Page 87 of That Pucking New Girl

I slip inside the open door and shut it silently. I’m a big guy to be tiptoeing around. As long as it gives me some peace, I’ll continue to do it.

I stand silently by the door as I lock it, listening for the telltale ice clinking in the darkness or the sound of liquid sloshing inside of a glass bottle. My mother has taken up drinking, something I haven’t told anyone. It started about six months ago, and it’s steadily getting worse.

My father casts a blind eye to it, but she’s just as violent as he is. It’s as if she gains superhuman strength when she’s drunk. I know it’s because of how he treats her. She’s always been my favorite parent.

Mom has fought hard for me to be able to have hockey, friends, and my school. Dad wanted to push for me to get a scholarship at a more prestigious academy, but we both begged for him to allow me to go to Chesterfield Prep.

Her drinking is a dirty little secret in the house. No one mentions it, especially not outside of these walls. Mom is perfectly capable of appearing sober in public. It’s when she’s in the privacy of her own home that the perfectly crafted act falls apart.

Making my way silently to my room, I continue to stop every few steps to make sure that my parents haven’t come out of their room. I’m living a double life between the tortured son and the perfect student.

I hate that I can’t seem to ever be good enough for my father, and my mom seems to hate my existence. She’s tired of fighting on my behalf.

I get it, Mom. Loud and clear. It doesn’t make it any easier to exist. My life was never perfect, but it was better than it is now.

While I’ve read Noor’s file, it completely glosses over her parents’ deaths. It might be morbid, but I want to know the details. What did she see exactly? How did she feel?

I swear, I think that’s what pisses me off about Noor. Some whores get all the luck.

One week later

I just said goodbye to Alastair after practice, and my legs fucking burn after skating my ass off today. We’re playing well, Coach is happy with the team, and I feel fucking awesome about how things are going.

I don’t have a car, and buses don’t run to my school since it’s technically a charter school. We all make it work, and my mom used to drive me up until this year.

I simply won’t get into a car with her anymore. I told Alastair my parents were being assholes and asked him for a permanent ride this year. I hate that I’m lying to my best friends, especially after giving Alastair shit about not telling me that he slept with Nope.

Unlocking the front door to get this over with, I wrinkle my nose at the sight of both cars in the driveway.

Here goes nothing.

Entering the house, I say ‘hello’ softly, just for the sake of saying it. Locking up behind me, I bring my gear to my bedroom. I showered after practice, which means I shouldn’t offend anyone’s sensibilities.

“Ci!” Mom yells, making me cringe. My hair is still wet, and I grab a hat to cover it. Maybe I should just dye the blue black to keep it from being an issue.

“Coming,” I call out, toeing off my shoes.

God, I’ll do almost anything not to get on my parents' nerves. Hurrying through the house, I see they’re in the living room, and there’s a letter in her hand. I’ve been applying to schools on scholarships just in case I need it to fall back on.

Is that what she has in her hand? Shit, it can’t be. I think it’s too early for rejection or acceptance letters. Fuck, I just don’t know.

“Hi, I just got in. How are you?” I ask carefully.

“Your brother is up for parole,” Dad grunts. “Good for nothing trash. I hope they make him rot there.”

“I didn’t… I mean, I had no idea that was a possibility,” I mumble.

A part of me is really excited for him to get out, but I can’t say that. Dad glances up at me, shaking his head.

“He’s been trying to get his shit together apparently. I think he’s trying to con his way out,” he says.

My mom’s fingers tremble as if she doesn’t know how to feel. It was really hard for her when he went away. She also doesn’t look as if she’s had a drink yet, so maybe she’s going through some kind of withdrawal. It’s hard to tell honestly. I remain silent, unsure why I’m here at all.

“Nothing to say?” Dad asks, glaring at me.

Fuck.

“I haven’t seen him in a long time,” I say softly. “I hope the parole board makes the best decision for him.”