Making Home Ch. 02

Trigger warner: Please be aware that there is a descriptive PTSD episode of domestic abuse in this chapter.

Chapter Two:

I spent most of the morning pouring over notes with my earbuds in with covers by my favorite piano and cello duet on repeat. I was the ultimate study scene.

Alone.

Focused.

By the time I took a break for lunch, I almost couldn't hear the chime of the big clock in the glen as it sang the usual song for noon. The pang of pseudo-bells rang through the concrete walls, and I only remembered them rather than recognized them. Glancing down at my phone, I noticed a text from Jess.

"Lunch at Chipotle. Want to come?"

My heart sank. Despite her efforts to pry, I hadn't told Jess much about me. I was embarrassed about my lack of support. She could never know about my mom or where I had come from. She wasn't from a rich family, but she had nothing to worry about financially. She had no idea what it was like trying to scrape by, especially when her parents offered to pay her share of the rent. It was why I had decided a long time ago that I wouldn't tell her about my situation. I didn't think she would understand. I typed out a reply:

"Can't. In the zone. Thanks for the invite."

I sent up a prayer that she wouldn't give up on me. I wanted to be her friend. But even I was aware that friends hung out with each other. Friends ate together and told each other about their home lives. All I could offer was a listening ear, an awkward presence in our bedroom, and a prompt text reply. After she didn't text me back, I packed up my bag and began my daily pursuit of a place to sit and eat.

I walked to the packed food court and quickly abandoned the idea of finding an open table. I should have known better. Finals weeks. Luckily, being a senior had its perks. I knew a lot more of campus than I did when I first started. Instead, a bench on the second floor would be my picnic area.

Today's special was the leftover bagels from work two nights ago. During finals week, the librarian made sure to provide snacks in the library for late night students and I just so happened to garner permission to take home the leftovers. I had begun to unwrap my lunch when my phone pinged, and a message came across the screen. It was my mom. I swiped it open and looked at the text.

"Avery, I need you to come over. Now."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself as a familiar scenario began to unfold in my mind. Her new boyfriend, Caleb, was quick to temper and my mother was equally as clumsy as he was reactive. She either needed help with something around the apartment or... something worse had happened. I fought down panic as I tried to remain calm until I had more information. I typed out a reply:

"What's going on?"

A word bubble with dots appeared at the bottom of the screen as she worked on typing out a message back to me. It seemed like it took much longer than it probably had, but eventually her text came through.

"Caleb."

This time I didn't hesitate.

"On my way."

I shoved my lunch into my bag without wrapping it back up and hurried down the path toward the bridge. The last time she texted me like this was when her last boy toy, Sean, left some pretty artwork on the walls. Like fist-sized holes in the drywall and table and chair legs poking out of walls. A real modern day Picasso.

The walkway was still slick from ice, but I ran anyway, careful to place my weight on my boots. When I finally got to my car, I threw my backpack into the passenger seat before slamming the driver's side door shut. I started the ignition and took off before the car even had a chance to warm up. My car groaned, but it eventually warmed up enough to move forward without shaking.

My mom's apartment was in the next town over about fifteen miles away. The drive usually took me eighteen minutes in good conditions. I made it there in fifteen. The old apartment complex was dirty and run down, reminiscent of the people who lived in it. They didn't have much care for anything in life, just like their landlord over this building. The door was unlocked when I tried the knob, and I rushed inside, immediately noticing the broken glass and dishes on the kitchenette floor.

A feeling like an anxious bolt of energy coursed through me, causing my limbs and chest to seize up in discomfort. I squeezed my eyes shut as my body threatened to shut down. A flashback of screaming and the sound of dishes being thrown at the wall overtook all of my senses, and I sank to my knees clutching my hands over my ears. Ringing. It always came with a tinnitus kind of loud ringing sound. I shook my head as I tried to regulate my breathing, and I felt the wetness gathered at the corners of my eyes.

