Soundtrack
My MomâEminem
Hunger StrikeâTemple of the Dog
Lightning CrashesâLive
13
Jack
Jack behaved exactly how everyone expected him to behave without Mia. He woke up. Went to work. Came home. Got high. If you expected anything different, you haven't been paying attention.
Home those days was Logan's, mostly. When Logan had people over, Jack went by himself to the lake. Or sat in his car in an empty parking lot. Or went to his parents, but that was only when he really couldn't stand to be alone any longer or he wanted the emotional pain he knew going there would cause to soak up the residual pain he felt without Mia.
Every day was the same, week after week, because Jack couldn't risk running into Mia. If he did, he would break his promise to her father, and Jack was trying to keep his word for once.
A week or so after he left, Esme finally snuck her way into Logan's before he could leave. He knew Logan was having a party. He knew it started at nine. Esme strolled in at half past eight, and Jack didn't even attempt to hide his discomfort at seeing her. She slipped past him as he made his way to Logan's guest room and blocked the door.
"Two minutes. That's all I'm asking for."
Jack groaned. "When are you going to stop inserting yourself into everyone else's shit?"
She shrugged. "Maybe when it stops involving the people I love."
Jack rolled his eyes at her. "I can't go back."
"I'm not asking you to."
He felt his insides go cold. "You didn'tâshe's not here, is she? I can't see her. I'llâ"
Esme's features relaxed into a look of pity, and Jack hated her for it.
"Don't look at me like that."
She took a breath and wrapped her arms around him. Jack refused to hug her back. "I don't know what happened after you left the lake with her, but you are not the piece of shit you've convinced yourself that you are."
Jack felt the tension in his body lessen by just a fraction, and he sighed. "I have to go."
Esme unwound her arms from him and nodded. "I know." She moved out of the way, and Jack stalked into his room, grabbing his wallet and phone and keys.
As he was leaving, Esme called out to him one last time. "She's doing okay. Not great, but okay."
Jack gave her a curt nod and left.
***
Days slipped into nights slipped into weekends, and Jack was still hardly taking care of himself. He was keeping himself alive, and that seemed like enough. Two weeks after he had left, someone put a fresh pack of nicotine patches in his room. Three weeks after, another. Jack had been smoking again, and whether it had been Esme or Logan to leave them for him, he didn't know, but the packs went unopened.
It was almost September, and when Jack watched the leaves begin to change outside his window, he felt a burning for Mia he'd been suppressing for weeks. He could get high, which would give him temporary relief, or he could go to his parents' house, take an emotional beating from his mother, and wallow in that pain instead. Really, it was an easy choice.
As Jack drove over to his parents', he was nearly giddy. He'd never considered himself a masochist before, but what other way could he describe this? Whatever his mother said to him would absolutely replace the pain he was feeling for Mia, and the prospect was more than inviting.
Jack came in through the garage. He didn't bother taking the box of liquor bottles his dad attempted to hide the last time he was there, and in the time that had passed, another was placed beside it. Yes, Jack thought, this is going to hurt.
He tapped on the door before opening it, not waiting for a response. No one was in the kitchen. No one was in the living room.
"Dad?" Jack called.
There was some rustling in his parents' bedroom, and Jack almost vomited in his mouth.
Jesus, this was not the kind of emotional turmoil I was looking for.
Then, the door opened, and his dad appeared, a tad disheveled, a tad uncertain, but he played it off well. "Hey there, Jacky boy. Didn't know you were popping over. What's going on?"
Jack squirmed. "If this is a bad timeâ" he nodded towards the bedroom.
His father's face paled. "Oh, oh no. That'sâthat's not what was happening." He strode past Jack and turned into the kitchen. "Come here, I'll make some coffee."
Jack followed him. "Everything alright?"
"Of course, of course, Jacky. Your mom was just having some pain and we couldn't find her medicine and she was really having a rough time. It's okay now, though. She's just having a little lie down and will be out soon."
Can't wait, Jack thought.
Jack's dad rustled around in the kitchen. He filled the carafe with water and dumped it into the reservoir; he grabbed the bright yellow canister from the top of the fridge and added a few too many scoops of grinds to the filter. When he was done, he sat across from Jack and gave a weak smile. He was exhausted, and Jack could see right through him.
