“It’s a betrayal to Mom if we go.”
“She already expressed to us she wants us to go.”
Carrie shakes her head, her nostrils flaring. “Because she had to. That’s what moms are required to say.”
“We’re going.”
“Canyon, I’m not. Stop it. Just stop it.”
“Carrie—”
“Why the sudden change of heart anyway?” she demands, her neck and face turning splotchy red with her anger. “Did Alis put you up to this?”
I flinch at her words, answering the question without saying anything. Her eyes narrow as she inspects me as though I’m beneath a microscope.
“What’s in it for me?”
Both my brows lift in surprise. “Is being a good sister not enough?”
“Nope.”
“What do you want?”
“To go with you next time you go to a convention.”
“So you can make fun of me the whole time?”
She smirks. “I mean, it has its perks.”
“You think it’s weird.”
“Well, yeah, but mostly I think you’re weird. Big difference.”
“Are you going to dress up too?”
“Probably not. I’ll merely be there to collect embarrassing evidence for years to come.”
A stupid smile breaches my face. No one, not even Naomi, has ever been into anime cosplay like I have since I was twelve and stumbled across an episode of Mubōna Ikari one day on the internet. From that point on, I was obsessed. What was a childhood love for a Japanese cartoon eventually morphed into a hobby. I can’t draw for shit, but given enough time and supplies, I can look like just about any character I want from that show. My parents never quite understood it, but they never told me I couldn’t do it. I mean, they’re the ones who bought me all the stuff. And it was Dad who usually ended up going to the conventions with me.
“Ew. You’re doing it.”
“Doing what?” I frown, cocking my head to the side.
“Thinking about your nerdy anime costume party.”
“It’s not a costume party. It’s way more than—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “I’ve heard enough. Are you taking me or not?”
“It’s a deal. But you also have to play nice at the wedding.”
“I’ll try.”
It’ll have to be good enough.
Her phone rings, so I close the door behind me and head back to my room. As soon as I enter and take in the clean space, I can’t help but grin.
Alis cleaned my room.
I swear I can still smell his scent lingering in the air.
Flopping down onto the bed, I pull out my phone, trying like hell to avoid the pictures folder. But, like an idiot, I peek anyway.
Messy, wet white-blond hair hanging over his forehead. Straight nose. Dark lashes fanned over his cheeks. Pouty as fuck lips puckered on the tip of my dick.
My dick is hard and straining in my pants.
Fuck. I’m going to owe Wonderland a Coke.
Alister
Hide.
But then who will protect Momma?
If I pee my pants again, though, I’ll be in so much trouble. Trouble for me always means trouble for Momma. I’m a big boy now. I can protect her.
I crawl out from under my ratty Star Wars blanket and walk over to the door that’s cracked open. His shouting is loud. Yelling at Momma for stealing his medicine again. She always cries and calls him a liar when he says it.
He doesn’t visit often, but when he does, it’s always bad. Worse than when the other men come into the house. They usually just do yucky stuff in her room with her. I always cover my ears when I hear those gross sounds. But at least then, Momma seems sorta happy. When he visits, all they do is fight.
I peek down the hallway to where the light from the living room shines brightly. The smell of Momma’s cigarettes is strong. She always smokes lots when she’s upset.
Slowly, I creep down the hall toward the sound of their voices. Momma’s in her chair, a yucky cloud of smoke around her while he walks back and forth, accusing her of lying and stealing.
“Are you trying to get me killed?” he bellows at her. “You’re an insane, selfish bitch, Tammy!”
“Go back to your whores, Colin.” Momma shows him her middle finger even though it’s bad. “That’s where you’d rather be than here taking care of your son!”
“That’s fucking rich coming from you,” he growls. “Have you seen this shithole? It’s filthy, goddammit. And you want to call me the neglectful parent?”
Momma doesn’t clean that much, but I try to be a good boy and do it. My room is the easiest to keep clean because Momma doesn’t put her beer bottles or old used-up cigarettes or food wrappers in there. Plus, I’m scared of the mice. If I keep my room clean, they stay in the kitchen mostly and try to get into the cereal boxes or food left on the counters.
“I trusted you to keep my shit safe,” he snaps, making me jump higher than any time I see a mouse. “And you took it all. Why? So you and your worthless boyfriends could get fucked up?”
“Leave.” Momma stubs out her cigarette on the arm of the chair and then flicks it at him. “No one wants you here. Especially not your son.”
I don’t like it when she calls the bad man my daddy. He’s not like the daddies on television or in the books we have to read at school. My friend Felix, who’s not in my first-grade class, but rides the bus with me, has a nice daddy. His daddy is a police officer. I wish my daddy were a good guy who caught the bad ones.
“Find me the money,” Colin barks out. “I don’t care if you have to fuck everyone in this trailer park to get it. By Thursday, I better have that money or—”
“Or you’ll what?” Momma yells back. “Hit me? Whoopty-fucking-doo!”
He backhands her, sending her flying out of the chair and onto the floor. I run toward him without thinking, my small fists curled up. He grunts in surprise when I start wailing on his back. I’m only six and small for my age, but I’m angry at him for hurting my momma again.
Like he’s a Jedi, he flings me off of him. Then, he turns his mean stare on me. I don’t like his eyes. They’re dark brown like mine. But I’m not mean like him. I wish I had Momma’s green eyes.
Colin squats in front of me, grabbing my chin in his grip. I whimper because it hurts. He’s so big and strong, he could probably break my bones just by squeezing. That thought makes me shiver.
“Why do you always defend that bitch?” he demands, tilting his head to the side. “It’s because you’re a sissy momma’s boy, huh? Maybe I should take you with me. Make a man out of you.”
I try not to look into his scary eyes that sometimes look like a monster’s, instead choosing to look at the powder smeared on his nose. Same kind Momma and her boyfriends like to sniff up.
“He’s too much like you for that to happen,” Momma hisses at him. “You’ll be disappointed to discover your child is just another fucked-up version of you!”
Her words hurt my feelings, but I try to ignore them. It’s easy to do when I’m focused on the way his strong hand is nearly crushing my face in his grip.