Page 106 of One More Kiss

Gen

“Just take me home, Asher,”I sigh against the window causing it to fog. I feel defeated, drained, and utterly exhausted. I can’t even explain why exactly.

“I am,” he says signaling the blinker to turn off on the interstate ramp. I rub a spot over my chest wall, something in the way he said it sounded so cold causing my chest to hurt. He’s never been like this with me, so detached.

Ahead, I see the place I call home and my mom’s Junker beetle car in front. She must be home recovering from one of her benders. Great, just what I need to clean up her vomit and make sure she doesn’t piss herself. I sigh.

“Thanks for the ride.” I say hopping out before we come to a complete stop. I pull out my keys and unlock the door, grateful she thought to do that much this time.

“Mom?” I yell, peering around the weird wall next to the front door that makes it feel isolated. With no response, I head towards the kitchen dropping my bag that I insisted on instead of the clutch that Margot wanted me to carry to go with the dress.

My heels click on the tiled floor in the kitchen before I make my way out of it towards the brownish carpets that I’m pretty sure were beige at one point. I yell again while taking one of my earrings out, checking the bathroom to make sure she isn’t passed out on the toilet again.

Opening the door to her room, I gaze around the piles of clothes, the smell of booze hitting me before I spot her. “Mom!?” I scream running towards her crumpled form, that’s half-laying on her side in a puddle of vomit.

Rotating her hips, more rolls out of her mouth and my fingers frantically search for the pulse in her neck. A sob escapes my throat when I don’t feel one, and I dump my bag on the ground in search of my phone.

It’s not there.

Standing quickly, I kick off the heels, running through the small winding house that never felt as big as it does now. I jerk open the door to just see Asher start to peel away from the curb and my feet pad quickly against the concrete to try to reach him.

“Wait!” I scream. “Asher! Stop!” I sob. His truck jerks to a halt.

“Gen? What happened? What’s wrong?” He asks from his window.

“Call 911!” I yell before racing back towards the house.

“Gen! Are you hurt? Genevieve!” Asher’s voice yells after me, mumbled to my ears.

It’s like wind is rushing in my ears, the only clear sound is my feet hitting the ground hard step after step. The unsteady floor shakes beneath the weight of me, the carpet rough beneath my soles. Sliding to a stop beside her, I hit her back repeatedly attempting to get all the fluid from her airway.

I can hear Asher in the distance talking on the phone to who I pray is the paramedics and that they arrive soon as I roll her back onto her back starting compressions, counting them aloud like I learned in health class.

And I pray it’s enough.

After it had seemed like hours passed, but I know were really just minutes, the paramedics and police arrived. Their footfalls vibrated the floor beneath my knees as I was doing compressions on my mother's lifeless form.

They continued the compressions that I had started even as they loaded her into the ambulance while the police asked questions I didn’t understand.

“What drugs does your mother take?” The one that looked too young to be in uniform asked.

"She doesn’t take any,” I cried.

“Has she ever overdosed before?” The female officer he called for asked gently.

“Overdosed? You can’t overdose on alcohol?” I said, but it came out more as a question.

After they had looked at each other and thanked me for my time, they left and so had the ambulance. Asher and I had left quickly, and I barely remembered to stuff the contents of my bag back inside to take with us.

Now we sit. We sit staring at the stark white hospital wall, the air smelling of sterile cleaners and burning my nostrils every time I inhale. I suppose it’s fitting for the occasion.

“Mom and Dad are on their way now. I couldn’t get Margot, but I left a message.” Asher says sitting down beside me. I weakly nod my head in response.

“I told them to grab you some shoes,” he whispers. My eyes trail down the wall until they land on my feet, dirty bottoms tapping on the cold linoleum floor.

“Thank you,” I whisper my voice hoarse.

“Genevieve Myers?” A nurse in scrubs asks, looking down at a chart.

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