The Trouble with Loving a Milkovich Part 4

Mommy Dearest

Collin, Iggy, and I are parked across the street from my mother's house. Ski mask on my head like a beanie, my gun and brass knuckles are sitting on my lap. Collin and Iggy both have giant masks and their own weapons on theirs. "What exactly are we looking for?" Iggy asks, how mouth full with chewing tobacco. Collin gives him a look of disgust. "A way in; keep that shit in your mouth once you're in there, too, we don't need any forensics team finding us." Adrenaline kicks my nervous system into overdrive. My heart is heating so quick, I feel like ima throw up. Neighbors cars start disappearing; once the final one makes their exit, I give the boys the signal, and together, we exit the vehicle. Masks pulled down, weapons out, we head to the house. Stomping up the front steps, I let Collin get the door. Shoving all his body weight into it, he knocks it down off his hinges. "Payback, bitch," I mutter under breathe.
Daytime television casts an every glow in the unsettlingly dark house. My mom must be on her heavy drug kicks again because all the windows are either nailed up or covered with blankets. A foul aroma hits my nostrils and I have to dry heave. "Holy fuck!" Iggy exhales. Both he and Collin lift up their masks; together, we look for the source of the smell. Walking the small hallway, I enter the living room and drop my brass knuckles. They hot the ground with a clatter but it does nothing to cover up my scream. On the couch, swollen and decaying, lays the body that used to contain my mother. Unable to take it anymore, I vomit and collapse to my knees. Footsteps clamber in and the sound of puking plays in stereo. Used needles litter the floor and baggies with residue are everywhere. "Holy shit," Collin groans. "Tuck your fucking guns," I direct them, tucking my brass knuckles into my bra. "We need to get the fuck outta here. Just my luck, I'll go down for this shit over this bitch." Pushing myself off the ground, my hand finds a still full balloon. Immediately, my palms sweat and and without thinking, I shove it in my bra and force myself up from the ground. Once outside, emotions flood me and I'm not sure what to say or feel. Anger, shock, denial... we run to the car and Collin lays his head on the steering wheel. From the backseat, Iggy asks, "What the fuck do we do?" Collin turns to me, but for once in my life, I dont have an answer. We sit in silence a little longer before I speak up. "Find a payphone. Say were a neighbor and we're concerned." Collin nods and we speed away from the place.

We make it home but my nerves are still on fire. My chest hurts from how much quickly my heart has been beating. It's hard to breathe and I barely notice as Collin slips his hand around my waist and leads me to the room. "Fucks wrong with you?" Mickey asks, Svetlana rubbing her pregnant stomach behind him. Collin shoots him a look, but I turn to him, and from a distant chamber in my mind, I hear myself tell him, "We did a home invasion. Found my mom dead. Overdose." Mickey starts, raises his eyebrows and says, "Holy fuck!" Unable to say more, I walk into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and let the water wash over me. Steam fills the bathroom, and I let the scalding water drown out the thoughts in my head. Its hard to feel anything; I'm not sure if I'm relieved by the numbness. My mind is fixated on the baggie I have and I debate telling Collin. Apart of me wants to flush it, but an insidious part of me tells me I dont wanna deal with this situation and need it. Guilt seeps into my conscious as I think about what would happen if Collin found out I'd lied to him. Stepping out of the shower, I pick my clothes off of the floor, the plastic touching my skin, both relieving and exhilarating me. Walking stark naked and dripping wet thru the hallway, I pass Mickey. His depression bounces off of him and makes a home in my fragile psyche. "You good?" He asks me, leaving the bathroom door open as he pisses. "Are you?" I ask sincerely. Not answering each other, we turn away and lose ourselves in our thoughts. Inside the bedroom, I'm greeted to the sight of Collin sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Fear jolts my system; paranoia tells me that he knows. "We need to talk," he starts and my forehead breaks out in a cold sweat. Lowering his hand, he shows me the balloon of meth he has in his palm. Nervously I laugh, holding out my own baggie. A nervous smile breaks across Collin's face. Apprehensively, we stare each other down. "Are we ready for this again?" I ask, willing him to say yes. "We've proven we can get and stay clean," he shrugs, the justification making all the sense in the world. Nodding, I think it over. "I don't wanna deal with this," I confess to him. Earnestly, he nods, telling me, "I don't wanna see you in pain." Knowing what we've known since the moment we spotted the dope, we get into our usual positions; Collin pulls the mirror from off the wall and I throw on his baggy sweatpants and an oversized Doors t-shirt. Lowering myself onto the bed next to him, I take the straw that he offers me. "It won't get the best of us this time," I assure him, straw already up to my nostril. "I know," Collin agrees. "We got clean once, we'll do it again." Inhaling deeply, I feel the burn of the substance as it travels up my nostril and drips down the back of my throat. Suddenly too heavy for my neck, my head falls back and hits the bed board. An old friend greets me, a cozy blanket of warmth and relief that I havent felt in too long. Beside me, Collin leans back and joins me. "Woah," he says, the mirror landing in his lap as his arms go limp. "Its been awhile."