The room was exactly what I’d expected.
Dingy and small.
It was always what they could afford after all their ‘purchases’.
The wallpaper had faded in several places, and one corner was peeling off from the wall.
There was a single bed pushed against the wall, covered with a thin brown blanket that had seen better days.
An old television sat in the corner—I wasn’t even sure it worked—a tiny table beside the bed with two plastic cups, an empty bottle of water, and something that looked like an ashtray.
The smell made my stomach turn.
My mother closed the door.
“So, did you bring it?” I looked at her.
“Wow, Mom.
Not even a ‘hi.
How have you been?'” She frowned and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’ve been fine.
You obviously look fine.” Her eyes traveled over me.
“Look at your clothes.
They look expensive.” I glanced down.
Riley’s shirt.
I suddenly wished I wasn’t wearing it.
“Besides, you were the one who ran away,” she crossed her arms over her chest.
“You should be the one concerned about me.” The words struck something raw inside me.
“I didn’t run away.
I left because you were ruining my life.” Her expression hardened.
“Oh, don’t start now.” “Why shouldn’t I?
Look at me, Mom,” I held my hands out.
“I’m twenty-nine for goodness sake,” I heard my voice crack.
“twenty-nine, yet there is nothing to show for the life I’ve lived.” She scoffed.
“Don’t be dramatic.” “Now I’m being dramatic?” She was unbelievable.
“How could you have searched for me for four years, and the first thing you do when you find me is ask for money?” “I need it.” “When have you ever not needed money?
My money?” I straightened.
“Do you even care about me?” The meanness in her eyes hardened.
“What about you?
Do you care about me?” I stared at her.
“I see you are all grown now, standing there, acting all high and mighty in your fancy outfit when I practically raised you?” “You were supposed to!” I yelled in her face.
She blinked, shocked.
“You were supposed to raise me, supposed to be my mother!” my voice shook again.
“I was your mother!” “No, you were not,” The word came out harder than I’d intended.
My chest was hurting.
I could not breathe properly.
“You were just the adult I had so I wasn’t taken into foster care.” She looked away.
“And you didn’t raise me.
I did.” She laughed bitterly.
“You?” “Yes.
Me.” I pointed at myself.
“I took care of both of us.
I juggled part-time jobs with school.
I made sure there was food, and that the electricity stayed on.
I was the one who even paid the rent.” She folded her arms over her chest and looked away.
“And what did you do as soon as I graduated and got a job?
You stole from me.” “Megan—” “That was a gift from my professors as part payment for my student loan and you stole it.” “I… I told you I needed it.” “Of course, you did.
You and Gary needed a fix.” Her jaw tightened.
“Don’t bring Gary into this.
You don’t know him like I do.
He is a good man.” And I was the queen of Babylon.
I sighed.
I was tired.
God, I was so tired.
Tired of her, tired of this argument, tired of everything.
The squeezing pain in my chest had moved to my head.
“When are you going to quit this life, Mom?” My voice dropped.
“Ain’t you tired of it all?
You can’t blame anyone for this anymore.” She rolled her eyes.
“You think it’s that easy?” “No.
I know it is not, but I also know you are not trying.
You are okay with your life.
I wasn’t.
And that’s why I left.” The words came quietly.
She looked at me.
I looked at her, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
I’d spent years trying to understand how someone who was supposed to love you could hurt you repeatedly without remorse.
I made up excuses for her, countless excuses, so many baseless excuses, tying another bond, whatever bond I could find to her, but eventually, they weren’t enough.
So I gave up trying.
Trying to understand her, trying to help her, because I realized that none of it was going to save me.
I had to choose.
And I chose myself.
So I left.
That still wasn’t enough.
“You left because you thought you were suddenly better than me with your fancy new degree,” she murmured.
“No, Mom.
I left you after you asked my friends for money.” My eyes were beginning to sting.
“Have you no shame?” She waved a hand dismissively.
“Listen, Miss Goody Two-Shoes, I don’t care for this lecture.” She sat back down.
“It is my life and I’ll live it the way I want.
You are my daughter and at some point, it is legal for you to take care of me.” She crossed her arms again.
“So, did you bring the money or not?” Of course, that was the only thing she had really cared about.
When she was itching, nothing else made sense except her fix, or the money to get it.
There was no helping her.
So why did I still care?
I hated myself for it.
I stared at her.
Legal to take care of her?
I must have been legal since high school.
Opening my bag, I pulled out my phone, then held it out to her.
“Give me your bank details.” Her entire face changed.
She was all too happy to rattled in the numbers.
As soon as I sent the money, her scowl turned into a smile.
“Thank you, Meggy…” “Don’t!” I snapped.
My skin crawled.
“Please, do not ever call me that.” Nobody called me Meggy.
Nobody I wanted in my life, anyway.
It was her childhood nickname for me.
Hers and Gary’s.
I never want to hear that name again.