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When Jason’s father had been arrested and sentenced to prison - then killed behind bars - ten year old Jason had thought that maybe his life was finally going to get better. It was just going to be him and his mom and everything was going to be okay.
He was wrong.
He came home one day and wrinkled his nose at the all too familiar smell of drugs. He sniffled, rubbing at his nose which was still bleeding from a scuffle a few minutes later.
“Mom?” he called as he wandered through their tiny apartment, checking in her bedroom and the kitchen and the living room. He didn’t find her and he was starting to worry. “Mom?” he called again, this time a little more urgently.
That was when he saw the bathroom door cracked open and a sinking feeling filled his gut. Biting his lip, Jason shuffled over and carefully pushed it open, eyes going wide as he found his mom slumped over in the bath.
He rushed over, nearly slipping on the flooded bathroom tile as he ran to turn off the tap, using all of his ten year old strength to keep his mom’s head out from under the bath water.
“Mom!?” He called, staring in fear at her glazed eyes. “Mom, wake up!”
He spent another second freaking out until he finally saw her chest rise and fall in normal rhythm. She was alive, just high.
Letting out a quiet breath of relief, Jason spent another five minutes hauling her out of the bath and into a position in the corner of the dirty bathroom so she wouldn’t drown while he emptied the tub and cleaned up.
That was the day his life changed.
Money had always been a struggle but it was even worse now that his mom was into drugs. So to help her and keep them both from starving to death, Jason started stealing.
It got hard and some days he came back on the brink of death. But it brought money in and his mom was able to keep up her habit.
He knew it was bad and every day, he came home with the fear that he was too late and he was going to find her dead on the bathroom floor, rusty needle shoved into her arm.
So every day he was filled with these fears until he came home to find her either breathing or throwing up. Then he relaxed and helped her out for the rest of the night.
His fears came true when he was twelve.
He was out hours later than he’d wanted to be, having been grabbed by a gang and had the shit beat out of him just because he stole the guy’s favorite watch or some shit.
So he limped home, not even thinking on the possibility that his mom might be dead.
So of course, that was how he found her. Crumpled on the floor, needle in her arm, chest still. He didn’t know how long he sat next to her, staring down at her as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was alone.
“No, please,” he whispered, reaching towards her with shaking hands. “Please, mom, wake up!”
He started shaking her fruitlessly, tears spilling down his cheeks when she didn’t reply.
“Mom!” he screamed before falling atop her, sobbing loudly and continuing to beg her to answer him.
He spent another week in the apartment alone until one of the neighbors complained about the smell.
Then he ran.