Read Online Retard by Daniel I Russell - Free Book Online

rained further blows over him, slaps to the head, shoulder and hip, before standing back, gasping.
    “What am I going to do?” Her voice quivered. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
    “Please,” he cried but it hurt to speak, sending sharp electric jolts through his face.
    He looked up and she had gone. The door slammed, and chair legs rasped against the carpet outside.
     

 
     
    9.
     
    Her Cianzano had all but gone, leaving only a trickle, nowhere near enough for a decent drink. Christine reached further into the cupboard, fingers seeking out the smooth neck of another bottle, any bottle.
    What did I do to deserve this? she thought. Maybe Mum was right and all whores do go to Hell. What kind of God would condemn a young woman to a life as shitty as this, all because of a one night stand?
    She tried to remember the face of Wesley’s father. Time had further clouded her recollection of the drunken night. Wesley shared her own dark blonde hair and narrow features, offering no indication of the shape and colour of his co-creator. You always remembered good sex. No matter how many cocktails you’d drank or how much powder went up your nose, you always remembered the good sex afterwards. All she recalled from the night of Wesley’s inception had been the empty bed come morning.
    Aha!
    She fished a bottle from the very back of the cupboard. Vodka, cheap, but enough remaining for a few decent-sized drinks. A suitable match for the non-brand lemonade she’d taken from the fridge as a mixer.
    A couple of Sally’s presents remained inside, both foreign bottles with unreadable labels, Christine’s emergency spirits.
    His father, had he been mental too? Back in your early twenties you thought you were invincible, that the world owed you success and that you could drink until the sun came up. Had she been so smashed as to not notice any weird behaviour? Had he too been standing at the edge of the dance floor in the club, segregated from the rest, sucking his hand?
    “Fuck you,” she said, pouring a generous amount of the vodka into a glass. “Where ever you are.”
    Wesley could stay in his room another day. Just being around him made her so angry . She’d decided the best course of action was for the two of them to stay apart while her blood cooled. But then?
    What am I going to do? she thought again.
    Returning to school was not an option. They’d already labelled him as some kind of deviant, and she couldn’t stand the thought of yet more accusing glares and whispers behind her back. No. A whole new school come next term; a place where they could start afresh.
    No, fuck settling for a new school. A new town, a new life. Nothing kept them in this shithole. They could get out of the city, move to a small town in the country, a place where the people were friendly and kindly neighbours offered to babysit while she worked her new job. Yeah, that was the way.
    She took a long gulp of the vodka. The lemonade had been sat in the fridge a while, cold and flat. Perfect.
    She swallowed. “And how do you intend to that, eh? Money. Everything needs fucking money.”
    She retired to the lounge, kicked off her shoes and lay on the sofa.
    Start small, she reasoned. A single aim. Work from there.
    “Christ,” she muttered, shaking her hand. The first two knuckles throbbed like she’d bruised the soft flesh in-between. Might have really knocked some sense into the boy this time. She hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs. No creeping around his room. No thuds as thrown toys hit the walls. Nothing.
    That’s it. That’s my small start. Wesley. He’s home every day for the next three weeks, with no schoolyard bullies or inept teachers. I could really make a difference.
    She sipped from her cool glass.
    Christmas is nearly here. To straighten Wesley out and have a nice Christmas, just the two of us, that’s my goal. Might need to find a few quid to fatten out the pile under the tree, but being a good parent costs