Haven

Chapter Eighteen

In the weeks that followed, Alex had gotten out of his funk. And by funk I mean, eagerness to punish me every time I stepped a toe out of line. While I thought that would've made me become complacent and fuck up, it didn't.

Mostly due to school, I was so busy that I didn't have time to mess up and while in the past school hasn't been great for me, I was somewhat enjoying this new school. After two weeks of being grounded, Alex had thrown in the towel and given my phone back though he still insisted on taking it every night at 10pm, and after days of arguing he agreed I could take it to school as long as I didn't use it in school.

We had built a bit more trust after an incident with Madison, she had a family emergency and wasn't there to pick us up after school one day so Jamie dropped us off home and when Alex got home, completely in the dark about the situation, he found me studying and had a lightbulb moment that I may actually be trustworthy. Despite that, he still had Maddie check in on me sporadically, but she wasn't there every day.

Alex and I were similar in a lot of ways, but the biggest similarity between us is how single minded we are. For as long as I can remember I've wanted to do things my way, and for as long as I've known Alex he's the same way. For the sake of my own ass, I've taught myself to hold back and let him be the boss, but it didn't always work out.

This was mostly on days when I was sad, or when I had something playing on my mind. I had tossed and turned all night because every time I shut my eyes I was tortured with vivid dreams of my childhood and more specifically, my mom.

My mom was never physically abusive, or mentally for that matter. She was just negligent. Incompetent. Furthermore, not strong enough to protect herself, never mind her children. I remember always being hungry, always feeling scared and always being cold. I learned from a very young age not to make a fuss if she had men in the apartment. And it was a shoebox of a home, and filthy.

I didn't exactly have somewhere to hide, though. While mom was fine when alone, she certainly wasn't when one specific man was there. I learned why when I got older, he was her pimp and if he was there she got her heroin.

There was a small single bed with springs popping out of the mattress in one corner of the one bedroom shit hole. Jazz and I shared it, when Jazz was there. She was taken away before I was, why I don't exactly know but I figure something worse happened to her that she never felt she could speak to me about. But the bed is one thing I do remember clearly.

Mom stayed in the actual bedroom, and I don't suppose her bed was much better, but our bed was in the open plan kitchen living room. The blanket on the bed is what I remember, it was just a duvet, no cover on it and it was a disgusting thing with holes in it, smelly and stained. In hindsight, I think mom must never have had a duvet on her own bed cause when that man came he took our duvet off us and brought it to the bedroom.

That's where the cold came from. Jasmine would get a towel and wrap us up in it and hold me close to her when she was still there. But when she left, it was just me small, hungry, cold and frightened.

The dream I kept having was an incident I'm sure really happened. But there I was on the bed, my knees tucked to my chest, as I rattled with the cold in the New York winter. Outside the grubby window the snow was lightly dusting the streets and the window wasn't closed. So I could see my breath, and that was the only reason I knew I was still alive. My body was numb, whether it was from the cold or the fear I don't recall, but I felt numb.

Mom was on the beat up sofa, the syringe still in her arm while she went off in her heroin induced coma. I remember wondering why she did it, and if it made her feel better but I didn't think so, she looked horrible when she took it and even worse when she woke back up.