The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The slap snapped my head sideways not out of surprise, but because I rolled with it.

The crack that accompanied it rang out painfully loud in the small room. So did Scout's gasp and Lucky's whimper.

Teresa had me pushed up against the wall of our tiny living room, her face beet red. Despite the position I was in all I could think was, at least she's sober. Well, if not sober then hungover, which was still one step up from drunk.

I could've easily overpowered her but chose not to. With everything my brothers and sisters had been through lately, adding a full blown fight to the list would probably tip the scales from barely-coping to traumatized-for-life.

"What did you do with them?" Teresa demanded, wringing her hands either side of my face like she was controlling the urge to strangle me. Her murky brown eyes glowed with an angry fire, nostrils flared.

"Mom -"

"Shut up, Mycha!" she roared, cranking her head sideways to level him with a malevolent glare. He recoiled in shock.

"Hey," I snapped, drawing her attention back to me.

My cheek tingled, undecided on whether it wanted to go completely numb or come back to life with a stinging pain. "Don't talk to him like that. Your alcohol and smokes going bye-bye had nothing to do with him."

"Oh, I know that," she spat, running her hands through her hair in frustration. The unruly curls sprang back up; she looked like a madwoman. "I know they wouldn't dare go behind my back. No, this stinks of you. Now tell me where my stuff is."

I shrugged. "I sold your smokes today at school –" for a measly twenty bucks "– and the alcohol I had to flush because all of the seals were broken. But of course you would plan ahead to ensure I couldn't make back the money you wasted on those."

Her face transformed slowly as the news sunk in. Wow. She definitely brought new meaning to the word certifiable. Without warning she grabbed me by the jaw, her bony fingers clamping down either side of my mouth and squeezing.

"Do not play with me. Tell me where you hid the bottles right now!" she screamed, spraying me with spit.

People touching my face drove me batshit; it was a huge no-no. Grabbing Teresa's wrist, I yanked her hand free despite hurting myself in the process.

"I didn't hide them. I poured all of your booze down the kitchen sink. If you don't believe me, the empties are sitting in the trash can right outside."

She was gone in the blink of an eye, the back door hitting the ancient fridge as she tore it open and all but dived outside. Taking the opportunity while it lasted, I ushered the kids into their room and told them they weren't to open the door for anything. Mycha started to protest, but Teresa's shrieking curses and the symphony of shattering glass and clanking metal had him clamping his mouth shut.

I gave a small sigh of relief, glad to have them out of the line of fire. Coming home from school to find Teresa had upended the house in search of alcohol and cigarettes wasn't entirely unexpected. The phrase no stone left unturned quite accurately summed things up. She'd even heaved the couch onto its side like maybe by some small miracle her bottle of Jack was hiding out in a space no wider than the width of my pinky.

Steeling myself for more screaming and bitch slaps I returned to the kitchen, stooping to pick up a piece of Tanner's favorite mug along the way. An eye that belonged to a neon green frog stared back at me, the paint a little faded and chipped.