Page 47 of Hexed
Vodka makes her handsy, and Pops doesn’t like it when Ma punches back.
Eventually, like every other time, the yelling stops, ending with Pops storming out the front door, slamming it behind him. My ma’s soft sobs are all that’s left behind, filtering through the cracks of thewalls and painting themselves on my chest and in my psyche.
Some nights, even my dreams are filled with nothing but that sound.
Sighing, I stand up from my bed and make my way down the hallway and into their bedroom, knowing exactly what I’ll find before I find it.
Ma’s sitting at her white leather vanity, a half-drunk bottle of vodka at her side and a bottle of pills open and splayed out on the table in front of her. She’s hunched over, her black hair fanning across her arms and her head resting on her hands, her back heaving from the cries.
“Ma,” I whisper, moving toward her.
She stiffens, straightening up, her mascara-streaked face staring at me in the mirror as she quickly wipes her cheeks. “Hi, baby boy, I didn’t mean…”
Her words are sloppy, stringing together and tripping over each other, and my heart squeezes as I take her in.
Fuck Pops for making her this way. I tried once to stand up to him about it, but all it got me was a busted lip, a black eye, and a gun to my temple.
“Shhh,” I soothe, coming to stand next to her and brushing her hair off her face. “You okay?”
Her bottom lip trembles, and she shakes her head, another sob pouring from her mouth.
“Come on, Ma. He ain’t worth it.”
“Don’t speak about your father like that,” she hisses. “He does his best.”
I grit my teeth, not wanting to argue.
Silently, I watch as she grabs the bottle and tips it back, swallowing. I want to take it from her, but who am I to take away the only source of her comfort on the lonely nights?
“That bastard!” she suddenly yells, slamming the liquor downuntil it sloshes out of the top.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Go find that puttana your father’s fucking and put a bullet in her head.” She looks to me with big eyes. “Can you do that?”
I swallow because we both know I can’t.
She goes to tip the bottle back again, and this time I do grab it from her. “Come on, Ma. You’re killing yourself with this.”
“No, stop,” she slurs, trying to yank it back.
“Don’t make me be the bad guy,” I plead, a vise wrapping around my middle and constricting. “Let’s go watch a movie. I’ll even let you put on that one you love. What’s it called?”
More tears roll down her face. “Casablanca.”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes playfully. “The things I do for you, honestly.”
She sighs and nods, gripping my forearm as she stands. Suddenly, she covers her mouth and keels over, vomiting at my feet. The stench is enough to make me want to throw up, but I bite it back.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened.
“I’m sorry, Enzo,” she cries, dropping to her knees, gripping my arms like I’m her lifeline. “He just… I’m so…”
“It’s okay, Ma.” A knot lodges itself in my throat. “Do you want to just lie down?”
She nods, whimpering, and I maneuver us around the mess and take her to her bed. Gingerly, I help change her into fresh pajamas and then slip her under the covers, brushing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her head.
“I should kill him for doing this to you,” I whisper.
