Kissing Booth (Rewritten)

5 | тrєαcнєrσυѕ кιn∂ σf rαιn

Treacherous Kind of Rain 

Scar Patterson

Being greeted by my mother passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of alcohol clutched tightly in her hands was something I should have anticipated the second I stepped into the house, especially since it was the third time it happened this month. I sputtered a string of profanities under my breath before throwing my backpack to the floor and rushing to her side to assess the damage. I hovered over her mouth and wasn't the least bit surprised to hear that her breathing had slowed tremendously. I scooped my hands under my mother's fragile body, and called out, "Amy!"

Only seconds after my call, I heard Amy's heavy steps descend the staircase until she was at my side, shaking her head in disbelief at the sight of our unconscious mother. "Are you serious? Again?"

I hoisted our mother up from her sprawled-out position and carefully laid her on the floor. Brushing the stray strands of brown hair away from her pale face, I turned her onto her side. "Get the towel," I told Amy. On command, she ran into the kitchen and turned on the faucet, placing a kitchen towel under the running water.

I looked over to Jamie who was still standing in the doorway with his eyes wide in pure shock. "Call 911. Tell them that my mom has had too much to drink," I instructed. His eyes lingered on my mother for a while before he fumbled for his cell phone to follow through on my request. Amy ran back into the living room with the wet towel in hand. She practically collapsed onto the floor as she rushed to place the towel on her forehead to cool her down.

We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity as we observed our mother and carefully monitored her breathing. Amy's fingers had found themselves intertwined with mine, and though I hated the physical contact, I let her. We had done this enough times to know she would eventually be alright, but I didn't blame Amy for having doubts.

Suddenly, Mom's body convulsed as she began to spurt out the induced alcohol, coughing profusely as she did so. Quickly pulling her long brown hair behind her shoulders, I leaned closer to whisper, "help is on the way," even though she was in too much of a fit to hear me properly.

Amy sighed in relief and plopped down onto the floor, burying her head in her hands. Turning to face her, I said, "I'm taking a shower, and then I'm out of here. Stay with Mom until the ambulance gets here."

She lifted her head, her full lips twisting into a slight pout. "Why do I always have to stay with her? Why can't you stay?"

My eyes burned deep into her pale gray ones. "It's not like you have anything better to do besides down a whole load of ice cream. Seriously, the ice cream can't last a day in this house with you around," I retorted which succeeded in making Amy's mouth fall open.

"It's not my fault," she snapped back.

"How? How is it not your fault?"

"I don't want to be this way," she admitted as the tears welled in her eyes, "but ever since—"

"Since what?" I questioned with a deadly glare, daring her to spit it out. "Since Dad died? Don't you fucking blame Dad for your weight gain. You're a fat pig because you want to be, not because of him." Amy fell silent, gazing back at me with watery eyes. She wanted to cry, but she was holding back the tears in an attempt to show me that she wasn't affected by my words, but I knew she was. She had nerve to blame our father for her problems.

Standing to my full height and sending her a disapproving huff, I moved toward the foot of the stairs and allowed Jamie to trail behind. We hadn't even gotten to my bedroom yet when the questions began to pour out of his mouth. "Is this like a normal thing? I swear, she was dead like two seconds ago and you weren't even bothered by it. Is she even okay?"