Page 30 of Royal Desire

She can’t open her eyes, but she waves me off and murmurs, “I just need to clear my head.”

I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and go through the motions I go through at least once a week. Sometimes more. “Does that mean you’ve hit rock bottom and want help?”

She pries her eyes open, and snaps at me, even if it is weak and pathetic. “I am asking you for help. You know what I need.”

“The only thing you need is an in-patient treatment center and a prayer. I can give you both.”

She manages to push up on one arm. “Please, Payne. Don’t do this to me. You know I can’t ... can’t deal with reality. Just, please. Help me.”

I give in.

I always give in, because what else am I supposed to do?

“At least get yourself off the floor,” I mutter. “And if I do this, promise me you’ll take a shower and eat.”

When I return with my medic bag, she’s on the sofa and looks unconscious. I’m not quiet nor do I tiptoe around her. I drop my bag on the floor and scrape the chair across the hardwood when I pull it over. “Wake up. If you want me to do this, I need your cooperation.”

She stirs and shifts to her back. Even though she is my mother, I snap on a pair of gloves and start to find a vein. It takes longer than it should after I apply the tourniquet. I rip open an alcohol wipe, and she jerks when the cold hits her skin. Once I get the IV started, I attach the fluids.

Then I have nothing to do but sit here and let the saline do its thing as I hold the bag.

She lets out a little moan. “This is good. This always makes me feel better.”

“Do you know what would make you feel better? Rehab.”

“Stop it. You know I can’t.”

“Mom, you never leave the fucking house⁠—"

Her eyes part enough to give me a glare. “Watch your mouth.”

“You must be sobering up if you give a shit what I say.”

She ignores me and tries to brush her hair away from her face nonchalantly, but the tremble of her fingers give her away. She’s coming off the alcohol just enough to get the shakes.

“What I was saying is you don’t leave the house. You don’t see anyone. No one would know if you’re here or in some posh rehab in the next state. You’re killing yourself and not slowly anymore. Having a front row seat to your demise isn’t my kind of party. I’m here because my conscience won’t be able to take it if you left this house and killed someone or died here alone. You need help.”

She licks her lips and swallows hard. Her dark-circled eyes shift to me as she uses all her energy to open them again. “I’ve ruined your life, haven’t I?”

I shake my head. “It was ruined when I came home for damage control. You could make my life a lot easier if you agreed to rehab. At least give yourself a fighting chance.”

Her eyes close, and her breaths become longer and more rhythmic. “I had a good life, Payne. He ruined everything.”

I think about the kind of life she had, and it was not a good one—not by anyone’s standards. But putting up with my father meant she had the means to hire out the responsibilities she had no interest in.

Responsibilities like me.

And now the tables are turned. She’s my responsibility.

Every single day when I wake up, the first thing I do is make sure she’s not dead so I can go about my day. She’s not the only one whose life didn’t turn out like they thought it would.

I keep that part to myself.

She looks like she’s falling asleep, so I sit here with the arduous task of holding her saline bag to make sure she’s not dehydrated on top of being malnourished.

Again, God proves He has a sense of humor. When I prayed for a distraction from Ruby, I should have been more specific. This is the last distraction I had in mind.

I feel like I’ve lost another painful year of my life waiting for this damn bag to perform the miracle I know it won’t. The whole time, I’m left alone in my mind to contemplate all the ways life is shit, and how I’ve turned into someone I hate.