Ruin Me

  Nodding, I close the door.

  We make the short drive to her house eating our ice cream and listening to Coldplay, and don't really speak much until we're pulling up to the two-story apartment complex she lives in.

  Like every other night when I drop her off, her muscles wind into knots when she reaches for the door to get out.

  "Thanks for tonight." Even though the cab is dark, I can feel her blushing. "I had fun."

  "Anytime." I force a light tone, despite the worry jostling around inside me.

  "Call me if you need anything." She pushes open the door, then swings her feet to the curb and slides out. She starts to shut the door, but pauses. "You know what? Call me tomorrow and let me know what happens. I want to know you're okay." She closes the door and hurries up the sidewalk toward the entrance doors of the complex.

  Elation swells inside my chest, but it quickly deflates as I start the drive to my house, wondering what to do about my mother. What if she's already dead? Do I really care? Guilt forms a big, old, air-restricting lump in my throat. Whether I love or hate my mother, I still need to find out what happened to her.

  As soon as I make it home, I call the police department. I use the house phone so I can play the officer the message. He tells me they'll check up on it, but only out of obligation.

  "Jax, you know she does this stuff all the time," Officer Del Monterlis sounds really annoyed, as if my phone call has ruined his entire night.

  "I know, but I need you to at least swing by her place and check up on her. She said she was in trouble with Marcus. And it sounded like she said he was going to kill her before she got cut off."

  "We don't know that for sure."

  I sink down onto the mattress. "What else would the k stand for?"

  He sighs into the receiver. "Fine, I'll stop by and see if I can find any signs of foul play, but I'll put money on it that the message you got was simply over the fact that she was under the influence. She's been arrested for drug possession and driving under the influence three times over the past two months. In fact, she might have left you the message so she could stage her disappearance and avoid her trial."

  Sadly, he could be right.

  "As for this Marcus guy," he continues, "he has a rep for dealing, but that's about it, so I'm guessing, if he did threaten her, it was an empty threat. You know how those things go when someone's living that type of lifestyle."

  "Yeah, I know." I thank him for his help, and then we hang up with the promise of him calling me back. I decide not to tell Avery until I hear back from him. There's no point in getting her all riled up if this turns out to be nothing.

  By the time I lie down to go to bed, it's after two o'clock in the morning. I fall asleep quickly but sleep like shit for most of the night, tossing and turning and constantly waking up.

  When my phone rings at sunrise, I'm already up and dressed. I answer it, crossing my fingers it's Del and he'll have good news.

  "We didn't find her," Del immediately tells me after I say hello. "And, other than the door being busted in, the house is about as trashed as it was the last time I was over there."

  "Why was the door busted in?" I sit down on the edge of the bed and stare out the window. The sun is shining in the clear sky, and the trees are green with leaves. So bright and cheery, yet I feel so dark inside. "That has to be suspicious, right?"

  "Normally, yes, but when it comes to your mother, not really. Every time we get a call from her, the house is trashed in one way or another, usually from the people she lets into her home."

  "But what if that's not the reason this time? What if she really is in trouble?"

  "There's still not much we can do. She's an adult who has a habit of disappearing when she needs to."

  I massage my temples as pressure builds under my skull. "I know, but I just have this feeling that something's wrong."

  "Something's always wrong when it comes to her, Jax," he replies exhaustedly. "There's a huge file on my desk right now of the missing reports you and Avery have filed over the years."

  "I still think I should fill out a new one," I tell him. "Just in case."

  He sighs then drones on about the details of the procedure. Twenty-four hours after I first called, I can fill one out, but there's not a whole lot they can do because she's an adult. I can tell he doesn't believe anything happened to her and that he doesn't he care. I want to be angry with him, but really, his attitude is justifiable. My mother has pulled a lot of shit over the years, gotten into a lot of trouble, pissed off a lot of people. Drugs have hardened her, and she's not a good person. Not even a little bit.

  I hang up, feeling more unsettled and frustrated than I did last night. I drag my fingers down my face. "Fuck. What am I going to do?"

  Even though I don't want to, I call my Aunt Julie, my mother's older sister and the one relative I have contact information for. She won't be thrilled to hear from me--she never is.

  When she doesn't answer, I leave an awkward message, telling her who I am and asking her to call me back. Then I leave my room to get some breakfast and wake up Avery so I can explain what's going on.

  Usually, Avery and Mason sleep in late on Saturday mornings, so I'm surprised when I enter the kitchen and find her in front of the stove, cooking breakfast. Pans are sizzling on the burners, and the counters are covered with eggshells, sticky yolk, and melted butter. My jaw drops at the sight because the air isn't smoky, the fire alarms aren't going off, and all hell isn't breaking lose.

  "Good morning," she says without looking at me.

  "Wow, that actually smells good." I breathe in the scent of bacon and eggs. "It's a miracle."

