Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(25)

“You don’t think I’ve tried? Little bitch won’t talk to me. I go straight to voice mail every single time. I’m sick of it. Sick of all of you.” Mom waves her hand, stumbling around like she’s going to fall, and I go to her, catching her by the elbows before she drops to the floor.

I look into her face, see that her eyes are dilated and her breaths are coming fast. She’s high.

And not from smoking a little weed, either.

“Stay right here.” I give her a little shove, so she settles on the couch with a grunt and I make my escape to my room. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure she didn’t follow me, I go into my closet and head for my old varsity jacket from high school. A jacket I rarely wore but Fable insisted I get. She was so damn proud of me for being on the football team, especially when we won the regional championships. The smile on her face that night was unforgettable.

The look in my mom’s wacked-out eyes just now was unforgettable, too. I need to get her the hell out of here. Before Chelsea sees her. Before Mom starts bad-mouthing Fable again. I want to scream at her. Ask her why the f**k she’s so selfish. Doesn’t she realize how much she’s hurt Fable? How much she’s hurt me? Mom is a freaking grandma now. Autumn is her first grandchild, her blood flows through the baby’s veins, and it’s like she doesn’t even give a shit.

I’m not sure if she’s aware that Autumn even exists.

I find the wad of cash in my jacket pocket and pull a couple of twenties and a fifty-dollar bill from it. I shouldn’t give her this. I told myself not even five minutes ago I wouldn’t. I’m funding her drug habit and that is such bullshit, but when it comes to my mom, I can’t stop myself.

She’s my bad habit. The one I just can’t seem to quit.

Frustrated with myself, feeling weak and stupid, I go back out into the living room to find Mom pacing around like she can’t keep still. She keeps rubbing her bare arms as though something’s crawling on her skin and she’s trying to brush it away. She doesn’t see me yet, and I stare at her in dawning horror.

There’s something going on here I don’t want to face. I don’t have time to deal with it right now. I’d rather shove money in her hand and send her away. But I can’t keep on doing that forever. Avoiding my mom isn’t going to fix this. Fix her.

Can she ever be fixed?

“Here.” I rush toward her and grab her wrist, making her splay out her hand. I slap the cash into her palm and her fingers curl around it, crushing it so hard it turns into a crumpled wad of green. “Don’t come back for at least two weeks. I’m not your personal bank.”

“Fuck you,” she spits at me just before she turns on her heel and runs out the door.

Shock renders me frozen as I stare out the still open front door. She came and left, just like that. No thank you, no “you’re the greatest son alive,” none of that. Just a demand and a curse—that’s all I get for my troubles.

I’m the world’s biggest f**king idiot.

Anger streams through my blood, makes me stalk around the house with clenched fists and a broken heart. Why the hell does she do this to me? Why do I let her get to me every single time? I wish I were more like Fable. She’s pushed Mom right out of her life, and with no regret. Moved on with someone she loves, someone who takes care of her. Created a family out of nothing. And though I’m a part of that family and I know it, it’s still hard. The distance between us makes it harder.

I’m here and the three of them are there. Drew and Fable and Autumn. It used to be Drew and Fable and Owen.

Now I’m just Owen.

Sometimes, I hate that. Growing up, moving on. Being alone. Finding my footing, when all I do is stumble around in the dark. Fuck.

I need a hit.

Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I see I have less than five minutes before Chelsea’s supposed to show up. Just enough time to take a drag off a joint, maybe even a couple of hits if I’m fast. I have one I rolled a few nights ago stashed in the top drawer of my dresser and I go to it as if in a daze. Pull the drawer open, pull the joint out, grab the lighter, and flick it again and again until there’s a flame.

Then I’m lighting it. Sucking up the smoke and the seed, inhaling until it fills my throat, slips into my lungs, and I feel the familiar, pleasurable burn. I exhale, thin tendrils of smoke escaping from my mouth, and I close my eyes briefly. Let it take me away to another place. A simpler time when I didn’t have all this goddamn pressure weighing on me.

I take another puff and then stub out the joint against the side of my dresser, not giving a shit if I’m messing up the wood. Stash everything away quick, my buzz already washing over me, zipping through my veins, settling in my still pissed-off brain and making all my troubles slowly melt into nothing. The haze comes, warm and comfortable and just enough to leave me numb. I want to forget. Forget Mom and Fable and my grades and my job and football. Focus on the here and now and a girl named Chelsea who thinks she’s coming over here to help me with my homework assignments.

That’s the last thing I want to do with her. But I’m afraid that’s all I’m ever going to get.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Her sweet voice calls to me and I leave my room to find Chelsea standing in the middle of the living room, a hesitant look on her face as she looks around. When she spots me, I see the relief wash over her and I smile. Feeling cocky, feeling good, feeling like nothing can get me down now.