𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟒𝟐. 𝐢 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫

TW: SA, Violence, Drugs, Overdose, Family Trauma, Mommy Issues

The air between them felt thick, heavy with a silence neither of them knew how to fill. Suki's mother lingered near the door, gaze flitting over the apartment, a sneer tugging at her lips as if the sight of her daughter's life—clean, orderly, intact—offended her somehow.

After a beat, her mother straightened, that bitter look hardening into something sharper. "You know what, sugar? I could use a little help. I've had a hard time getting by lately... thought my own flesh and blood might be willing to help her poor mama out."

Suki's heart pounded, that old, familiar request curling in her mind like cigarette smoke. Her mother's voice, honeyed and laced with desperation, was exactly as she remembered it, the way it had always sounded right before she'd turn her outstretched hands into claws. Suki swallowed, tasting bitterness. "Help you out?" Her voice shook slightly, the edge creeping in. "Haven't I done enough?"

Her mother's eyes narrowed, the pretense of sweetness disappearing. "Don't you go gettin' high and mighty with me, girl. I birthed you. Fed you. You owe me." She jutted her chin, her eyes darting around the room like she was measuring the worth of Suki's belongings. "All this—" she gestured, her hand sweeping the apartment. "You got all this nice stuff, must be doin' real well for yourself. Don't seem too much to ask that you send some back to the woman who raised you."

Suki felt something harden inside her, her hands balling into fists. She felt the tug of old anger, old hurt, a tether to the part of herself she'd buried deep. "Raised me?" she spat, her voice coming out with a drawl she hadn't meant to let slip. "I raised myself. I worked every job I could find just to keep us goin'. And I—" She stopped herself, the words catching, that same old habit of guarding what was left of herself still deeply ingrained.

Her mother rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world. "Oh, here we go again. Poor little you, boo-hoo. But look at you now," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Got yourself all fancy. And all I'm askin' for is a little somethin' to help me get back on my feet. You wouldn't have all this if it weren't for me, so don't pretend like you're too good to help your mama out. You owe me, sugar."

Suki stared at her, rage boiling up like she hadn't felt in years. Her breath was coming faster, the words spilling out before she could catch them. "I owe you?" Her voice shook, the edge of her accent slipping further, louder now. "You know what? Tallulah's dead. That girl you 'raised'? She doesn't exist anymore. I didn't ask to be born. I didn't ask for a damn thing from you, and you think I owe you?" Her voice grew louder, cracking in a way that felt like tearing open an old wound. "Your daughter, Tallulah? She's dead. I killed her, you understand? And I don't owe you a damn thing."

Her mother's mouth opened and closed, eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out if Suki meant it. Then, she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "You can dress up all you want, girl, but you're still that little nobody from the trailer. You're just as lost as the rest of us, pretendin' like you're better."

But Suki wasn't listening anymore, every word falling off her mother's tongue like ashes from a cigarette, crumbling and lifeless. Her own voice sounded distant to her now, hard and steady. "Get out," she said, her voice low. She barely recognized herself, and that was just fine. "I ain't givin' you a single cent. So leave. I'm done."