thumps so hard it hurts. Or maybe it ' s her; maybe she ' s putting the ache in my chest and not the organ.
Sara ' s here. My little fucking sister who has nightmares and needs help when she gets up to go to the bathroom is in her room sleeping and Mom ' s going to drink. It might be because of Grandpa or maybe it ' s me , because I don ' t keep my mouth shut about him , but it doesn ' t matter. Suddenly I ' m pissed. So pissed I want to scream at her to stop. Ask her what the hell she ' s doing. She doesn ' t drink when Sara ' s home! That ' s always been what made it manageable. That ' s the way things go. The way they ' ve gone since Bill left and she started to drink. Who said she could switch up the rules?
Her eyes don ' t leave mine and mine hers. She knows she ' s been caught. My plate shakes in my hand , but I can ' t speak. What if Sara has one of her nightmares and Mom is drunk? What if Sara needs her and she ' s too out of it to know? How can she do this? What am I going to do now?
Without a word , I turn and walk out of the room. Tossing the plate on my desk , I fall into my chair knowing I won ' t sleep tonight. Knowing I have to listen for her. Sara wouldn ' t know what ' s going on if she catches Mom stumbling around , but I ' m her brother— I ' m one of Sara ' s favorite things and I ' ll be damned if I ' ll let her see Mom like that , whether she understands or not.
Chapter Six
There are a few clues to look for when you ' re curious how much someone drank. Now these aren ' t foolproof , but I pay attention to them anyway. They can help judge how the night was , how your day ' s going to be ... how upset you need to be.
One of them makes my day hell because it calls for a whole lot of caffeine and video games all night to stay awake. How late does the light slide out from the under the other door at night? Does the TV stay on all night or go off at some time? In other words , do they pass out or actually go to bed. This is a pretty good indicator , but let me tell ya , sucks for the school day. Staying up at night , watching someone ' s door , isn ' t high on my list of things I like to do. Been there , done that , had the messy-morning hair to piss Mel off to show for it.
The other one is how early do they wake up? Late? The last minute before they ' re going to be late , or bright and early , whistling at the coffee pot and setting out the Cookie Crunch?
The TV went out last night ... the light only on for a couple hours after we parted , but this morning—this morning she ' s up late. Hangover or guilt? I ' m not sure. I ' ll have to wait until I see her to know.
You can always tell how much someone drank the night before by how they wake up. Out of it? Eyes kind of swollen? Sluggish like they didn ' t get any sleep or they ' re sick? There are even those times where you can tell the difference in speech. There ' s still that slight slur that says it hasn ' t even worn off yet.
I ' m still waiting to see Mom firsthand to know how today is. Sara ' s been in and out of Mom ' s room a couple times. She ' s dressed and all that so I ' m hoping it ' s guilt that keeps her behind her bedroom door. That she just doesn ' t want to see me because she knows how wrong she is. Knows she needs help , and is thinking about how to come down and tell me she ' s getting it.
Okay , so lack of sleep made me delusional , but a guy can hope.
Pushing away what should be my chocolate chip reward for keeping my eyes open all night , I lean my head into my hands.
Maybe she should feel guilty , but I should too.
For the ten thousandth time since last night I wonder , am I doing the right thing? I can deal with it. When it just affects me , who cares? I can take care of myself , but Sara? I won ' t let her see it. There ' s no way I can risk her. That never became a possibility until last night.
Guilt slams into those thoughts. This is Mom. Didn ' t I just tell Bill she ' d never let anything happen to Sara?
Sara ' s here. My little fucking sister who has nightmares and needs help when she gets up to go to the bathroom is in her room sleeping and Mom ' s going to drink. It might be because of Grandpa or maybe it ' s me , because I don ' t keep my mouth shut about him , but it doesn ' t matter. Suddenly I ' m pissed. So pissed I want to scream at her to stop. Ask her what the hell she ' s doing. She doesn ' t drink when Sara ' s home! That ' s always been what made it manageable. That ' s the way things go. The way they ' ve gone since Bill left and she started to drink. Who said she could switch up the rules?
Her eyes don ' t leave mine and mine hers. She knows she ' s been caught. My plate shakes in my hand , but I can ' t speak. What if Sara has one of her nightmares and Mom is drunk? What if Sara needs her and she ' s too out of it to know? How can she do this? What am I going to do now?
Without a word , I turn and walk out of the room. Tossing the plate on my desk , I fall into my chair knowing I won ' t sleep tonight. Knowing I have to listen for her. Sara wouldn ' t know what ' s going on if she catches Mom stumbling around , but I ' m her brother— I ' m one of Sara ' s favorite things and I ' ll be damned if I ' ll let her see Mom like that , whether she understands or not.
Chapter Six
There are a few clues to look for when you ' re curious how much someone drank. Now these aren ' t foolproof , but I pay attention to them anyway. They can help judge how the night was , how your day ' s going to be ... how upset you need to be.
One of them makes my day hell because it calls for a whole lot of caffeine and video games all night to stay awake. How late does the light slide out from the under the other door at night? Does the TV stay on all night or go off at some time? In other words , do they pass out or actually go to bed. This is a pretty good indicator , but let me tell ya , sucks for the school day. Staying up at night , watching someone ' s door , isn ' t high on my list of things I like to do. Been there , done that , had the messy-morning hair to piss Mel off to show for it.
The other one is how early do they wake up? Late? The last minute before they ' re going to be late , or bright and early , whistling at the coffee pot and setting out the Cookie Crunch?
The TV went out last night ... the light only on for a couple hours after we parted , but this morning—this morning she ' s up late. Hangover or guilt? I ' m not sure. I ' ll have to wait until I see her to know.
You can always tell how much someone drank the night before by how they wake up. Out of it? Eyes kind of swollen? Sluggish like they didn ' t get any sleep or they ' re sick? There are even those times where you can tell the difference in speech. There ' s still that slight slur that says it hasn ' t even worn off yet.
I ' m still waiting to see Mom firsthand to know how today is. Sara ' s been in and out of Mom ' s room a couple times. She ' s dressed and all that so I ' m hoping it ' s guilt that keeps her behind her bedroom door. That she just doesn ' t want to see me because she knows how wrong she is. Knows she needs help , and is thinking about how to come down and tell me she ' s getting it.
Okay , so lack of sleep made me delusional , but a guy can hope.
Pushing away what should be my chocolate chip reward for keeping my eyes open all night , I lean my head into my hands.
Maybe she should feel guilty , but I should too.
For the ten thousandth time since last night I wonder , am I doing the right thing? I can deal with it. When it just affects me , who cares? I can take care of myself , but Sara? I won ' t let her see it. There ' s no way I can risk her. That never became a possibility until last night.
Guilt slams into those thoughts. This is Mom. Didn ' t I just tell Bill she ' d never let anything happen to Sara?
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