Chapter Text
I was baking when she came back. Chocolate chip cookies, like the kind she used to make for me whenever I’d had a bad day when I was little. She hasn’t made them in a long time. She hasn’t baked anything in a long time, not since dad left. I do most of the cooking, and all of the baking, in this house now. And by most of the cooking, I mean if I don’t make dinner, I eat ramen, or canned soup. But she doesn’t like it when I don’t make dinner for her, even though it’s usually long cold by the time she gets home and I have to reheat it for her. But I never really minded. Of all the things I had to do around the house, cooking was by far my favorite. As long as she wasn’t home, I could put on some music and just take control of the kitchen. It was always fun for me, trying new flavor combinations, testing to see which sauces are improved by adding which vegetables. I was usually too busy to bake, though. I would only If I had enough free time after finishing my homework, and I was having a really stressful day, like I had today. Baking always calmed me down. Unlike cooking where my recipes were ever-changing and fluid, everything in baking seemed set in stone to me. If you wanted something to come out perfectly, you had to follow the recipe exactly. No room for experimenting, which seems boring, but I always found it stress-relieving to just go with the rules and not have to worry about adding my own spin to it. Funny how that was, because the rules of baking seemed to be the only rules I’d ever follow.
Like earlier today, when a kid called me a slur so I punched him in his dumb fucking face. Cue trip to the office, disappointed look from the secretary, pissed off look from the principal, five tries at calling her, all of which failed. I told him that she had her phone stolen, but because he thinks of me as nothing but a troublemaker, he didn’t believe me without trying first. At this point, she hasn’t picked up more times than she has when called by the principal. Mostly because she gets too high or drunk to realize her phone is going off, though this time she actually had her phone stolen, sort of. And by stolen, she gave it to a drug dealer for more of whatever shit she’d decided to get addicted to this time. I tried not to pay too much attention to her drug habits. It wouldn’t matter if I knew what she was taking or not, so why care? But after the principal failed to contact her, he gave me a disappointed look and sentenced me to three days suspension for “inciting violence,” and said, “he hoped that this would teach me a lesson and that he would stop seeing me in his office.” I doubt either of us believed any of that. I used to act out in a futile attempt to get any kind of fucking attention from her after dad left and she spent all of her time day-drinking on the couch watching trashy reality shows and wishing she was a Kardashian or whatever. Once alcohol wasn't good enough for her anymore, at least not by itself, she stopped caring whether I’d get in trouble or not. She stopped caring about me at all. But by then I had a reputation, and I couldn’t exactly go back to being a good kid, because I wasn’t one anymore. I knew that even if I tried my fucking hardest to try to go back to the way things were, my teachers would always see me as a troublemaker, and if I stopped having a reputation of fighting back against those who angered me, it was just going to invite bullies to make my life hell. So I made my life hell by myself because if I’m going to do something, I’m doing it by my own damn terms.
She burst through the door as I was putting the cookies in the oven. She was clearly drunk this time, which worried me a little, because at least when she was high, she’d be so distracted by whatever was going on in her fantasy land to give a shit about me. When she was drunk, she just got angry at insignificant things and try to find any way to blame me for her life problems.
“What kind of fucking music are you playing in there? It’s giving me a migraine, turn it off.”
“Sure, whatever.” I walked over to the small radio I had playing my favorite station, a Hindi station from the city that just barely reached our neighborhood on the outskirts, and shut it off. I liked it because it reminded me of my dad’s family who lived in India. I’d never met them, but I had video chatted with his mom once, way back before he left. She talked about how it would be Diwali soon and seemed offended when I didn’t know what that was. She then proceeded to scold my dad about not raising me Hindu, and tell him loudly that if he had to have married a foreigner, then he should at least make sure his son is a proper Indian man. The conversation didn’t last long after that. Honestly, with all of the berating from his family about not marrying Indian and having a mixed child, even though I didn’t look it and everyone’s first guess when they saw me with my mom, was that I was adopted, plus my mom’s steady spiral into alcoholism after finding out she wouldn’t be able to have a second child, I’m not surprised he left four years ago. God, I can’t believe it’s been four years since he just disappeared, no note or anything, with all of his shit and half of the family savings.
