Serving Up Submission

Chapter 4

*Sage's P.O.V.*

I had just gotten back to throwing stuff in a box, when I heard the front door shut. Oh shit. J is out in the driveway getting boxes from her car. Shitshitshitshitshit. If my mom catches her here, she will lose her marbles.

I'm bracing myself for my moms fiery wrath when I hear her bedroom door shut. What? I stare at my door, dumbfounded. I was so ready for another screaming match. Who am I kidding... no I wasn't.

Just then, my door opens. Now I'm scared.

Jaycee poked her head in and says, "Boo."

I let out a big breath, I didn't know I was holding. "Fuck you, J. You literally scared the shit out of me! I might need to change my pants..."

"Ew, Sage, that's gross. TMI!"

"I'm just kidding. Soothe your boobs." She said. "How did you get in, anyways?"

"Yo' mamma is drunk." She made a pucker face and tilted her head back as if chugging an entire bottle of something, even putting up her pinky finger to make it funnier.

I just laughed. She always knows how to cheer me up. "You're a bitch. But I love you!" I walked over and hugged her.

"I love you too. Now let's finish packing so we can go to my house and watch a movie."

I gasped. "Maze Runner?!"

She groaned. "Well, since today was a bad day for you, I guess we can watch that awful movie."

"It's not awful! Dylan O'Brien is hot and Thomas Brodie-Sangster is hot and Will Poulter is super hot  and whoever plays Minho is super hot too. That entire movie is made of hotness. How do you not like it?!"

I secretly think she likes that movie. I mean, how can anyone not? Especially if you're a hormonal girl. Whatever though. She already agreed to watch it with me, so she can't back out now.

"I don't know," she said, "but can we get finished packing? Because I was laying in bed, about to fall asleep, when someone called me and asked me to save their sorry ass," she sarcastically scowled at me.

"Fine," I huffed.

She looked around, as if not knowing what to pack. And I must be able to read minds, because two seconds later, she asked, "What do you want me to pack?"

I chuckled to myself -because woah I can read minds- and she gave me a weird look. Then, I responded, "can you put my painting supplies in a box, and my books and pictures in another?"

"Sure." Then she set to packing. We packed in a comfortable silence. At least I thought it was comfortable. She must not have thought that, because she asked, "Did you even know your mom drank?"

"Yeah," I told her. "She drinks after she had a long day, or after she and I get in a fight, or if there is a special occasion." I thought about it a little more. "She drinks a glass of wine almost every day after she gets home from work."

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "I had no idea she even allowed alcohol into your house."

"Well, she doesn't unless she is the one drinking it. She won't even let dad buy beer." I paused. I don't think I have ever even seen my dad drink, unless we have a dinner party or family over. "Now do you see what I'm talking about when I say that my mom is a psycho? I need to be out of this house. She thinks she can just be a bitch about everything? Well, I'm done. She can suck my dick."