Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(54)

“What is it?” she barks.

“It’s me, Mom.”

She rubs her eyes. “Elisabeth?”

“Let me in.” And let’s       get you out.

Mom closes the door, the chain jiggles as she unlocks it,      and the door flies open. In seconds, she wraps her arms around me. Her      fingernails dig into my scalp. “Baby? Oh God, baby. I thought I’d never see you      again.”

Her body shakes and I hear the familiar sniffling that      accompanies her crying. I rest my head on her shoulder. She smells like a      strange combination of vinegar, pot, and alcohol. Only the vinegar seems out of      place. Part of me is thrilled to see her alive. The other part beyond annoyed. I      hate that she’s high. “What did you take?”

Mom pulls back and runs her fingers through my hair in very      fast successive motions. “Nothing.”

I note her red eyes and dilated pupils and tilt my head.

“Okay, just some pot.” She smiles while a tear runs down her      face. “Do you want a bowl? We have new neighbors and they’re into sharing. Let’s      go.”

Snatching Mom’s hand, I push past her and into the      apartment. “You need to pack.”

“Elisabeth! Don’t!”

“What the hell?” The place is trashed. Not like normal      trashed. This is beyond dirty dishes, mud-caked floors, and fast-food wrappers      on the furniture. The cushions of the couch lie on the threadbare carpet, both      ripped open. The coffee table could now be used as kindling. The insides of      Mom’s small television lie exposed near the three-foot kitchen.

“Someone broke in.” Mom shuts the door behind her, locking      one of the dead bolts.

“Bullshit.” I turn and face her. “People who break in steal      shit and you don’t have shit to steal. And what the hell is that stench?”

I dyed Easter eggs with Scott once and our trailer smelled      like vinegar for days.

“I’m cleaning,” Mom says. “The bathroom. I got sick in there      earlier.”

Her words hit me hard. Puking can mean an OD. My worst      nightmare for my mother. “What did you take?”

She shakes her head and nervously laughs. “I told you, pot.      A little beer. I’m barely buzzing.”

Ah, hell. “Are you pregnant?”

I hate it when she has to think for an answer. “No. No. I’m      taking those pills. It’s good you found a way to have them sent to me in the      mail.”

Kneading my eyes with my palms, I gather my wits. None of      this matters. “Get your stuff together. We’re leaving.”

“Why? I haven’t received an eviction notice.”

“We’re gypsies, remember?” I say, trying to lighten the      mood. “We never stay still.”

“No, Elisabeth. You have the gypsy soul, not me.”

Her statement stops me short and I wait for her to explain.      Mom sways from side to side. Whatever. She’s high and I don’t have time for      this. I step over the shredded coffee table. “Isaiah offered to take me to the      beach and you’re coming with us. We’ll lay low until I turn eighteen next summer      and then we’ll be home free.”

“What about Trent?”

“He beats you. You don’t need that *!” I spot a couple      of plastic shopping bags in the corner. Those will do. Mom owns few items worth      packing.

“Elisabeth!” Mom kicks the remains of the coffee table as      she bolts after me. She grabs my arm. “Stop!”

“Stop? Mom, we have to go. You know if Trent comes back and      finds me here...”

She cuts me off and runs her fingers through my hair again.      “He’ll kill you.” Her eyes pool with tears and she sniffles again. “He’ll kill      you,” she repeats. “I can’t go.”

My entire body bottoms out like a fast sobering from a high.      “You have to.”

“No, baby. I can’t go now. Give me a few weeks. I got some      business to take care of and then we’ll leave together. I promise.”

Business? “We’re leaving. Now.”

Her fingers curl in my hair and tighten, yanking to the      point of pain. She leans down and places her forehead to mine. The stench of      beer rolls off her breath. “I promise. I promise I’ll go with you. Listen to me.      I have to clean some stuff up. Give me a couple of weeks, then we’ll go.”