She startled me out of my zoned out state. “Max, I said bring me a bottle of whiskey, you little shit. Are you fucking deaf?”
I almost snapped and told her to get off her ass and get it herself, but I didn’t want to set her off yet. I already knew she wouldn’t be happy that I was suspended, because that would mean she couldn’t bring over tons of people to do drugs with in the living room, or random dudes to fuck. I’d walked in on both of those happening, and the aftermath usually entailed lots of yelling directed at me, and sometimes getting hit. She’d never hurt me that badly, only slapping or sometimes bruising me, and she didn’t usually leave marks, or if she did, it wasn’t in places people would see. I still have burns on my upper arms from when she tried quitting hard stuff once and was only smoking cigarettes. I haven’t worn anything with short sleeves outside of the house since then. She was so irritable back then, so prone to lashing out due to withdrawal, that I was almost happier when she gave up, though it did make me a little sad because she would say that once she was “okay” again we could be a proper family again. That she was getting better for me. I should’ve never believed her, I don’t know why I was so fucking naive back then.
I quickly set the timer for the cookies, so I knew when to take them out of the oven, and shouted to her that I was coming. Grabbing the bottle of Heaven Hill bourbon from the counter, I brought it into the living room where she was sprawled out on the couch with an empty bottle in her hand. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I assumed it was some kind of alcohol. God, she looked shit-faced already. Well, I may as well tell her now, there’s no use in waiting until she’s sober because that won’t happen for a while.
“Here’s your whiskey. Oh, by the way, I got suspended from school so I’ll be here for three days.”
“No you fucking won’t! I have people coming over tomorrow, and you will not be here for that.”
“I’ll just be in my room, it’s not like I’m going to bother you. Plus, whatever you’re doing with these people you probably already do around me anyways. I’m not a little kid anymore, I know how you spend your time.”
“I have a reputation to uphold! I’m not going to let some fucking kid ruin that for me. These are important people, and I’m not going to have you hanging around causing trouble. You’ll be out of this house tomorrow morning and not come back until Wednesday afternoon if you know what’s good for you!”
I guess I’m not the only one with a reputation then. These people must be some “high-class” dealers, or maybe just other users she’s desperate to befriend. I don’t have anywhere to spend a day and a half, it’s not like I have friends whose houses I can sleep over at, or at least not any near here. I have Nikki and Neil from the summer camp she’s been shipping me off to for the last four years so she can do drugs in peace for a few months, but they live halfway across the state. I have no one at this school. People mostly ignore me, though a few torment me and a few others fear me. No one wants anything to do with me.
“Where am I supposed to go while you laze around and do drugs with your precious fucking friends? Last time I checked nobody cares about me, not even you! I’m just a nuisance! I don’t have any friends I can stay with, because I’m not a normal kid! Because you fucked me up!”
