The Deal Breaker (Book II)

Chapter Twenty-One - Family Matters

*Warning: Drug/alcohol references and cussing                                                          

                                                           Chapter Twenty-One

                                                                 Family Matters

I’ve only been home five hours and I’ve already fixed the holes in the walls and ceiling, finished the floors, and cleaned every inch of my house. This new strength was both useful and a curse. On one hand, I finished a lot of the things I needed to do around the house five times quicker than I could before. On the other hand, my thoughts were as clear as day now, making me think of everything I’ve ignored. Self-hate ensued at one point, which led cursing, a slight breakdown, and lying on the ground as the sun came up.

There was something I knew I had to do, but every ounce of my being told me not to do it. I knew I had to find my sister and save her. Where was she? I couldn’t just drive around Chicago shouting “Cindy!” at the top of my lungs. I’d have to go to a place I swore I’d never go back to and see someone I once told I’d hated and wanted them dead.

I have to see my mom.

How long has it been since I last saw her? Five years? Six? I think our last interaction was when I was around fourteen and had come home to check on Cindy, ironically, after being away for several months. When I arrived, my head pounding from a three-day hangover, I found Cindy was starved and sick from being neglected. Mom and I had a screaming match over Cindy being neglected, which ended when she backhanded me across the cheek. I told my mother I hope all of the alcohol would end her life soon because we’d be much better off without her. I left a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in Cindy’s windowsill before running off to the next party.

I wasn’t sure who I’d rather face right now: Mother dearest or Matthew Foster. That’s how much I hate her. Matthew may have ruined my life by taking away my only shot at normality and happiness, but my mom was the reason I was desperately seeking normality. She destroyed me and my sister with physical and emotional abuse. The only thing I hoped for now was possible maturity for both of us.

It was a longshot whether she still lived in the house I grew up in. The only reason I thought she might still be living there had to do with the cheap monthly payments and the landlord who was majorly obsessed with my mom. She would never leave; she’s too lazy and drunk to.

It was around three in the afternoon when I pulled up to the faded white house with no life in any of the plants. One window was duct taped from when I was little and my mom pissed off some guy, resulting in a brick being thrown through the glass. She has to still live here because only she would leave a broken window like that for a decade.

As I walked up the sidewalk I forced every thought of my own crappy life out of my head. I shoved Matthew Foster out of my mind, along with a million other issues I still needed to deal with. I hoped I still had the same fire in my I had had when I spoke to Matthew last night. When I knocked on the door, the fire sizzled out the second my mother appeared in front of me.

I used to imagine this moment. In my fantasies I’d show up in a limo all rich and successful as the police haul her off to jail for some crime she’s committed. Instead I showed up in a crappy truck, stained jeans, and looking about as bitter as black coffee. She looked exactly as I remember, besides the extra sprinkle of grey on the top of her head. I believe my mom was once beautiful. Although we share almost every feature, she has fuller lips, curves, and the eyebrows a model would kill for. Now? She looked like she was as skinny and frail as an old woman. Her clothes didn’t fit her right at all, and she reeked of cigarettes and Jack Daniels. She used to bounce in weight, only keeping a healthy figure when she found some man to take care of her. Judging by her appearance, I doubted she has eaten in a long while.