All this Time

Gabby

28th December.

The single bed in my old room, still adorning posters of One Direction and Justin Bieber, is not ideal sleeping for one adult, let alone an adult and a child.

I'm in pain, literal pain from a night of knocking back tequila shots and then sleeping next to Lydia who shoves her elbows into me over and over again.

I peer over at her, my vision still blurring from being half asleep and hungover as hell. Her little mouth is parted on soft snores and her light brown curls are a mess on the pillow under her head.

She's so beautiful. The best part of me. My heart thuds in pain and anger when I think about the fact that Josh could walk out on her.

His daughter, the sweetest, fiercest little girl in the world. His little girl. It fucking astounds me to no end that he could turn his back without a second thought.

There's a soft knock on the door and I'm a moment too late to pretend I'm sleeping when momma puts her head in the gap and widens her eyes at me. Slightly gesturing her head, still covered by her silk night cap, at the living room.

I'm fluent in facial gestures and I've been summoned to the follow her. The last thing I feel like doing is getting out of bed but I'm just pro longing the inevitable.

I'm still wearing last nights black slip dress, memories of me hoisting it up around my ass come flooding back and I feel like the flames of hell unfurl on my cheeks. Humiliating. It's all a bit of a blur but I don't forget Nathan hauling me out of the situation. Not that I'll thank him. I'm sure he was being his usual over bearing self.

From what I remember, he's still as gorgeous as he used to be. Ugh. His jacket hangs on the end of the bed frame and I wonder how I'm going to get that back without having to talk about last night.

Sliding my feet into a pair of cheetah print slippers and wrapping the matching robe around my body, I drag my feet along the thread bare carpet and find momma waiting in the living room for me, sitting in her favourite arm chair, a coffee on the television unit.

Thank goodness because this is going to be hard enough, even with the strength of caffeine.

"We're not doing this," she says, straight into it as I pick the coffee up. "You can stay here for as long as you want. But we are not doing this. I'm not raising that little girl while you drink your problems away."

I slowly swallow the bitter liquid, she forgets the sugar every time, and force myself to rein in the temper brewing. "I never asked you to raise her."

"One night back here, you're straight on the booze. That's not how we handle our heartbreak."

"Don't speak for me. I'll handle it how I want."

Her lips press into a hard line, her brown cheeks turning an almost crimson shade of fucked off. I'm sure I'm not too old for a smack if she sees fit. Not that she ever gave me those when I was a child. It was more a threat. Except for the time I stole one hundred dollars from the til at her work. Yeah, I never made that mistake again.

"You need to get your shit together," she points at me, her fingers covered in rings passed down from her ancestors. Heirlooms, one day they'll be mine. "Be whole for that girl. Be better. She needs a strong mother. And you don't need that boy. He left. His loss. Imagine if I had spent nights out drinking instead of caring for you?"

That one got me. Momma had done it alone for as long as I could remember and she never let me down.

"Yeah, fine," I relent, not having the strength to argue. Turning to leave, I stop and raise the cup at her. "Thanks."