I had quietly crept back into my house. I hadnt seen you since meeting you in the coffee shop, four days ago. Normally, you would have at least tried to call. But you didnt. I could smell the weed my mother often smoked. I could tell that she was awake by the thickness of the smoke that filled the house. I don't know how she heard, but she did.
"Gray? Is that you dear?" My mother cooed from her spot on the couch. Her voice was too sweet. I carefully stepped into her line of vision.
"Yes ma'am."
"Come sit with your mother," she patted the spot beside her on the worn couch. I had gingerly sat next to her trying not to show how uncomfortable I was, "Would you like some? It might loosen that stick up your ass." She passed me her blunt and because I was already slightly intoxicated I took it. I didn't notice how close she was to me until I pulled the blunt from my lips. She took it back as I pushed the white cloud from my lips.
"You smell like your father." She had whispered. I had felt my body go rigid, "Jack Daniels. Never thought that would be your liquior of choice." Her voice was sickly sweet as she took another hit of the blunt. She then gently placed the blunt in the ashtray and glanced over at me.
The next thing I know I'm waking up on the ground. I could see the sun setting through the windows. As I tried to get up I could feel the areas where my body was beginning to bruise. I had groaned and pushed through the pain. I walked to my favorite cabinet and pulled out my mothers black label Johnnie Walker. I knew that once she found I had drank it she would be furious, but I didnt care. I was over her. I was over being stepped on. I was over being treated like shit. I opened the bottle putting it straight to my lips, taking huge gulps.
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So um yeah....
