Page 79 of Heavy
Here there are mobile homes, worn-down houses, and empty lots. Cars piled in each driveway, some don’t even look like they’d run with the amount of rust I can see on them.
“Mom?”
She's gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckle bones press hard against her skin, looking like they might break through.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
We are at a stop sign, and her leg is bouncing so hard that the car is shaking.
“Where are we going?”
It’s Saturday evening and I just got done cheering at my high school’s basketball game. I normally don’t change until I get home, and I really don’t want to be walking around anywhere in my uniform.
She sighs. “I’ll be quick.”
That really wasn’t an answer, but instead of arguing with her, I look forward as we begin moving again.
Soon, we pull into a driveway with just three other cars, enough space to fit without a squeeze. She’s out of the car almost before it’s even in park.
“Stay here, I won’t be long.”
Now I’m more worried. This neighborhood scares me. The moment her door is closed, I lock the car and unbuckle my seatbelt. Nervously, I bite on the inside of my cheek and pull on the stretchy fabric of my skirt.
Five minutes turn to twenty.
Twenty, soon to an hour.
I’ve been playingBejeweledon my phone when it flashes that I’ve got a low battery. When I lift my gaze, it’s pitch-black outside. My heart hammers straight against my chest and I look around. There are only a few streetlights in sight, and even fewer that still work.
Looking back at the house, there is a light on inside.
I really don’t know what to do and honestly contemplate calling the police to come get me. Except, I feel like I’d get in trouble. I’m not in any physical danger, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. This doesn’t feel like a place for me.
After placing my phone into the glove compartment, I unlock the car and walk up the uneven path to the front door. Weeds hug either side, and even more are overgrown onto the concrete patio. The metal screen is closed, but the door behind it is wide open.
The smell is all too familiar—it’s exactly like the den in our house, a mix of something chemical and skunky. When I first noticed it, I thought Mom was dissecting a skunk. We did one in my freshman year, though it was only a frog.
I was wrong, very wrong.
“Mom?” I murmur, my nerves running my blood cold. No answer, but I didn’t expect that with how loud the television is somewhere in the house.
Swallowing roughly, I adjust my cheer shorts, wishing that they were longer.
The screen door is unlocked, and I walk in. “Momma?” I say again, taking a few more nervous steps into the house. This hall goes straight through, because I can see a door right at the end of it. There are several archways on either side, and as I come to the first one, I’m grateful this is as far as I have to go.
There are several couches that look as though bought at a secondhand store and shoved in here just for the purpose to optimize sitting, because nothing matches. My mom is spread out on the couch, one of her legs hiked up over the back of it, the other dangling.
Six men, and another woman sit equally slack.
None of them have noticed me, and I’m not entirely sure what is safe. I feel like the car would be. I can at least lock myself in and hide. Maybe I’ll secure myself in the trunk, open the back seat to allow for me to not die of suffocation. Would I die of that back there?
“What do we have here?”
I scream instinctively without thinking, startled so badly by the voice behind me that I can’t control it.
A rough hand clasps over my mouth, and I begin kicking and wailing my arms. I’m strong, my dad had me taking karate before his passing. I was working up to a black belt, but whoever this is, is so much larger than me. He overpowers me immediately, wrapping an arm around my torso and squeezing mine to my sides.
“Who the fuck brought the kid?!” he bellows, and I search for my mom’s help.
