Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
“Hey babies,” she greets. “Momma’s gonna make my famous spaghetti.”
“We’re goin’ out,” I say, heading for her and relieving her of the bags.
Nothing famous about anything she cooks, really, though it’s rare for her to make any effort at all.
“Kill’s buying me dinner,” Willie tells her.
Mom pouts. “You don’t want Momma’s spaghetti?”
“We can have it tomorrow,” Willie tries.
“Sure, babyface. Got lotsa good stuff today.” She ruffles his hair.
She’s not remotely embarrassed about taking all that food from the church so that she can spend whatever money she has on more booze for her and Max.
This is how it’s always been. Holey shoes for the kids, new shoes for her. Broken promises of birthday parties and Christmas presents. But she’s always got what she needs.
Looks like she’s got a fresh manicure and hairdo, which costs money – she won’t hesitate to shell out to try and look good for her asshole boyfriend, yet there’s always something we’re going without unless Nan or charity steps in. And since Nan’s been gone more than a while now, things have been shit.
“You got the money for fries, Killy?” she squeezes my shoulder affectionately.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Good,” she smiles. “You’re doin’ good, huh?”
I shrug.
She knows I make money working at the pizza place and Max ratted on me hearing I’m taking bets. My mother wasn’t pissed at me, instead she hit me up to pay the electrical bill and sixty bucks went missing from my jacket pocket three days after I paid it. Since then, I’ve kept my money hidden.
“How was your game?” she calls out.
“Not a game, just a practice, but I’m quittin’,” I say.
She frowns. “Oh. Not likin’ it?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
She doesn’t push. She doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t really give a shit unless it affects her and in this case, it does. Me being around more will mean she can worry about her youngest son even less.
She opens the door for me so I can carry the bags to the table.
Max eyes us. “Get some more whisky, Bree?”
“My hands were too full. I’ll go get it after I put the groceries away.”
I shoot them both a look of disgust before I head back for the door, seeing my brother hovering in the hallway. He doesn’t even wanna come back in, he’s that terrified of this asshole.
Another year and a half: We’ll have a clean place to live with a full fridge of food and zero assholes to have to deal with. Can’t fuckin’ wait.
***
I’m woken with screaming.
“Max, please! I’m sorry!” That’s her.
I also hear my kid brother bawling, calling my name while banging on my door. I run out, passing Willie, catching sight of Max in her room in just a pair of jeans, looming over her in her bra and underwear. She cowers on the floor beside the bed and just as I get there, he backhands her hard, spitting, “Stay outta my fuckin’ business, woman!”
I wrench him back by the arm, haul back and clock him in the mouth. He falls into the closet, denting the metal sliding door as he goes down.
“Keep yer fuckin’ hands off her,” I shout.
“Don’t hit him, Killy. Don’t.”
“Get the fuck out,” I grind out.
“This little shit lays a hand on me again, Brianne, I’ll hit back.”
“I dare ya,” I sneer. “Hit me now. Go ahead ‘n see what happens to you, you stupid fuck. Lay a hand on my mother or my brother again and I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”.
He rises to his feet, wipes at his bleeding lip while grabbing his t-shirt. He then shoves me, but I don’t budge far before I haul off and punch him in the throat. He grunts, then staggers toward the door. He’s hammered and can barely walk. Barely walking, but he can beat on women, can’t he?
“Babe, wait!” She shoves past me to run after him.
“You all right?” I slap Willie’s shoulder, staring at her back, feeling something ugly slither through me at seeing her, beat up, in her underwear and chasing after him. I shouldn’t feel a thing. I should know better by now.
Willie nods, pulling his lips tight. His chin still trembles.
“Go back to bed, okay?”
He heads off, lookin’ at her with tears in his eyes.
She’s in the hallway now, doubled over, bawling for Max to come back. Apartment doors are opening, and people are watching the spectacle. My mother, drunk and in her fuckin’ bra and underwear, hair a mess and black eye makeup tracks down her cheeks, pleading with the asshole who just hit her to come back.
“Fine, go you fucking dick,” Mom shouts finally and slams the door.
Her face is about to crumble, but then her eyes are on me and they change to pissed. She points. “You shouldn’t have done that. I had it under control.”
She looks like a sad clown. All that black on her face, her lipstick smeared.