“Bud wants to move in, and he has a son,” she repeats, rolling her eyes as if I was too slow to understand her the first time she said it. “So you have to move out.”
My chest caves and burns at the same time, like my heart just cracked in two. "Move out?" I choke on the words. “I pay the bills!The electricity, the water, the Wi-Fi, the fucking rent!Ikeep this shithole running while you pump what little money we have straight into your bloodstream! How the hell are you going to be able to afford tolivewithout me.”
She flinches, then sneers, clutching the blanket tighter as if it could shield her from the truth. “Bud works, and he said he could cover it.”
“Oh that’s great,” I laugh humorlessly. “Yourdrug dealingboyfriend can pay the rent! Fucking fantastic decision making skills, Patricia! What about me?”
Mom rolls her eyes, and sighs pinching her nose between her thumb and ring finger. “What about you, Jasmine?”
Tears sting the back of my eyes, and my throat tightens painfully. “I am your fucking daughter!”
Bud chuckles, low and raspy. "Feisty little thing, ain't she?"
My glare shoots to him like a blade. “Shut the fuck up before you catch something worse than a felony.”
His smirk only widens, but before I can say another word, Patricia slams her palm against the side table, rattling the empty pill bottles.
“Don’t you talk to him like that!” she shouts, nostrils flaring. “You are eighteen, and I don’t want you here anymore.”
“Mom-” I croak but she cuts me off.
““I’m not gonna let you take another man from me, Jasmine. Iwon't."
I freeze. For a second, I swear the whole room goes quiet except for the sickening thud of my heart in my chest. “What?”
Her eyes glisten, wild and desperate. "You always do this! Always!” she screams, pushing up to her feet, the blanket falling away, revealing bruises blooming over her legs like rotten fruit. “Every time I find someone good, you ruin it. You poison it!"
“Good?He’s a fucking dealer, Mom! He’s an abusive shit!” I shout back, my chest heaving, my vision swimming in red.
“You’re just jealous!” she screeches, her voice cracking under the weight of her rage and whatever high she’s barely clinging to. “You are such a selfish child. I am happy Jasmine. Do you not want your mother to be happy? I mean fuck! You have taken everything from me, at least give me this!”
That does it.
I lunge for the garbage bags, yanking them open, pulling my clothes out and throwing them across the room, my heart in my throat, my fury boiling over.
“You think this isbetter?!” I scream, tossing my ruined journal at her feet. “You thinkthisis a life? Waking up on some loser’s lap, your veins full of poison, your brain turned to mush?! You’re fucking pathetic!”
Her face twists into an ugly snarl. Before I can brace myself, she lunges at me, nails catching my cheek, scraping deep. The sting blooms hot across my skin.
Reflex takes over—I shove her back, harder than I meant to, and she stumbles, crashing into the armchair. Bud scrambles to catch her, spilling the ashtray from the folded table next to the bed.
“Get the hell out!” she screeches, her voice ragged and raw. “Get out of my house!”
I stand there, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms.
“Gladly,” I rasp, my throat tight as hell, but my pride harder. I grab the nearest bag of my things, slinging it over my shoulder. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let them see me cry.
She slumps into Bud’s lap like it’s some twisted throne, glaring at me like I’m the villain in this story. Maybe I am. Nothing in my life feels like a happily ever after. I feel like I am only fit to destroy, might as well lean into it.
“Hope he keeps you warm at night,” I snap, my voice like ice. “Because he’ll never pay the fucking bills.”
And with that, I turn, stomping through the hallway and out the front door, slamming the door behind me so hard the frame shudders.
I haul the garbage bag higher on my shoulder, its plastic digging into my skin, my cheek still burning from where her nails carved a warning into me. My chest is tight, throat raw from holding back the scream crawling up my windpipe. I swallow it down, bitter and jagged as glass.
My legs move on autopilot, carrying me out of Mason Park without even thinking. Past the pit bull barking its head off. Past the porch with the haunted silverware wind chimes clattering in the muggy breeze. I don’t know where I’m going until my feet know for me.
Hot tears spill over my lashes, blurring my vision as I walk. My mind rushing with the spiral hate talk of how far I have fallen in life.
