Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Rhys, make sure you got them all. My eyes aren’t good enough to see them all. She hides them, you know.”
“Yes, I hope I got them all. I think I got them, Grandpa.” My hands open revealing the razor blades. He pats my shoulder and wipes the perspiration from his forehead, then holds the garbage can for me to dump them in.
“Why does she do this, Grandpa?” I whisper. One slices me and some blood spills from my palm.
“Rhys, I told you to be careful. I have enough to deal with,” he snaps. Grabbing my hand, he squints to see how deep it is.
“Sorry, Grandpa. I was super careful.” I watch as the blood drips down my arm. My grandfather tries to move without groaning. He has a bad back and he’s old.
“Here, wrap your hand.” He hands me a tissue. “Now you go watch TV, or maybe do that music you have such a gift for. Your mommy needs to sleep.”
“I will, Grandpa. Do you want me to start dinner?” I jump at the loud scream and the sound of things being thrown in my mommy’s room.
My grandfather looks pale and worried. I bite my lip to not cry. I’m a big boy. I just turned six, and my grandpa says that’s big enough to not cry. That I’m gonna be the man of the house, so no crying. But she scares me when she’s like this. She scares me a lot of the time. I go to hold his hand, but he’s holding both of his together, praying.
“Pray with me, Rhys.” I close my eyes and try. I try to say the words my grandpa says all the time. Instead, I ask God to make sure my grandfather lives forever. We need him. I need him.
“You go now. Do your music, Rhys. Lock yourself in your room until Grandpa says to come out. Go.” He pushes me toward my room.
The door flies open and my mommy stands in almost no clothes.
“You go, Rhys. Go to your room, son.” I can’t move as I stare at my mommy. She looks wild, and she’s covered in brown stuff. Maybe it’s red?
“Now, Christie, you be a good girl and give Daddy that razor. You don’t want your son to see you like this…
“Mr. Granger? I mean, Granger, are you okay?” I blink at her, trying to breathe. I look around the room. Jesus Christ, how old was I? Six? I was six years old, running around trying to get the razors before she did.
I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Why haven’t I been notified? Clearly she’s not doing well.” I turn and look at her. She’s probably late twenties, but who knows these days.
“They tried… the doctors. After this last time, they wanted to put her in the hospital, but she refused. They left messages with your assistants.” She looks over at my mom’s shut door, much like I used to do worrying at any moment what would emerge. The sad, loving mom, the wild and fun mom, the angry, bitter mom… on and on.
“She’s down, I take it?”
The nurse nods. “I think she definitely should be hospitalized Mr.… um, Granger. She doesn’t eat. She can’t get up to use the toilet. You’re spending a fortune on nurses, but in my opinion, she needs a doctor to watch over her, or at least help with her meds.”
“I pay for the best doctors.” Because I do, and heads are gonna roll if they have been billing me and not treating her.
She takes a breath. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you’re here. I’m such a fan. Do you think you could take a picture with me?”
My eyes dart to hers. She must understand her mistake by the disgust on my face. What the hell is wrong with people? My mom is a fucking train wreck, a woman who can’t take a shit or piss by herself right now, and she wants a selfie with me?
“Get her doctor on the phone. I don’t give a fuck that it’s Christmas.” I walk past her and don’t bother knocking. I know what I’ll see. The room is dark, save for a small glow from a light in the corner.
My eyes adjust enough to see that in her large room, all the walls are bare. There’s nothing but her bed.
As I enter, I see a small lump. The bed looks to be made, except for the lump.
“Mom?” I take a breath, amazed at how clean it smells. At least it appears they’re keeping the place, and her, clean.
I walk around. I know which wall she will be staring at. It’s the same wall she always picks. Once, when I was angry as a teenager, I taped a picture of a naked woman over the spot she always stares at to see if I’d get any response.