He stood for everything she was against and he wouldn't be caught dead befriending someone like her, but when the worst happens and they find themselves in a similar situation, only then will they realize they need each other to discover the anatomy...
"I don't know about this, Jonah." Marlow held up the little bag with the single pill of Oxy in it.
"Oh, don't be such a square, Marlow. You need it," I told her as I wiped my own nose. "Here." I zipped my boot down a little and removed the small razor blade I had hidden in there and handed it to her as I exited the car. "I won't take long." Jonah was already lighting up and reclined his seat back, filling the car with smoke.
Mom always booked the same room. Second floor, three doors to the right, room 37. I made my way up the rickety stairs and towards her room, my head already swimming languidly.
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The motel looked perpetually rusted with dripping water stains painted on its walls like a Zevs mural. It was prime crime scene material and always gave me the creeps. My boots thumped unevenly on the metal steps as I walked up to her room. There was no need to knock as it was already ten past eleven and she was expecting me. Whenever I was late even a minute, I'd get a text from her asking me where I was. It was almost like having a real, concerned mom who wanted to know at what time I'd be getting home. But not quite. Not like she used to be.
When we were little we would walk home from school. Every morning Mom would walk with us to school and when it let out, she'd tell us, "I'll meet you halfway." At the halfway mark was a little grocery shop and mom would usually be waiting for us there with something special in her hand. On days she wasn't there we'd worry, but I couldn't let myself show it for Maria's sake. Nothing bad ever happened though. She'd just forgotten to pick us up or gotten caught up with something else. Until one day she stopped going altogether. No more special surprises, no more 'meet you half way.' No more Mom.
When I pushed the door open, I found her lying on the orange bedspread, a cigarette between her fingers and watching some gameshow on the small television that sat atop the dresser. She looked older every time I saw her; new lines etched across her face in places that had been smooth before. She was only 42 but looked closer to 50.
When I entered the room the door creaked and her head turned towards me, her eyes widening for a second.
"Wow," she said, her eyes raking over me. "You look more like me than ever."
I laughed harshly. "Nice try, but I'm definitely prettier than you are." She didn't say anything. She just kept staring as if I'd never opened my mouth. As if my bite didn't hurt, because for all I knew, it didn't. Mom was a hard, hollow shell.
"Well, sit down. You're freaking me out just standing there."
I rolled my eyes at her, but took the chair next to the small wooden table in front of the window that overlooked the parking lot. The room smelled like rot and smoke, making my eyes burn.
"Where's that loser that's always hanging around here with you?" I said, hoping to rile her up, but she didn't even blink. Vaguely, I remember I'd already asked her about him on the phone, but it didn't matter.