"Tell me about things. How's work? How's Mia?"
Jack swallowed, pretending like he didn't just hear her name. "Oh, wellâ" but he stopped at hearing the creaking of a door opening down the hall. Here we go.
Jack's mom walked slowly into the kitchen, slight scowl on her mouth; Jack couldn't remember if it had always been there or if it was because he was sitting there, staring at her. She wasn't any more frail than the last time he saw her, but she was still skinny as ever, her skin hanging off her bones as if it were melting. Her voice was somewhat hoarse when she spoke, and it grated in Jack's ears.
"What a lovely surprise," she said as she sat next to him. "You should really get in the habit of calling before you just show up here. We could have been busy."
Jack wondered how much he should push her, wondered what he could say to really get her to lash out at him. "It's not like you would have been at work or something. How busy could you be?"
As his mother went to retort, the coffee pot dinged, and Jack's father sprung up.
"Carla, dear, anything special in your cup today? I just picked up a new creamer that tastes like that Irish cream you used to like."
Jack watched his mother's face morph into a grin. "I'll take some of the real stuff. There's a bottle in one of those boxes you keep in the garage. We'll wait here for you."
Jack wondered how the person who brought him into this world could be so bitter, so angry, and so purposefully smug to him, her child, and to his father, her husband.
Reluctantly, Jack's dad left the kitchen, and disappeared into the garage for a moment.
"Your father is far better at helping me manage my symptoms; you should learn to have a little compassion for your own mother."
"I wonder whose fault it is that I never learned to have any," he muttered, just loudly enough for her to get every other word.
"Would you like to speak up, son?" Her smile was sugary sweet, and Jack knew he was treading dangerous waters.
His father returned, bringing the bottle to the table with his mother's mug of coffee. He placed a cup in front of Jack as well, his own forgotten on the counter.
Jack watched his mother pour the equivalent of three or four shots into her coffee, all with a smile on her face. He gently pushed the bottle away from her. "That's enough, mom. Dad said you just took your meds. You shouldn't mix them." Jack wanted to feel pain, he wanted to be hurt, but, in the end, he couldn't do it. He couldn't watch her continue to destroy herself; the guilt he harbored from helping her as a child would never stop eating him alive.
Carla re-lifted the bottle of Irish cream and poured some into Jack's mug. "Relax, Jacky boy. We're all family here."
Jack pushed the mug away from him. "You know I don't drink."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, silly me. I forgot how high and mighty you are with certain things, but what we shouldn't forget is who caused me this pain, right sweetheart?" She looked at Jack's father and winked. He stilled in his seat, trying to send Jack a look that conveyed how sorry he was, for all of it.
"I believe I heard your father mention Mia, was that right? How are things going? You really should bring her here for dinner. I've been asking you for months."
Jack's skin began to prickle, and he swallowed hard before answering. "Mia and I aren't together anymore."
His mother put on a fake frown, one that caused the hair on the back of Jack's neck to stand on end. "Oh, what a shame, isn't it? Well, go on. What did you do? Why did she leave you? Was it because you started smoking again? I could smell it off you as soon as I opened the bedroom door. I knew you wouldn't be able to kick the habit for long. You've never been able to stick to anything consistently."
He cleared his throat, something vicious awakening in him. "That's not true. I pilfered pills for you for years. I was great at that."
"Jack, maybe you shouldâ" his father stood, but his mother held up a hand.
"Sit down, Jerry."
And he did; Jack watched his father reduce down to nothing more than a scolded puppy.
"You were good at that, weren't you? You had the stickiest little fingers of any kid I've ever seen. Is that what it was? Were you up to some trouble and Mia had enough? To be fair, in the few times I've met her, she always did seem a bit stuck up, a little dull in the head, too. You know what? You're better off without her. You need a girl who will accept you for the little devil that you are."
"Mia isn't stuck up. She's also fucking brilliant."
"Language, young man. She can't be too smart to have stuck around with someone like you for a few years."
Just like that, all of the restraint Jack had ever held when it came to his mother was gone. He no longer wanted to be the one taking the brunt of her anger; he wanted to hurt her, make her see all of the damage she did to him.
