hit a girl. And no more paying her way.
