“Don’t give me that shit, Mom. C’mon.” Shaking my head, I begin shoving more bottles into the bag.
“I’m going through all your shit and getting this place cleaned up. If there’s an ounce of alcohol in this house, it’s gone. I’m staying here with you until you sober up, and then we’re checking you in somewhere. I’m not talking about some couple day detox either. I’m talkin’ an actual program in an actual treatment center. It’s time we get you the help you needed a long fucking time ago.”
She doesn’t fight me on it anymore. She stretches out on the couch, eyes closed, and her arms crossed in front of her.
It kills me to see this is what her life has come to, but I’ll be damned if we will continue down this road and look back wishing I would’ve done more.
After everything is cleaned up, she’s passed out on the couch, curled up in the fetal position. I take advantage of the chance to go through all her cabinets, all her favorite hiding places I used to discover growing up, pouring out bottles of vodka.
“It’s fucked up you even know where she hides them,” Travis sighs, shaking his head. He leans his hip against the counter, watching me while I pour out the final bottle.
We found some stored under the bathroom sink, behind the towels in the linen closet, even a few underneath the bottom drawer of her dresser.
That was one place I never had thought to consider until one day I found her stuffing things under there when she didn’t think I was looking.
“Yeah, well, growing up with an alcoholic mom, you see things you never thought you’d see.”
He nods his head, agreeing.
“A friend of mine went to this rehab center, Newhaven. Apparently, it’s good. I’m waiting for the director to call me back, but it sounds like they’ll be able to get her in right away. She can stay there for eight weeks; get the help she needs.”
“That long?” His eyebrows shoot up, gritting his teeth.
“Yeah, man. She’s not going to like it, but she needs it. After she’s done, they have sober living centers and different programs available to help her with the transition back to her new day-to-day life.”
Rubbing my fingers over my forehead, I massage the skin.
“Yeah, you’re right. I hope she’ll agree to go. She has to want this or it’s pointless, just like every other time.”
We stand here talking for a while before Travis takes off to pick up his daughter from her mom. They separated a few months ago and he has her every other weekend. He would never want to miss his time with her. I assure him I have it covered.
After I’m confident everything in the house is gone, I sit back on the loveseat. When the quietness finally sets in, a niggling urge to pick up my phone and dial Ivy’s number eats at me. It’s later now, after ten, and I expect she’s up and going for her morning jog.
I want to open up to her, tell her why I’ve been so closed off and cold. I want to take the risk and hope she’ll be there for me through this.As much as I want to make her mine, I know I don’t deserve her.
Fourteen
Ivy
After how Brix reacted to me being gone, I’m concerned when he doesn’t come home for the last two nights. They even canceled their show at Vibrate on Friday.
No one knew the details why. The notice posted on their Facebook page said, “due to a family emergency.” Kyla said Madden wouldn’t give her any details, only that it had something to do with Brix’s mom, and he couldn’t be there.
I’m sitting on the couch in the living room, getting ready to paint my toes when he comes stalking through the front door. His black baseball cap is pulled down low, covering his face. He’s dressed in a pair of black gym shorts, something I rarely see him wearing, and a cut-off muscle shirt. Brix always looks handsome, but right now he looks exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in days.
“Brix,” I murmur, setting the bottle of polish down on the coffee table. “Where have you been?”
He reaches into his pocket, tossing his keys on the counter as he shoulders past me.
“Aren’t you going to talk to me?”
“I don’t feel like talking right now. Soon, just not right now.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, jogging up the steps behind him.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, well, can you at least look at me?”