"She's a far better woman than you've ever been or ever will be. When she has kids one day, you can bet your God-damn ass she'll love and cherish them. She'll be the most selfless mother anyone could ask for, and when she is, you'll be looking up at her from your residence in hell and you'll weep over the fact that you could have never, ever been as good as her."
Carla rose her arm to backhand him, but he grabbed her wrist.
"You won't hit me again. You're a sad, sorry excuse for a mother. You want to continue to ruin your life? Do it. Take whatever you want. Drink whatever you want. Mix it all and blow yourself to hell. I don't care anymore. You destroyed my childhood. You destroyed my adolescence. You won't destroy the rest of my life, too."
Jack got up to leave but his dad stood, stopping him. "Jack, Jacky boy, you can't say those things. You don't mean them."
"I absolutely do. You've been enabling her for years. If she's going to blame me for this, you can bet I'm going to share that blame with you."
The legs of the chair his mother had been sitting in scraped against the floor. She stood, albeit a bit wobbly, and pointed a shaking finger at Jack's chest.
"You're an ungrateful bastard of a son. I don't ever want to see you in this house again."
"I wouldn't be caught dead in this house."
As Jack stormed out through the garage, his mother followed after him. She was screaming, everything unintelligible. When he made it to his car, he kept the windows up and blasted the music, drowning out everything she was attempting to spit at him.
It had rained while Jack was inside, and the asphalt gleamed deep and dark, the air holding a slight chill. Jack drove to the lake, eager to be by himself. Eager to be alone for good.
He sat on the edge of one of the docks until the sun went down. He sat there as his phone incessantly rang with calls from his father until he turned it off. He sat there as his stomach grumbled with hunger pangs. He sat there until he couldn't feel anything at all anymore.
***
The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft white glow on the trees surrounding him. Jack finally turned his phone back on to check the time: eleven-thirty-three. There were nine missed calls from his father. There were five texts from him, all with the same message: "please call back."
Fine, Jack thought. He'll call back in the middle of the night, and then he can say he fulfilled his father's wishes.
The line hardly rang before his dad picked up the phone. His voice was shaky and distant through the line, and it sent a chill through Jack.
"Jacky-boy, I need you to come back home."
Jack sighed. "I can't come back, dad. I can't do this anymore."
"Please. I need you. Your momâ"
"What do you want me to do? If she needs real help, call 911." Jack tried to sound like he didn't care, but no matter how much he willed himself to hate her, to hate both of them, he couldn't.
"She's not here. I need help looking for her. She took the car andâ"
"Jesus Christ, dad. You let her drive? How soon after I left?"
"An hour or so. I don't know. She was yelling and upset andâplease. I don't have anyone else. Come get me, and we can look for her."
Jack ticked back through the years in his mind; he thought about all of the times he rode his bike around to find where his mom had gone off to. Once, when he was fourteen, he found her in the abandoned Wal-Mart parking lot. She was passed out in the back, so he clipped his bike on the rack, climbed into the driver's seat, and drove them home. He remembered driving past Logan's mom once; she was still in uniform, finishing up a traffic stop. The next time he was at their house, she asked him if he needed help, and like the dutiful child he was, his answer was all too easy to give: no, ma'am.
"I'll find her. Just go to bed, dad."
"Thank you, thank you, Jacky boy. I love you."
Jack hung up the phone and dialed Logan. He picked up on the third ring.
"Are you sober?" Jack asked.
"Sleeping."
"I need your help. My mom drove off and dad doesn't know where she went. Dark parking lots, trail heads, parks, rest stops. Anywhere she wouldn't draw attention. You take east of the avenue and I'll take west. She's in a red Toyota sedan."
"No sweat. Want me to alert my mom? Have them help?"
"No." Jack realized he said it too quickly. "No. Just us."
"Got it. I'll call if I find anything."
Jack hung up and started his car. Why was it so hard to cut them off? Why couldn't he do to them what he did to Mia? He didn't even like them; he loved her.
As he drove up and down the business district, looping around empty lots and down dark abandoned side streets, Jack should have been thinking about his mom, but all he could think of was Mia. Jack hated who he was without her, but Jack also hated that he could never get over himself enough to be who she needed; Jack didn't think he could ever be who she needed.