  At the sound of my sullen voice, she whips around and almost drops the fork in her hand. "What's wrong?"

  "Who says anything's wrong?" I feign ignorance.

  "Don't play dumb with me." She aims the fork at me, a glob of grease dripping off it and onto the floor. "You're using your depressed voice."

  "Yeah, I know." I take a seat on a stool and decide to just rip off the band-aid. "It's Mom."

  Avery grinds her teeth, "What'd she do now?"

  Not knowing any better way to explain it, I turn on the speakerphone and play the voicemail message.

  "I called the police to go check on her," I explain after the message ends. "They said the door was busted in, but other than that, there's no sign of foul play. They said we could file a missing person's report in twenty-four hours, but I can tell they're not going to do anything."

  "Do you really blame them? She's brought this on herself." She fumbles to turn off the burners, so flustered she practically rips off the nobs, and I start to regret telling her. "Who's Marcus?"

  I shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

  "Probably her pimp," Avery mutters. "Or her drug dealer."

  "I called Aunt Julie." I get up and start cleaning the counters with a dishrag to distract myself.

  "Really?" Avery raises her brows. "Why? She hates Mom. And she's never really been a fan of us since we're our mother's offspring and share the same DNA."

  I lift my shoulder and give a half shrug. "It's the only thing I could think of to do."

  "What'd she say?" She removes a pan from the burner and the grease stops sizzling.

  I grab the trash bin from under the sink and wipe the eggshells into it. "She didn't answer, so I left a voice message."

  Avery opens her mouth to say something, but seals her lips shut when my phone rings.

  Grabbing it off the counter, I check the screen. "It's Aunt Julie," I say then press talk. "Hello."

  "Hey, Jax. You called?" Julie asks, sounding about as annoyed as Avery did when I told her the news of our mother.

  There's an uncomfortable pause as I rack my brain for what to say to her.

  "You don't have to explain," my Aunt Julie says before I can speak. "I already know about your mother."

  "How?"

  "Because she called me a couple of mornings ago and told me she was going
to call you after I refused to help her get out of the mess she's in."

  My head slumps forward. "Who is it this time?"

  "I'm not sure... She didn't say." She blows out a loud breath. "But Jax, I'm not going to lie to you. It sounded bad."

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. "How bad exactly?"

  "Bad enough that I wouldn't be surprised if her body turned up in a ditch somewhere," she says bluntly.

  That's the one thing I remember about my aunt. Back when I was younger, and she still tolerated my mother's lifestyle enough to visit us, she would always say things how they were. "Your house looks like shit. You look strung out. You need to take care of your kids better."

  "Maybe I should come home..." I trail off as Avery shoots me a dirty look. "Just for a week to see if I can figure out what's going on." I hope by saying this, she'll offer to do it herself.

  "Well, I wouldn't if I were you. I'm sure as hell not going to waste my time looking for her," she replies bitterly. "She's not worth the hassle."

  "Yeah, I guess not." I frown. Guess I'm back to square one.

  The rest of the conversation centers on lighter subjects--how I'm doing, how Avery and Mason are doing. She ends the phone call quickly, telling me to stay in touch, but I can tell she doesn't really mean it.

  "You're not going home by yourself," Avery tells me sternly as I shove my phone into my pocket.

  "You could always come with me," I suggest as I grab the broom from the pantry.

  "I can't do that." She sets the fork she's holding down on the counter. "I'm not ready to see her or that house again."

  "Neither am I," I mutter as I sweep up the eggshells on the floor. "But I think I have to."

  "Why?" she gripes. "You don't owe her anything, and I don't know why you feel like you do."

  "I don't feel like I do... it's just..." I don't know how to explain how I feel.

  When I left my mother two years ago, it was for good reasons. But in the back of my mind, I knew she wouldn't be able to take care of herself. It's not like she could while I was living there, but I'd been old enough when I bailed out that I could stop her boyfriends and pimps from beating her. Help keep track of the bills. Help her keep her head above the water. Part of me knew, when I'd walked away, there was a possibility that she would wind up dead in a ditch somewhere.

  "Look." I prop the broom against the wall, round the kitchen island, and place my hands on Avery's shoulders. "I know it might seem crazy, but I just need to go back and check on things. See for myself."

  Avery shakes her head, aggravated. "What about school and work?"

  "My last class was Thursday and I'm sure I can take off work for a week. I haven't used any of my sick days or vacation time yet."

  Her gaze flicks to the fork, like she's contemplating jabbing me in the eye with it so I can't make the thousand some odd miles drive back home. "Only a week? Then you'll come back home?"

  I nod. "One week is all I need to spend searching for her."

  She sticks out her pinkie. "Swear on it. Swear you'll come home after a week even if you can't find her." I reach out to hook my pinkie with hers, but she pulls back. "And you won't go alone."

