No One But Myself

PART ONE-5

I walk home. 
Just as I do every other day.
Followed by the inescapable and ever- present feeling of dread that courses through my veins at the thought of what waits for me at home. I adjust my bag strap, and run a hand through my long brown hair. My sandal clad feet walk along the edge of the rocky pavement that leads up to my house.
I've never thought of my house as anything remotely close to fancy. From the outside it appears run down, older, not as well kept up since my dad lost his job. Our wooden fence sits on its last leg, a battered truck angled directly in front, a few shattered flower pots littering the lawn. Overgrown weeds wrap themselves around our mailbox, which hangs precariously due to my dad's accident a few years back. I would never want Derek to witness this mess, much less step inside the house where my own personal hell resides.
I reach the front door and suck in a gasp of breath, an instinct I've developed over the last few terrible months. My heart accelerates, the way it always does, and the smell of liquor hits me as soon as the door is opened.
       My father is shuffling through left overs in the fridge, back hunched, face crinkled, as he fingers through the containers. I try to slip in the hallway as quietly as possible, without being caught, but he averts his gaze to catch me dismantled in the hall.
"Sam." He says gruffly, briefly. His voice is laced with the whiskey bottle that lays empty on the table beside him. "Where were you?"
Slight annoyance pricks at me. My own father doesn't even care to keep up with my schedule, yet it doesn't surprise  me. "I have school." I say calmly.
His face contorts, as if what I said insults him. "School, huh?"
His feet shift and I fight the urge to bolt to my room. "Yes." I say instead, refusing to allow my voice to shake. I turn my body an inch, and shuffle my own feet, focusing on the peeling green wallpaper in the hallway.
He says nothing, and I slink my way into the hall, glad I don't have to be anywhere near his bothersome presence any more. I throw my bag dismissively next to my door and continue toward my mother's room at the end of the hall.
The door is cracked ajar, and I feel the hair on my arms stand up as a feeling of something I can't place churns deep in the pit of my stomach. I push the door open and make my way through. The air is cold, unusually cold, and I find myself pulling my sleeves down.
"Mom?" I inch forward slowly; the room is so dark, my eyes struggle to adjust. I reach toward the bed, toward the bundle of blankets she usually lies in, and come up empty. "Mom?" I repeat. My heart speeds up and my hands start to tremble as I come to the realization that she's not in her bed.
My head spins, the room tilts, my heart throbs in my ears at a less than steady pace, and my body feels hot as panic takes its flight. With trembling hands, I find the light switch and flip it on. My eyes dart frantically across the room, my knees near giving out.
And, then I see it.
My heart stops.
The room stops spinning.
And for a moment, I feel as if I can't breathe. 
"No." It's a whisper, a pathetic little whimper, a plea for it not to be what I think it is.
Two pill bottles taunt me from the floor, my mother's limp outstretched hand in mid grasp. Her body lays on the floor, pills scatter around her in a wild clutter. She doesn't move. She doesn't breathe. I sink to my knees and instinctively reach for a bottle. More than half are gone.
My heart tugs. My eyes prick with unshed tears. "No."
I repeat it, as if saying that word would make things better, as if it would make things less real. I say it until my throat burns. I grab my phone, scream useless words into the receiver, begging for help. Tears choke me, my chest tightens, reality, reality, reality.
No. No. No. No.  No.
My word falls down around me, my world crumbles. I cry like I've never cried before. I cry until I feel as if there's no tears. I cry until I'm numb. She's gone. It's all gone. All the hope, all the promises, it's all gone.
Gone.
Paramedics swing by in a blur, I'm pushed out of the way. I croak words I don't even realize I'm saying, digging hopelessly into any source of hope I have left. My father dissipates, as if he doesn't even reside here, and I sit aimlessly at the table.
Gone. My mother is gone.