Loser II || WlW

Six

     "Jordan, we need to talk."

I jump. My mom should still be asleep but instead, she's brewing a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I would have walked right past her if she didn't say anything.

"I'm running late. I'll talk to you later." I slip my jacket on and grab the door handle when my mom slams her cup against the counter.

"No, Jordan. Sit down." She gestures to the table.

We stare at each other a moment. Since when does she tell me what to do? I pay the rent for this place and she popped back into my life less than a year ago. If anything, she's just a roommate.

She sighs and rubs her wrinkled forehead. When she opens her tired brown eyes again, she says, "I am your mother, Jordan."

I roll my eyes. "My mother? You weren't even—"

"Even what?" She shouts. "How long are you going to blame me for something I had no control over?"

Silence.

I don't blame her. I blame Zachary... Sort of. Zachary was always my mom's favorite. They even look like each other. I guess I have a hard time separating them.

I let out a huff and take a seat at the dining table. "What do you want to talk about?"

Her eyes light up as she moves around the counter and sits across from me.

I slide back, instinctively. I know she wasn't the one who tried to kill me but I believed that she did for ten years. She wears her hair back most days but I still remember the tangled mess that was strung down around her face. The bags under her eyes have faded and the bruises on her pasty arms have been replaced with a moderate tan.

"Let's pray first," she says, holding her hands toward me.

My eyes move from her hands to her face. "What?"

She sighs. "I wish you'd be open to receiving the Lord's grace."

"Oh," I stand, "oh my god. That's what this is about?"

She shakes her head. "Jordan. You're living a life filled with sin," she grabs my wrist with both hands, "I spoke with a pastor on Sunday. He said he would come speak with you about your lifestyle. We can move past this together."

I snap my hand from her, blinded by rage. I've never dealt with a homophobic family member before. My dad loved me for who I was. Even Zachary was more accepting than her.

"Your father would have wanted you to get help," she continues.

I take a step back, my eyes narrowed at her. "Never speak about my dad again," I snap. "You didn't know him. He would have dropped you in a heartbeat if he heard you talk to me like that." I continue toward the door, grabbing my backpack on the way. "Just because religion is the only thing that keeps you from drinking doesn't mean you need to shove it down everyone's throats." I slam the door behind me.

I'm stuck in a spiral of negativity as I make my way through the parking garage and drive to Brittany's Hotel. I'm half an hour early when I knock on her door.

She's on the phone when she answers and motions for me to come inside. Moving the phone away from her lips, she says, "make yourself at home," and walks to the bedroom.

I grab a water bottle from the mini fridge and sit on the loveseat.

"That's why I left, dumbass," Brittany snaps. "You're insane if you think that changes anything. Now, leave me alone." A heavy silence hangs in the air as she makes her way back to the living room. "Sorry about that," she rolls her eyes.