  "I don't want to make you come with me."

  "I'm not going to. I already told you I'm not ready to go back there." She glances at the hallway. "Take Tristan with you. He's from there."

  "As much as I like Tristan, I don't know him well enough to do that." I restlessly thrum my fingers on the sides of my legs.

  Who could I take with me? Who knows about my mother enough that it wouldn't be awkward? A thought strikes me straight in the skull. One I like, but have no clue how to make happen.

  "I have an idea," I say then hitch my pinkie with Avery's.

  Her brows furrow. "Who?"

  "Clara." I smile for the first time since I got the call. Going home is going to suck balls, but if Clara goes with me, it might not be so bad.

  "The nurse?" Avery asks, confused.

  "Technically she's a CNA, but she's going to school to become a nurse."

  With our pinkies still locked, she considers my solution. "You think she'd go with you? Are you guys that close?"

  I waver at her question. Although I've told Clara a lot of stuff about me, there's still things I don't know about her. "Sort of. I mean, she knows about Mom and everything."

  I have zero confidence that Clara will easily agree to make a road trip across the country with me, but perhaps with a bit of persuading, I can convince her. I just need to make her an offer she can't refuse.

  Besides, even though I'm still not positive my mother is actually dead, it'll be nice to have someone I care about with me in case that's where this journey ends. Even if that person won't admit she cares about me, too.

  Chapter Three

  Clara

  I'm having that dream again, the one about the car accident.

  My father is lying in the street, surrounded by bent pieces of metal and shards of glass. My mother is still stuck in the car, and the passenger side door so crunched in, I can't get it open. The vehicle that side swiped us is several feet away, smashed into a streetlight post. People are gathering around, crying, calling nine-one-one, while I stand in the middle of the madness, unscathed except for a cut on my head and a stabbing pain in my arm.

  "Daddy," I whisper as I inch toward him. The glass crunches under my shoes and the air smells like burnt rubber. "Dad..." I trail off at the sight of him.

  His eyes are open and his breathing is wheezy. There's so much blood on the ground and around him. At first, I just stand there, staring helplessly at the scene. But then my father whispers my name and I snap out of my trance.

  Kneeling beside him, I slip off my jacket to use to put pressure on the hole in his stomach, which seems to be the main cause of the bleeding. I take his hand and try not to cry. Try to be strong.

  "Everything's going to be okay," I lie. Deep down, I know the truth--this is bad and more than likely will end in tragedy.

  "Where's... your... mother...?" My father gasps, and his eyes are unfocused as if he's drifting off to a place only he can see.

  Hot tears bubble from my eyes and spill down my cheeks. "She's fine," I lie, knowing it might be the last thing I ever say to him.

  "Good." He almost smiles. "Take care of her, okay?" His head slumps to the side and silence surrounds us.

  "Dad," I sob as tears pour from my eyes. "Daddy, please don't leave me."

  Silence.

  "Dad... please."

  My blood roars in my eardrums.

  A rooster crows from somewhere.

  Roosters crowing...?

  Huh?

  My eyelids spring open and a feather lands on my forehead.

  "What the hell?" I bolt upright in bed and pluck the purple and teal feather from my head. I spin the feather around between my fingertips. "Where on earth did this thing come from?"

  As if responding to my question, a rooster crows from somewhere nearby... from somewhere inside the apartment. Throwing the covers back, I plant my feet on the carpet and pad over to my partially opened bedroom door.

  My skin is damp from the dream I was having. Well, not really a dream. More of a memory of that day three years ago when I lost my father. It's been so long since I dreamt about that day that I forgot how exhausting remembering could be.

  Sighing, I step out into the hallway to find out why I heard crowing. I instantly stumble back as a rooster flaps its wings, and feathers spew through the air.

  "Mom!" I cry then flinch as the rooster pecks at dust particles and its talons claw at the carpet. "Could you come here for a minute?"

  The rooster crows again then barrels toward me, looking as evil as the devil himself. I skitter around the bird and it ends up diving into my room. I slam the door, locking the crazy bird inside, then scramble down the hallway to the living room.

  My mom is camped in the recliner in front of the television, laughing at what appears to be a soap opera. Even though I
cleaned yesterday morning, the place is a mess--wrappers on the floor along with empty soda cans, clothes piled on the couch. There's also a trail of feathers leading from the front door to the hallway.

  "Mom, why's there a rooster in the house?" I should sound more shocked, but sadly, these sorts of things happen all the time in the McKiney home.

  She shovels a handful of popcorn from a bowl on her lap. "It looked sad, so I thought I'd bring it home."

  I sigh, less surprised than I was to begin with.

  Not only did the car accident claim my father's life, it left my mother with several injuries along with a few bolts loose in her head. It's not like she's insane; she just gets confused easily and does strange things like haul evil roosters home because they look sad.