He was so angry. Plates, bowls, heirloom crystal glasses shattered against a wall behind me, the shards causing small cuts as I hadn't moved away fast enough. Yelling. Blame. A hand grabbing at my collar and hauling me toward a bedroom. I couldn't get away. He was just so angry. Mom pleading, begging to take my place, and then silence as I'm abandoned. A click at the door. No way out. No one coming in. Hunger. Thirst. Need to pee. More hunger. It burns to pee.

My body was shaking at the memory, and I tried to remember the words from the therapist who had seen me in high school. 'Breathe, Avery. Try to train your attention on what your body is doing to help with how it is feeling. You can control this. It's just going to take practice. Breathe. Focus.' I could hear her voice. The consoling tone gentle, yet authoritative. I focused on my inhales and exhales until my heartbeat slowed and my breathing became slow and regular.

It was working. I looked over at the frame of the entry door. Pencil marks where Mom measured my height crawled up the old wood. It was one of the most normal things we ever did. I felt happy during those times. Mom was excited. I felt like I made her proud with my progress. She would smile at me. She'd scoop me up in a hug. Her arms were warm and tight. The beating in my chest was now a calm thud, and the dizziness began to fade. I was here to find my mom. I needed to make sure she was okay.

I got up and rubbed the wetness away from my face.

"Mama!" My voice echoed against the empty walls of the forsaken living quarters.

It was quiet for a moment longer than I liked, and I began to suspect that I was too late. I was about to turn and call the police when some shuffling came from the end of the hallway.

"I'm in here!" Her voice sounded muffled, and I ran down the corridor to start opening doors, looking for her.

The usual paraphernalia was littered in various places throughout the dirty rooms. An assortment of bongs. Laundry that had been piled up and forgotten. White dust on a cleared coffee table. A candle, spoon, and dirty used syringes. The whole place smelled like vomit, sewage, and a hint of battery acid. I had to cover my nose to navigate the apartment without gagging. I got to the door of what used to be my old room and noticed it was empty except for a stained mattress on the floor.

I dropped my hand from my face. "Mom!" I yelled a little louder.

"In here!" The sound came from behind me.

I tore open a linen cupboard and found her folded onto the tight bottom shelf with blankets bunched up in front of her. Her eyes poked through at me and I heaved a sigh of relief. If not for the severity of the situation, I might have laughed at her.

"What're you doing in there?" I reached in and removed the blankets before offering her a hand.

"Well, you know Caleb. He has a bit of a temper sometimes." She crawled out and began to stretch her limbs and neck.

"A bit?" I gestured around the trashed apartment. "Mom, you can't keep living like this."

"Oh, chill." She stumbled into the wall as she tried to walk.

"Are you high?"

"Of course not, dear." She smiled up at me dreamily.

I took my phone out and turned on the flashlight, shining it into her face. Her pupils were dilated, slow to contract to the light.

I groaned and used a hand to steady her. "What did you take?"

"Nothing." She tried to brush me off and stumbled toward an opened door.

"Mom, what did you take?!"

She shrugged before stumbling into her bedroom. "Just a little Vicodin for my back pain. You know how it gets." She waved a dismissive hand at me without even bothering to turn around and look at me. "Now, leave me alone. I'm not a child."

Anger bubbled up and out of me. "Then why did you text me if you just wanted me to leave you alone?! I have studying to do!" I threw my hands up in the air as my heart rate began to rise.

"I don't know. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time." She continued to make her way to her bed, struggling to amble over garbage on the floor. "So dizzy." She slumped into a pile at her nightstand.

I blew out a heavy breath and stooped to slide my hands under her arms. With a grunt, I heaved her to her feet and helped her into her bed. I was used to this by now. This wasn't the first time I had to take care of her because she was too far gone to do it herself.

I felt like I could cry. I couldn't keep doing this. It was affecting my life in ways that were bringing me down. It was bad enough when I started the post-secondary program in junior year of high school. I had more time on my hand, but that somehow translated to more time for her to get high. I wanted to cut all ties and go my separate way, but she was my mom. I didn't see any other choice. I was trapped.

