Adette woke up the next morning with the sun shining on her through the open curtains and the birds singing. After her outburst at Derek the previous night, she’d gone on a rampage in an attempt to vent her anger, and the signs were everywhere; torn cushions that were surrounded by fluff, crumpled paper, even a new hole in the wall. Her gaze drifted to her bruised knuckles, smeared with dried blood. She recalled now that once she had spent all of her energy into her anger, she’d collapsed fully clothed on the bed and into a deep sleep filled with nightmares.
She yawned and stretched, deciding she should probably check on him. He’s probably high as fuck, she thought darkly. She opened the door to the living room but at first glance, it seemed empty.
“Derek?” she asked the air uncertainly, sweeping the room with her eyes. Then her gaze dropped to the hunched, pale figure in the corner of the room that was rocking back and forth. “Shit, are you high again?”
“Ginger…” he slurred, his head turning imprecisely in her direction. “I think I’m gonna…” Before he could even finish his sentence, he puked all over the carpet.
“Jesus, you’re in withdrawal now, aren’t you?” she whispered, running to him and dropping to a crouch. Now that she was closer, she could see the dark shadows under his eyes. “What did you do with your crack?”
“Gone,” he said firmly, and all of a sudden flashed her a proud, toothy grin. “All gone, no more.”
“What?” she muttered, frowning. She followed his gaze across the room and located what was clearly the singed remains of his supply in the fireplace.
“Oh, Derek,” she said softly. “You wait right here.”
“No problem…” he grunted.
After a few moments she returned with some towels and blankets, a jug of water, a bucket and some paper towels. She gently wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and mopped up the sick on his chin with the paper towels. She shoved him a glass of water, ordering “Drink,” and then put the towels over the sick already on the floor.
He made an attempt to drink the water while he watched her rush around. “You’re supposed to be a stranger,” he chuckled vaguely.
“What do you mean?”
“I just met you yesterday. You’re meant to be a stranger. You’re cleaning up my sick, feeding me, clothing me and giving me a place to sleep like a mother or some shit. My real mother was the true stranger.”
Adette looked at him sadly for a long moment. “Yes, Derek,” she murmured quietly, “She probably was.”
“Don’t you be giving me that annoying sympathetic look, ginger. I don’t need your sympathy. You ain’t my real mother, that shit’d be fucked up.”
Adette couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s certainly no resemblance.”
Derek was silent for a while and then mumbled sluggishly, “No, you’re too pretty,” and drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Adette watched him for a while, trying to sort out the tangle of confusion, surprise, empathy and slight sadness in her stomach. Not once did had she ever been told she was pretty before. She mulled over the events of that morning. How long had it taken before he’d made the decision to burn his crack supply? “Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all,” she told his sleeping face.
But, after she got up and wandered from the room, one of Derek’s eyes opened and he smiled; only a little, but he was still smiling, and that in itself was a miracle.
