Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
"What's going on?" she asked, her eyes sleepy, but her tone alert, seeming to pick up on my franticness. And I was never frantic.
"We can't stay here anymore," I told her. "It's not safe," I added, grabbing her hand, pulling her out of bed, and demanding she get some clothes and shoes on.
When we walked out into the kitchen ten minutes later, our mother was holding a fresh glass of wine; her tears were dried; everything looked back to normal.
And, well, I'd be damned if I would ever act like that again.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"We are leaving," I enunciated firmly.
"Like hell you are. That is my-"
"Child support check," I cut her off, voice vicious. "We are all well fucking aware of that, Mom. But I'm not staying in a house where a man feels me up when I'm sleeping. And I am not leaving my little sister in a house with a mother who wouldn't even defend her against that kind of shit. No fucking way."
"You can't take her. She's under my custody."
"Yeah well that is about to change. It's high time the court gets to hear our side of the story now, don't you think?" I asked, smile wicked, devoid of any teasing. I was dead fucking serious. "I think they would like to know about that time you left us for three days in a row when I was fourteen, leaving me to take care of my seven-year-old sister. Or, how about the night you left us in the car when you went to fuck your boyfriend for an hour. In winter. Or about how Letha's child support paid for your boob job."
"You wouldn't..."
"What about me makes it sound like I wouldn't? You're always accusing me of being a spiteful, vindictive little bitch, right? Well, now I get to prove it. Sign over custody to Jake, or I swear to Christ I will tell child services all of this. And then I will march my ass down the street and file a sexual assault case against your husband. Bye bye goes your cash cow, Ma. And you'd get your ass kicked in prison, man. I'd almost feel sorry for you if you didn't totally deserve it."
"Lenore..." My mother started, eyes welling up dramatically as Letha squeezed my hand hard. It didn't matter that I told her a million times that our mother's tears were about as real as her tits, she was too soft-hearted not to be affected by it. "Save the tears, Ma. I'm not one of your gullible men. I'm somehow less than moved."
Her eyes dried up almost instantly.
"You don't give a shit about her. You never did. Let her go, and you can keep living the life you always have, but without kids hanging around, reminding your men just how old you really are."
The words landed with impact, making her head snap back with the reality she knew she was facing.
She didn't even say goodbye.
She waved a hand.
And just like that, she was done with us.
That night, I got us a room at a cheap hotel, and we ate junk food we got at a bodega around the corner.
"He won't move here," Letha told me with a Dorito half-raised to her lips.
"Hmm?" I asked mostly lost in my own swirling thoughts that had a lot to do with money and my finite amount of it, and how fast we were going to go through it having to get hotel rooms. On the plus side, I was graduating in just a couple weeks. Once I did, I could get another job that would make everything a lot easier until everything was settled.
"Dad. He's gonna move me back in with him. Then I won't have you anymore." There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically sullen. "I'm always losing someone."
"Babygirl..." I tried, reaching out to touch her hand.
"It's true," she went on. "I got Daddy, but then I lost you. Then I got you, and I lost Daddy. And here we are again. I'm losing you."
I didn't want to go back.
My heart was set on putting down roots finally in New York, despite it being so expensive. It just felt right.
But if it meant it would get that hollowness out of her voice, I would move to the goddamn backwoods where some toothless wonder named Bubba had some goats that looked super traumatized whenever he was around.
I would do that for her.
I would do anything for her.
It was too late for me.
I was too scarred, too damaged, too beat down by the world. There were no hopes of me coming out of this well-adjusted.
But Letha still had a chance.
I owed it to her to make sure she had the best odds of being different, softer, sweeter, open, giving, and optimistic.
That was my goal in life.