I knew as soon as the words came out of my mouth that I shouldn’t have said them. She’d go off on me for sure, and I knew this time it would probably get physical. But I didn’t anticipate the empty bottle in her hand to come flying towards me. It struck me in the thigh and broke upon impact and a large shard impaled itself in the flesh right below where the shorts I was wearing ended, while she screamed about how I should never talk to her like that. Pain seared through me, though I doubt she even noticed. I felt tears well up and knew I had to get out of the situation before it worsened. I ran as best I could into my room, with a sharp stabbing pain every time I moved coming from my wound. I had a first aid kit in my closet just in case it ever got too bad. I’d mostly only had to use the Advil to lessen the pain from bruises she’d given me, but I knew there was gauze and bandages in there. Once I got to my room, her yelling still in the background, I grabbed the first aid kit and got to work. I wasn’t sure whether to leave it in or not, but it was glass and it probably still had whatever was in the bottle in the first place on it, so I figured I should take it out. With my hands shaking, I took hold of the glass and pulled it out, hissing in pain and desperately trying not to scream. Luckily for me, it wasn’t too deep in my leg, but it started bleeding as soon as I took the shard out. I quickly unwrapped some gauze and tore off a piece large enough to cover the wound, and pushed down on it, remembering an action movie I’d watched where a character got stabbed and someone told him he needed to apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding. Thankfully it didn’t bleed through the gauze, so after a minute or two, I took some of the roll of bandage and taped the gauze to my skin. I took three Advil from the half-empty bottle and sat back, trying to stave off the panic that was threatening to overtake me. What if I had to go to the hospital? What if I needed stitches? The wound didn’t look big enough to need stitches, but I didn’t know much about that kind of stuff. I couldn’t think of any excuse I could give a hospital for me walking in, alone, with a stab wound, that wouldn’t end up with the CPS called on her. And if that happened I’d end up in foster care, and I’d heard all kinds of horror stories about the abuse and molestation that awaited any poor kid that ended up in the foster care system.
She was pretty bad, but at least I knew her ways. Or I thought I did. I hadn’t seen this coming at all. Usually, if she got it into her to hit me, she’d stagger over and try to do it herself, which I could sometimes dodge when she was this shit-faced. I noticed something dripping onto my hoodie and realized I was crying. God, I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here anymore. Something about this just seemed so final, I just can’t do this anymore. I need to get out of here before she does something worse. I’ve had an emergency pack, an old backpack with fifty bucks, two changes of clothes, a spare toothbrush, and a few granola bars and other snacks since the withdrawal days, but I’ve never left because I don’t have anywhere to go. I’ve known that if I set out without a destination I’d just get picked up by the police for wandering the streets and delivered back here to face more punishment. I thought as hard as I could about someone, anyone, who would take me in and not just send me back, plus who I could get to by either walking or taking buses. Nikki and Neil were too far away, there probably wouldn’t be any buses running that far, and I don’t know anyone else from camp well enough to show up at their house, plus I don’t know where any of them live. Think, Max, think! God, there’s got to be someone! Someone has to care about me, right?
And then it hit me. Someone I could trust, who lives directly in the city, not too far from where I live, on the outskirts. There would probably be a bus taking me near his place, or maybe I’d have to take a few buses, but I had enough money to get there. David. I’d found his address back when I stole his phone last summer to set up a Tinder for him as a prank, not remembering exactly how old he was, since he’d never mentioned it, and figuring he’d be the kind of dork to put all of his information in his contacts. And I was right. There too was his address. I tried to remember exactly where he lived, but all I could remember was that he lived on Pine Avenue because I thought it was too cliche to be real back then, but had looked it up, and I think it was somewhere in the suburbs. I thought about how bad my life must be if I was honestly thinking about running away to live with David. I couldn’t deny I appreciated him for things he’d done for me over the past few summers, especially after finding out that my situation at home was shit, but I had to be on her levels of drugs to be considering this kind of thing. We’d come to a sort of truce at the end of last summer, with me trying to be less of a little shit and him not trying to get me to open up about things at home. But if I lived with him? I’d just fuck him up like I fuck everything up. God, he probably wouldn’t even want me to live with him. He’s too good of a person to deserve having me in his life any more than he has to. But I know he won’t turn me away, at least not immediately, because he knows about some of the shit that goes on here. And he’s honestly my only option at this point. I’m not staying here any longer, because who knows what’ll happen if I’m here tomorrow when has a bunch of druggies over that she’s trying to impress? I still don’t know why she cared so much about me being gone, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going to be gone, except I’ll be gone for good. A small, twisted part of me thought I might miss her, because she is the only family I have, but for all she’s done, I’ve stopped calling her my mom as much as I can, because she’s not a mom anymore. Moms care about you, moms cook dinner and help with homework instead of going to bars or getting high. Moms don’t exchange their phones for drugs. And moms don’t hurt their kids, moms love them. Now, she’s just someone who was married to my dad for a while, she’s almost like a fucking roommate these days. Just because we’re related by blood, doesn’t mean we have to be family.
