Losing Control Isn't Always Fun 19

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After the ambulance took Max's body away, I drove to the Billy's bar, tears flooding my face. I couldn't handle anything, and I probably shouldn't have driven, but it was nearly dark, so I knew my mom would be there. I parked my car in the closest spot to the bar, and went inside.

I looked around at the familiar scenery, to see my mother in a cocktail dress, flirting with a guy that who could have been my older brother. I walked right up to her and spun her around to face me.

"Mom, I need to talk to you," I said, my eyes aching from the crying.

"Everything okay?" Billy asked, wiping the counters.

"Riannan, what the hell are you doing here?" my mom demanded.

"Come with me," I ordered, gripping her arm and dragging her to my truck.

"Riannan Wellington! What has gotten into you?" she questioned.

"Mom, shut up. You abandoned me, and you abandoned Max. You spend your days getting drunk and sleeping with twenty year old guys. You lost your right to ask me questions or pretend like your in charge when you started coming here," I said.

She looked taken back, and sat quietly for awhile.

"Can I get back in there? That guy was from Austria," she said. "He was telling me all about the kangaroos."

"Mom, that's Australia," I said, shaking my head. "You're drunk?"

"Of course," she said.

I twisted the key and started driving, the tears still coming out.

"You're crying," she said. "Don't cry. Life is a joy ride."

"You need coffee," I said, spotting a Starbucks.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, and ordered for my mother. I wouldn't be able to do this unless she was sober.

I drove us back to the apartment and dragged her inside, putting her on the couch.

I walked to my room to quickly change into a comfortabe outfit of sweats and an oversized t-shirt, trying to stop the pain that was breaking through my chest. I took a look at myself in the mirror to see my eyes completely red and bloodshot. The rest of my face was flushed and my hair was a tangled mess. I tried to comb it out using my fingertips but gave up quickly and walked back out.

"You sober yet?" I asked, grabbing a tissue and wiping my eyes.

She was rubbing her forehead.

"Almost," she said. "Got anything for a headache?"

I nodded, and numbly walked to the kitchen to grab her a pill and glass of water. When I handed them to her, I think that that was the moment that I actually saw her. Not as a drunk, abandoning, pathetic-excuse-for-a-mother, but as a miserable woman, trying her hardest to deal with the bad life that she was given. Her skin was forming wrinkles, and if she lost all the gunky makeup, she would be beautiful. I remembered when she was the most beautiful person I knew, but that was a long time ago. There was ancient pain sketched across her face, though she tried to conceal it. It was probably from my father and hers. When she was around when I was younger, she would sit me up and tell me stories about her own childhood.


"My father used to hurt me," she told me.

I was four and sitting in Max's room that was mine at the time.

"And he would yell at my mother," she said. "I promise you, ReeRee. I will never hurt you."

"How could he do that, Mommy?" I asked in a small voice.

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