“You didn’t protect her! Now, whose going to protect you?” he snarls, and his fingers rub against the trigger, ready to pull it back and end my life.
But I’m okay with that. I’m ready to just go, so I can be with Gracie and have a different life somewhere beyond. I want to make it up to her, everything. I have to make it all up to her.
Just as Devon pulls the trigger and the loud bang resounds in my ear –I sit up quickly, gasping for air. I sweep my fingers through my hair, feeling the sweat pooled on my forehead.
“Well, well, it’s about time you woke up, sleepy head,” my mother greets cheerfully.
I flinch from the pounding in my head and rub my forehead as I throw my legs off the couch, tossing the blanket aside. I know my mom is behind me in the kitchen, but I don’t get up just yet. Instead, I reach out and pluck up my phone, swiping at the screen and letting out a groan.
“You let me sleep until ten in the morning?” I ask, my voice cracking with the words.
“I did. You needed your sleep, son.” She’s a little too perky for my taste.
Then again, mom has always been an early riser and a morning person. I’ve never understood how or why, but at least one of the three of us in the household is. Without her, my dad and I wouldn’t get anything done.
“I’ve wasted part of my day off,” I whine but don’t move at all.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, ignoring my griping.
“Yes, and coffee too, please,” I pipe up and lean back against the couch, tilting my head to look up at the ceiling.
We’ve lived in this house since I came to live with the Morrisons at the age of nine, fourteen years ago. I’m pretty sure they’ve lived here longer, but this is my childhood home. Before them, it was just house after house after house.
After a few minutes, my mother shuffles into the living room in her slippers and sets down a bowl of cinnamon brown sugar oatmeal and a cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of me. As I lean forward, she kisses the top of my head. I scoop up a spoonful of oatmeal and blow on the oatmeal before popping it in my mouth.
She lingers for a moment, watching me. I know that when she does this, it means she has something to say. So, I wait because trying to press the subject will only make her a little more hesitant and possibly scare her off from talking. Which will only result in her stewing in whatever she has to say until it explodes. Dad and I learned that a long time ago.
“You talk in your sleep, you know,” she starts.
I raise my eyes to her as I sip from my coffee before sitting the cup down. “You’ve told me before.”
She smiles and sits down next to me. I pretend she isn’t there for the time being,
“You really should tell Gracie,” she says softly, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You owe that to yourself if anything.”
I take another drink of my coffee and look at her, not saying anything as I feel like she has more to comment on.
“Your father and I just don’t think you’re very happy with Donna.”
I shake my head and turn back to take another bite of my oatmeal. Donna is not a subject I’m yet ready to discuss. Especially since I’ve been sleeping on my parents' damn couch for the last week for pissing her off over something I can’t even remember.
“You love her—”
“I’m not supposed to,” I blurt out and pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “I’m not supposed to, mom.”
“Why? Because she’s an addict? Owen, you of all people know that addiction is a terrible thing that happens, but it doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or anything else.”
I shake my head and open my eyes to look at her again, pressing my lips together. After a moment, I let out a breath. “No. Because she hurt me. She really hurt me, mom.”
Sadness flashes in her eyes, and she scoots closers, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, and pulling me into her with a squeeze. “You have to forgive her, Owen. Not for her, but for yourself. To have peace inside of you.”
I side-eye her. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t. I know because you’re my son. You’re angry, and you have to let it go, or it’s going to lead you down a dark path.”
I rub my forehead. It’s still throbbing, and I can’t tell if it’s from needing more caffeine or the late night I had. No drinking. I’m not a big fan of drinking and haven’t done it in a couple of weeks now, and that was the first time in years.
“Owen, I’m not kidding. If you keep harboring this anger, you’re going to end up making some very poor decisions that you will regret.”