Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Standing in his crib, bawling his eyes out, Abel wails in distress.
Seeing him like that, so upset, breaks the last of my shell. Tears filling my own eyes, I rush to the crib and pick him up.
“It’s okay, shhhh. Mommy’s here,” I try to coo as I lift Abel into my arms, but my words are cracked with my own emotion.
I hug him close to my chest, squeezing my love into him.
If only my love alone was enough to fix all of this shit, I think to myself.
Gently bouncing Abel, I try my best to calm him down.
His little hands grab at me, clinging to me, and his tears soak my shirt.
After a few seconds, he tips his head back, his watery eyes peering up at me.
And maybe it’s my own fucked up head, but I swear he’s asking me why I’m doing this to him.
Why I’m not doing better for him.
“If you want money for food and diapers, you’ll have to figure it out. I’m done being your fucking bank,” Kyle says from the doorway.
I turn and stare at him in disbelief.
“Your free ride is over,” he sneers at me like he expects his words to hurt me.
Abel starts to wail again, and I’m so distraught, so fucking upset, it takes me a second to realize I’m squeezing him too hard.
I immediately let up on my grip and rub Abel’s back in apology.
Kissing the top of his head, I murmur, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.
Narrowing his eyes, Kyle glares at me then down at Abel with pure loathing.
How a father can look at his son like he does confounds me. It’s like he feels nothing for him at all. Nothing but the inconvenience.
“Maybe if you ask nice enough, your mother will share her corner,” Kyle says in one last parting jab before he turns and slams the bedroom door behind him.
I wish I could flip the switch inside me again but I can’t. Not with Abel needing me.
My blood boils with fury and I want to scream. I want to rage like Kyle did.
I don’t care what he said about me and I certainly don’t care about what he said about my mother.
But to disregard your own son, your own flesh and blood, in such a way infuriates me. If I wasn’t holding Abel, I’d chase after him. I’d take him on, regardless of the consequences.
If I only had the damn strength, I’d give him the beatdown of the century.
But I have nothing.
I’m stuck.
Trapped in this hellish prison.
Abel whimpers and tugs on my shirt.
Despair hits me like a punch in the gut.
What am I doing? What can I do?
How the fuck do I get us out of this mess?
How many more times can I go through this?
Looking down at Abel, I try my best to put on a strong face. I try my damnedest to smile for him, but it splinters across my lips.
This is all he’s ever known. All he’ll ever know. And he doesn’t even understand anything yet.
What will growing up in this house do to him?
Will he turn out like his father?
Fuck, will he even live long enough to do that?
What if Kyle seriously snaps and kills us both one day?
I can see it now… Abel saying something that pisses Kyle off…
My knees going weak, I shake that image out of my head.
I can’t let it get to that. I can’t.
The front door slams shut and the walls shake.
Kyle left. Probably off to do some more drinking and gambling.
If the past repeats itself, he’ll be back in a few hours, so drunk and belligerent I’m guaranteed that beating he put off.
I look up at the ceiling and ask, “What do I do?”
God, tell me what to do because I haven’t got a clue.
I need a fucking miracle.
I feel a tug on my shirt and look down at Abel.
He looks up at me, his eyes pleading.
Leave.
I know that’s what would make the most sense.
But how?
I don’t even have money for diapers or formula. Kyle wasted it all. Asking him for money for groceries is what started this whole thing in the first place.
You’d think the fact that his father is one of the most notorious bookies in the city, he’d know better than to waste our money gambling. But he pisses it all away anyway. And his father has already made it clear he won’t be loaning us more until we’ve paid back what we already owe him.
At a loss, I carry Abel out of his room and into the kitchen. Shifting him into one arm, I grab up the last canister of formula and pop it open.
Then I stare at what’s left.
There’s maybe enough for two more bottles, if I can get every little particle over the rim without spilling it.
Even if we stay here, we’re fucked.
I’m up a river without a paddle. I have nothing of value to sell. I could get a job if I could find a babysitter. But even then, it would be days or weeks before I got my first paycheck.