𝘾𝙊𝘿𝙀𝙋𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙀 - Rio x Reader

•Chapter 1•

"Jesus Christ."

Your keys clatter onto the 'catch all' table sat by the door as you walk in from work. Toys litter the floor along with clothing and miscellaneous items. The TV blares and flashes images from a news story, being the only light source in the living room. It looks like an absolute disaster. As you make your way through, you fill your arms with toys and clothes that presumably need to be washed. You find your mother slumped on the couch, drool pooling and dripping off the corner of her cracked lips. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume she was dead.

It would've made you angry had you not expected to walk in to this exact scene. Still, you trudge over to the couch and eye her scabbed face. The culprit is still dusted across her nose in the form of a white powder this time. You kick her foot, earning no response.

"Mom."

You shake her shoulder, only earning a guttural noise. It's no use. She at least had the decency to clean up the paraphernalia of her bad habits because you fail to find any evidence other than the powder on her nose. But that's as far as her responsible gumption reached. It doesn't take you long to clean the living room and arrange it back to its original state. Your shift wasn't but six hours long at the diner- that seemed to be more than enough time for her to wreck the place.

You grab the remote from the coffee table and mash the power button, ceasing the god-awful blaring and flashing pictures from the TV. The only sound left now being your mother's labored breathing. The grandfather clock tucked away in the corner reads 11:56 P.M. You don't bother covering her comatose body with a blanket as you did times before. After about the tenth time- that caring nature seemed to dissipate.

You pad down the hallway, making your steps as light as possible on the off chance that your sister may be sleeping. Though, you don't think even the neighbors could have slept through the volume of the TV. Her's is the only decorated door- pink foam stickers spell 'VERA' across the frieze rail. You're mindful, as you open her door, to not make a peep. The hallway light casts a soft line across her sleeping face. Her dark hair lays askew. You're surprised- to say the least. Usually it took nothing short of a miracle for her to fall asleep. But running rampant in the house with no responsible adult to manage things, you'd be tired too.

Like clockwork, a chime and buzz sounds in your pocket. After softly shutting the door, you brandish the phone. A small, subconscious smile flits across your face upon reading the text.

Brandon: Did you make it home okay?

You wait until you make it into the sanctity of your bedroom to respond.

I did, did you?

You remove the, almost inappropriately short, dress and toss it into the overflowing laundry hamper in the corner of your room. Your phone chimes again as you slip into a faded orange oversized T-shirt.

Still at work. Have to finish these papers before the quarter is over.

Damn you've been working late a lot here lately :(

I know, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.
How about dinner tomorrow night?
Domingo's, my treat.

Wednesdays are your only days off- if you could even consider it a day off. Between running errands, cleaning, keeping up with your younger sister, it felt more like work than being at work.

I'll have to find someone to watch V.

Isn't your mom around?

Your thumbs swivel around the keyboard as you try to come up with a response. Your lids grow heavier under the shine emitting from your phone's screen.

Define around.

Surely you could ask the neighbors to watch her. They're always more than happy to have her around. In their old age, you wouldn't think they would be so gun-ho on chasing down a toddler but they seem to adore her. As does everyone else who meets her.

I'm sure you can figure something out. I'll be there at 8 ;).

You click the power button and lay your head on the pillow, staring up at the white, popcorn ceiling. Brandon and you have been dating for the better part of four months. He's good to you- understanding, good-looking, just a year older than you with a great job. You could see yourself being with him for a long time. He makes you happy.

You're pulled from your drowsy thoughts by the sudden urge to pee. You shoot out of bed and nearly don't make it to the bathroom, across the hall, in time. The thought to turn the light on doesn't cross your mind so much as getting to the toilet. You're too tired to bother with it anyway. But when you go to flush, the toilet makes a rather guttural noise. Almost like it's out of water.

You mutter a curse under your breath, thinking you probably forgot to pay the water bill. But when you get up to wash your hands, hoping that there's enough water to do at least that, you find there's no shortage of water pumping through the pipes. It's only now that you flick the bathroom light on. You squint under the brightness of the LED bulb above. The last thing you need right now is a broken toilet on top of all your other bills.

You lift the lid off the back and it soon falls from your grip, crashing onto the toilet seat below. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach upon setting eyes on the reason the toilet won't fill with water. There isn't much room for anything else with the large plastic bag full of cash stuffed into the tank. You blink a few times, even resort to pinching yourself. Wads of blue Benjamin Franklins stare back at you from under what little water had filled the tank.

Your shaky hands fish the large bag out of the tank. It flops onto the bathroom counter, splattering cool water to the surrounding surfaces. You have to remind yourself to breathe. No coherent thoughts speel through your racing mind in the presence of this ungodly amount of money.

Well, except for one-

your mother.

Your erratic, bat-shit, addict mother.

•

Thank you for reading!!!!!