Page 167 of Becoming Us
I snapped my gaze to her. “What?”
She smiled humorlessly. “That’s the only thing you care about, right? The money?”
I sat up slowly, eyes falling to my lap.
No. I’m not you.
A dry cough scraped my throat. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Have me declared incompetent? You clearly want to. Why haven’t you?” I cleared my throat again, but the roughness stayed.
Her face went blank. “I’m your mother.”
Nope. Not falling for that one. Not this time.
“That’s not an answer.What happens to the money if I’m not in charge?”
She straightened in her seat. Took a beat before answering. “It goes to your brother. He becomes the alternate beneficiary.”
And there it was.
She didn’t give a fuck. Not really. Why cry?
“Do you even love me?” The words slipped free before I could stop them.
She brushed her hands over her skirt, smoothing away invisible wrinkles. For a moment, the soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room.
Her expression didn’t budge. “Not when you’re acting like this, I don’t.”
There.
That settled it.
You wanted to know, and you got your answer. Hope you’re finally happy now. You’re so fucked up, not even your own mother can love you.
I lay back, turning to face the wall. “You can go now. No point putting on a show for my benefit.”
“Noah, stop being dramatic. You’re my son—of course I love you. But the way you’ve been acting—this thing you did—you can’t expect to be rewarded for bad behavior.”
Sometimes, when my temper got the best of me, I said things I didn’t mean. The regret was instant, and I’d apologize. Then I’d sit with it for days. Years, even. Replaying it in my head. Wishing I could take it back.
I wondered if she had that voice. That tug in her chest that whispered,This might hurt someone. Maybe don’t say it.
Or maybe for her, everything just blended into a big, self-righteous mess of excuses and entitlement.
“Just leave,” I mumbled, curling onto my side.
The beeping of the machines bled into the silence. That fucking smell was everywhere. Just like with Dad. It was like being transported back into a nightmare.
“I’m having you sent to rehab,” she said coldly. “I spoke to Richard. Told him what happened—that it was an overdose. He approved the transfer. The payment’s been set up in your name. As soon as the seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold is up, you’ll be transferred. You’ll stay there for six weeks. Longer, if you can’t sort yourself out.”
Sure. Why not? What else did I have going on?
I didn’t have the energy to argue. All I wanted was to sleep. I’d probably get to sleep there too. Maybe it wouldn’t smell this bad.
“When you get out, we’ll talk. See if you’re finally ready to face the consequences of your actions and grow up.” Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked toward the door. “One of these days, you’re going to realize you and I aren’t so different, Noah. You’ll stop fighting me. Stop this crusade to destroy your life—and mine. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for us.”