I adjusted the pillow behind her head and got her tucked in. She looked peaceful like this. Almost like she wasn't an addict and she was just Mama. Someone capable of loving and being loved. Didn't we have that once? I don't know when she decided to turn to drugs, and I definitely couldn't understand why I hadn't been enough to keep her from using.

I tried to push those thoughts away, remembering what I learned about holding onto the 'what-ifs' and 'self blame'. But what some therapists never remember to tell you, is that it's a normal and natural thing to go through. And it's a very human thing to do. I often had to remind myself of it in order to be able to work through it.

Once the blankets were up to her chin and she had dozed off, I turned to look back at the apartment. It needed a lot of work. Not just cleaning up the damage, but cleaning in general. I took off my jacket and set it over the back of the chair next to her bed. I rolled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, determination laced heavily through my veins. This part always came easier. The cleanup always seemed to have a way to make it all disappear. Like I was the eraser to all of the bad that had happened here today.

An hour later, the dish rack was full of drying dishes and the floors were swept. Despite the temperature outside, I had opened the windows to let fresh air in. I was starting to feel dizzy and sick to my stomach from the smell in the apartment, so some fresh air helped me get through cleaning. I was content with what I had accomplished in so little time. It should be enough to get her through the week. After putting the mop away, I went back to her room to retrieve my coat. I pulled it on and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Mama," I whispered.

I knew she couldn't hear me, even if I had yelled it. Guilt always overtook me before I had to leave. When I began college, I felt selfish for wanting to involve myself in as many extra-curriculars that would take me. But, guilt or not, I couldn't spend any more time at her place. I needed to get back to studying. I had begun closing the windows when the entry door opened, a man walking in. He did a double take when he saw me and then smiled before he shut the door.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in. If it isn't Ava."

I felt my left eye twitched as he used the nickname that Mama loved so much. I shot him a glare and finished closing the last window in the living room.

"You need to be nice to my mom." I walked over to the door, unsure how to get around him.

He grinned and hummed. "Or what? Gonna beat me up?" He crossed his arms across his chest and squared himself next to the exit.

I hated how he looked. His face was sunken in with scabs on his cheeks and chin that almost completely refused to heal. He always had slicked black hair shaped into ugly spikes, shiny with too much hair gel. Tattoos covered his arms, one a complete sleeve. And like most people he associated with, his jeans hung low as if he wanted you to see his underwear.

I curled my lip. "You don't want to know what I'll do. Just leave her alone."

He only chuckled. "I'll tell you what, how about you just walk out of here, and I will pretend you didn't threaten me."

"Don't flatter yourself, I was just leaving. I'm serious, Caleb. If you don't stop, there will be consequences."

I walked by him and reached for the knob, but a strong arm grabbed me around the waist and yanked me back. He tried to clutch me to him, but I worked to shove him away and effectively put a little distance between us.

"Stay awhile. You can help pay back what your mom owes." He pulled me again and pressed his pelvis against me. I fought back a gag as I felt his anatomy through my thin sweats.

"Like Hell." I freed myself from his grasp and moved to rip open the door.

Before I could move any further, his voice was quiet and harsh, "I didn't hurt her this time, but I can't promise I won't next time."

I paused before I turned the knob, frozen by his promise. He knew he had me. Mama was all I had left. And, she needed me.

I spoke to him over my shoulder, "What do you want?"

He snickered, not even trying to hide his pleasure at my disdain. "Your mom owes me money. Almost five grand. I need a payment. Cash or flesh."

"I don't have any money." I couldn't hide the desperation in my voice. "And Hell would freeze over before I ever slept with you."

He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. His breath was rancid as he breathed on my cheek. The vision of his rotting teeth filled my mind and I fought down the vomit threatening to spill up through my esophagus. He pressed his nose into my hair, and I cringed, feeling another episode threatening to creep up.

"Find a way to get some money, then. I'm sure there's some desperate fuck out there who'd pay for your rotten cunt." He threw my head forward and I almost hit the door.

Before he had a chance to grab me or touch me again, I yanked it open and ran out down the hall.

His voice carried, echoing off of the dirty crumbling walks, "I'll be waiting, Ava!"