Hold On

Emery

A loud crash startles me awake. I sit up in bed with a gasp. The room is dark, and for a second I think I'm still trapped in that nightmare. It isn’t until I hear another crash that I realize what woke me. I grab my phone and check the time.

2am.

She’s early. I throw the blanket off my legs and glance over at the bed on the other side of the room. He’s still asleep, thank god. I stand and try my best to keep my footsteps light as I head toward the bedroom door. The door creaks a little when I open it. I have to look at that later, but he doesn’t wake up. I close the door and don’t bother quieting my steps when I go down the stairs.

When I reach the bottom step, I see my mom stumbling in the living room. She falls onto the couch and bends over to try to take her shoes off. They are these ridiculous gold high heels with straps that wrap around her leg and tie. I watch her curse and make sad attempts to take them off. When she blows out a defeated breath and slumps over, I decide to go down the last step and walk into the room. She lifts her head and gives me a drunken smile.

“Em! There you are! Help me, will you?” She lifts a foot and holds it there.

Well, she tries to, until I walk closer and kneel down in front of her. I untie and remove both of her shoes and set them aside.

“Mom-“

“Don’t start.” She says, cutting me off. “I’m tired.”

She’s always tired. She’s been tired for six years. I don’t bother trying to talk to her about her nightly activities. Honestly, I'd rather not know. I’d found out everything I needed to know the one time I was curious enough to follow her. No one should have to see their mother like that.

“It’s about tomorrow. They’re doing the dedication for dad at the-“

She scoffs. “Dedication? Who the hell do they think they are? Do they think this will change what they did to him?” Her words drip with hatred just like they always do when this topic comes up.

“Mom, it wasn’t their fault.” I try to remind her.

“It’s their fault that your dad is dead!” She yells, and I shrink back a little.

My anger flares up. “Dad died because of that asshole! The one who has turned you into this! He-“

She stands and grabs my arm. Her nails dig so deep into my skin that I wonder if they’ll leave marks. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare accuse him! He has nothing to do with that day.”

I pull my arm out of her grip, not caring if she leaves marks behind. “Why? Why should I stay silent when all he has done is ruin our family?”

She shakes her head and drops back down onto the couch. “He’s protected us. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have this house. Without him, we’d have been thrown not he street.”

“I’m the reason we still have this house! I'm the one who works two jobs to pay for this house!” I throw back at her.

She shakes her head. No matter how many times we have this conversation she won’t see what’s right in front of her. It’s easier for her to drown her pain in alcohol and let that monster control her. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“You don’t have to come, but I’m taking Chase with me.”

Her eyes flick up to me at the mention of my brother’s name. For a second, I see something like concern in her eyes, but it disappears just as fast. She hasn’t shown any real interest in my brother since the day the nurse handed him to me six years ago.

“Do whatever you want Emery. Just leave me alone. I’m tired.” She lies down, tucking her feet onto the couch, and closes her eyes.

There is no point in talking to her now. She won’t listen. I decide to just go back to bed and try to get some more sleep. Hopefully, she’ll wake up long enough to go to her room before Chase wakes up. I don’t want him to see her like this.

When I go back to our room, Chase has rolled over, but he’s still asleep. I take a second to look at him. He looks just like our dad. Maybe that’s why it was so hard for Mom to look at him. After dad died, it was like she couldn’t see past her own grief. Not to even be a mother to Chase. I was sixteen and suddenly it was up to me to take care of a newborn baby. When I would come home from school, Chase would be crying while my mom sat on the couch looking off in the distance like she couldn’t even hear him.

Too many times, I found Chase alone in his crib, hungry or with a full diaper. I didn’t want us to end up in foster care because our mom had given up, so I left school and enrolled in an online school instead. Then I went searching for a job. Mom had gotten fired, and the bills were piling up. It was up to me to keep our family together, and I would do whatever it took.

So I would strap Chase to my chest and ride the bus looking for a job. I stopped one day in a diner close to the freeway, and the owner saw me struggling with Chase. He had a bad night and was more fussy than usual. The owner’s wife came over and helped calm him down. She had asked me if he was my baby, and I spilled everything. They were the first people to ever ask me how I was or if I needed help.

They hired me on the spot and even offered to let us live with them. I wanted to say yes. To have a home with adults who actually wanted to take care of us, but I didn’t want to leave mom. So I accepted the job but got back on the bus and went home. That was the same day she brought him to our house.

Damian Ramirez.

Everyone knew what he was, but no one ever spoke it out loud. He was the guy everyone was afraid to cross, and now he had turned his attention on my mom. Only months after my father was shot right in front of our house by masked men. Even at sixteen, I knew he had something to do with it, but there would be no way to prove it. He had his hands in everything, and until we moved here, no cop would even think about living here. My dad had hoped to help clean up the area, but ended up becoming a victim of its corruption.