***
An hour into his search, Jack's phone vibrated with a new text, Logan's name on the screen. He picked it up and felt relief wash over him. He was going to get to go to bed. He just needed to pick her up and bring her home.
All the message said was "11th and spruce."
It was nearly twenty minutes from where Jack was; he made it there in just over twelve. As he turned the corner, blue and red lights lit up the street, and his heart sank. His mother wasn't going to do well if she were arrested.
Jack pulled over, parked his car, and got out. He saw Logan in the distance talking to his mom. At least he had the sense to call her rather than 911. Jack swallowed, shifting through the lies he knew so well, trying to pick out the one that would be most convincing, but the closer he got, the more cars he saw.
When Logan saw him, he walked over, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I'm sorry, I had to call. She...the car...it..." Logan's face was pale, and Jack motioned for him to move.
"It's fine. I'll talk to your mom. I'll figure it out."
"Jack, wait." Logan grabbed his arm, but Jack was tired, and hungry, and sad, and angry, and he lashed back at him.
"Don't. Thank you for helping. You can go home now."
Logan let go, and Jack trudged on. He heard Logan's mom call out to him; he heard the blare of sirens in the distance, but none of them made him stop moving. As he rounded the police cars that were between him and his mother, he took in the red sedan, front end crushed all the way to the windshield, glass blown out all over the street, telephone pole leaning ever so slightly over it, his mother's impossibly frail body limp over the steering wheel.
"Mom? Mom!" Jack rushed at the car, only to be grabbed around the waist and pulled to the ground.
"It isn't safe. I need you to stay here. I know it's hard." Logan's mother had a vice grip around Jack's middle.
He struggled to breathe. He fought against her. He called out to his own mother over and over. He had to get her away from the car. The pole was too close to her. He needed to get her home, to get her back to dad.
Soon, Logan was crouching in front of him. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry. I had to call. See? I had to call."
Jack felt the tears slipping down his face, falling like fat raindrops onto his shirt and hands and the ground and everywhere. He kept trying to look around Logan, but Logan refused to move.
"Let me go. Let me go." He was screaming, every part of him burning as if it were on fire. "I have to help her. I have to get her out!"
When an ambulance made it to the scene, Jack struggled harder than ever against Logan and his mother, both of them now holding him there on the ground.
"Don't let them near her. Let me help!" His breaths were frantic, his eyes wild. He craned his neck trying to see around to where they were trying to get to his mom. "DON'T TOUCH HER."
Logan had tears in his own eyes as he grabbed Jack's face. "They have to get her out of the car. They have to take her to the hospital."
Spit flew from Jack's mouth as he screamed, throat raw with pain. "I'll do it! She doesn't trust anyone else. They don't know what she needs. They won't give her what she needs. I need to help her. She needs me. I can get her what she needs. She told me exactly what to look for. I can help her." Jack was seven years old again. He was going to help his mom feel better. He was going to help her feel less pain. He was going to bring her what she needed! She would thank him for this. She would be less mad at home for this. She would love him for this!
"Oh, sweetheart," Logan's mom finally loosened her grip around Jack's middle. Logan stood at the ready to stop him, but Jack slumped down onto the cold asphalt, rocking back and forth, voice coming out as a whisper.
"I can help. It's my fault. I can help. I'll get them, mom. I'll get them for you. You don't need anyone else. Don't worry. I can help you. I can help you."
a/n: this scene has been in my head for two years and when I tell you it was one of the hardest things I've ever written, I mean it.
you're getting a double update because my anxiety is so bad that it's nearly making me sick and this is a great distraction; writing has been my savior in that regard. Do you have a preferred bad mental health day outlet? Writing sometimes feels like the only thing I'm truly good at, and it makes me proud to read the words back, and pride is not something that is easy for me to feel (hellllooooo self-esteem issues). Well, this got deep for 9:30 pm on a Friday (the 13th...eek! This is chapter 13! It's meant to be.)
okay, I'm done rambling. Thank you for indulging me. We only have three chapters left. I hope you love them as much as I do.
If you liked this, please tap the star to vote and comment because I absolutely love interacting with you.
All my love,
L