Untouched (Bay Falls High, #1)(2)

And he just kept going, adding a word each time, but there was a loud shatter, followed by silence.

That’s when Ruby looked at me. “They’re done now. She broke something. Or threw something at him. You should leave though. Once they’re done fighting, they make up…”

Ruby put the cigarette between her lips and then made an O with her thumb and pointer finger of her right hand and slammed the pointer finger of her left hand through that O.

I curled my lip.

Old people doing it…

Gross.

Point being, anytime Ruby or me or Amelia or whoever went home, you never knew what you’d find. Sometimes Ruby’s mother would be singing to music in a different language. Sometimes she’d be passed out drunk.

Now for me, it was sort of the same.

Anabel Ditkiss.

My mother.

And, yes, that meant my name was… Tinsley Ditkiss.

I was born on Christmas day. My mother wanted to name me Tinsel but I was forever thankful she didn’t. Not that it helped much that our last name was so fucking weird. The nicknames basically wrote themselves. (If you need a minute to make your list, have at it. I’ll wait.) I hated calling her Mom because she never really was one. But if that was one of the little things I could do to save her from herself, then so be it.

It had been a shit day.

My ex - Devin - acted like a total jackass. For some reason he decided now would be a good time to tell everyone that he and I never slept together. I wasn’t sure what he planned on getting out of that. Other than convincing everyone I was a prude and didn’t do stuff. Again, I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to hurt me. Because in the blink of an eye I went from Titty Dipshit (told you the names wrote themselves) to a conquest. Guys - excuse me, BOYS - looking at me wondering what they could say to get my panties off as though they were held up by some secret code.

(Hint: first part of the code is to maybe not be a total jerk off fuck head asshole…) So that was basically my entire day.

Ruby was on her period so she was a bitch.

Amelia was out sick, which meant she skipped to go hang out with her twenty-two year old thing.

I got through the day and then walked home listening to music.

I always paused at the piece of shit building I was forced to call home. To me, the entire building was crooked. And I was sure that someday it was going to fall over. Like right in the middle of the night too. We would be those people on the news talking about how it happened out of nowhere. Looking like poor trash so people in their nice homes could shake their head and feel bad for a second only before the news went to a story about a giraffe that could play the fucking piano.

And that was my life.

Not that I had ever seen a giraffe play piano.

I walked into the building that smelled like old eggs and wet cardboard. It still made my nose sting for a few seconds but sadly it had become home. The smell of home. Not dinner cooking. Not some cheap smelly thing plugged into the wall. Just this bad smell.

I climbed the creaky steps and walked by Mr. Anderson’s door where he had the news blasting like he always did. I was pretty sure the egg smell came from his apartment.

I dug my key out of my pocket but found the door to our apartment already unlocked. The door slightly open too.

Trust me, it didn’t scare me. Nobody was going to be breaking into these apartments. Not unless they wanted to collect change from the couch cushions and a decent amount of depression.

“Mom?” I called out. “It’s just me. I’m home.”

I knew what I was walking into.

Or at least I thought I did.

I smelled something burning.

I dropped my bag and ran to the kitchen. So narrow you couldn’t open the dishwasher all the way. Not that the dishwasher actually worked though.

On the stove was a pot of boiling water with noodles in it. It was foamy and smelled terrible. It had been sitting there for a while.

I shut my eyes.

If the building wasn’t going to fall then Mom was going to burn the building down with this stuff.

I turned the burner off.

“Mom?” I called out again. “You left something on the stove again. You can’t do that. I know it makes you mad when…”

I walked down the hallway and pushed open the bathroom door. It was empty but the sink had stuff in it. I called it stuff because drugs made me angry. And it hurt me. Like in the morning before school I couldn’t even use the sink sometimes. I was not going to be touching needles and baggies just to scratch eyeliner on my eyes.

When I left the bathroom, I turned and saw the closet directly across from the bathroom. It was a large walk-in closet that we used for everything. Food. Cleaning stuff. Clothes. Whatever.

That door was slightly open, the light on.

I lowered my head and knew I was going to find Mom sitting there, wasted away. She’d look at me and say something stupid or funny or cry. She’d ask to hold me and I’d end up holding her. Then she’d promise me she’d never do it again.

The same old bullshit routine.

I readied myself and opened the door.

“Mom…”

I was right.

Sort of.

She was in the closet.

She was wasted.

But she was extra wasted.

On her side, mouth open, foam coming out of her mouth.

I covered my mouth to scream.