The Advil must have kicked in at some point during my crisis, as I realized I wasn’t in as much pain as I was earlier. I decided to check on my leg, peeling the bandage off my skin and lifting the gauze off. It had stopped bleeding, which was good, but it was covered in dried blood now, and I knew I needed to wash it off. I stood up and grabbed the first aid kit, feeling the pain sear through me again, but thankfully I didn’t start bleeding again. I crept out of my room and into the bathroom, noticing that she was still sprawled on the couch, and appeared to be drinking the bottle of whiskey I had given her while watching TV. Good, she probably wouldn’t notice me go back to my room then. I gently washed off the blood on my leg, hissing at the stinging of the wet paper towel on my wound. I noticed it was bleeding a little bit still, but figured it was from all of the moving around I was doing. I re-bandaged my leg, already feeling better about my situation. It hit me that I was actually going to get out of here, hopefully for good. As long as David lets me stay with him.
I walked back to my room, starting to adjust to the pain that would shoot through me any time I’d move my injured leg. I needed to change out of my shorts. Couldn’t have anyone noticing I was injured and asking too many questions. I put on a pair of jeans, and my favorite blue hoodie, because it’s getting dark out and might get cold, even though it’s only September. I grabbed my emergency bag and examined the contents. Oh yeah, everything in here is from a year and a half ago. The clothes are too small for me now, and the snacks have all gone bad. I threw out the snacks and put the clothes in my closet, searching for some that would fit. I grabbed a few t-shirts, a pair of shorts and another pair of jeans, and a backup hoodie, just in case something happens to mine, plus Mr. Honeynuts, the stuffed bear I’ve had since I was a baby. I couldn’t sleep well without him, so he was obviously a necessity, even though I was embarrassed that I still needed him. A few more things from my drawers shoved hastily into my bag later, and the only things I need are my mp3 player and earbuds, which are in my regular backpack by the kitchen table, where I was doing homework earlier, some food, and my radio if it’ll fit. I hope it will, it’s just a small battery powered one, but it’s not a big deal if it doesn’t. I’m sure where I’m going will have radios, it just has sentimental value as my dad gave it to me for my sixth birthday, the last one he was here for. He left a few months afterward. Food will be the hardest to find, as I know we don’t have a ton of snacks right now, but my plan is just to take whatever we have that will be easy to eat. Plus, I suddenly remembered, I was in the middle of making cookies. And judging by the fact that she hasn’t screamed at me to shut the timer off, they should still be cooking. They shouldn’t have long to go, as I’m sure this has taken more time than it seems. It feels like everything happened in five seconds and five hours at the same time, but in reality, since the timer hasn’t gone off, it couldn’t have been more than twelve or fifteen minutes. I grabbed my bag and went out into the kitchen. I didn’t focus too much on being silent, as she appeared to still be watching TV. I quickly fished my earbuds and mp3 player out of my school backpack and put them in my other bag and looked at the timer. It only had two minutes left, and I decided to start grabbing a few things from the pantry, just in case I got hungry on the bus, or it took longer than I thought to locate David. I did only know the street he lived on. I’d just have to hope there would be some way to figure out which house was his. After thoroughly raiding the pantry, I turned the timer off and took the cookies out of the oven. Usually, I’d let them cool for a while, but I didn’t have time for that. I scooped the hot cookies into a Tupperware container and put it into my bag. The bag was almost completely full, but somehow, my radio just fit. I zipped it up and put it on. This was it. I walked into the living room where she was half conscious, still shit-faced with a now empty bottle of whiskey near her, watching reality TV.
“Hey! Wake up. You want me gone before your big drug party tomorrow? Fine. I’m going. Goodbye.”
I heard her mutter a goodbye along with a string of curses, and I walked out the front door. No turning back now. To the bus station, and from there, to David’s.