008

TOXIC HOME

~CHELSEA~

{Playlist suggestion: “Moral of the Story” by Ashe}

The night air bit through my thin jacket as I trudged up the stairs to our apartment. My feet ached from the double shift…cleaning at Crawford, then straight to Rusty's Diner without a break. The envelope with my tips felt pathetically light in my pocket.

Not enough. Never enough.

Our apartment door stuck like always, requiring a hard shove with my shoulder.

The familiar musty smell greeted me, a mix of old carpet, laundry detergent, and the lingering scent of whatever cheap air freshener Mom had last sprayed to cover the cigarette smoke.

"Chase?" I called out, dropping my keys on the wobbly side table.

"In here."

I found my brother at the kitchen table, textbooks spread around him. His face looked paler than usual, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced.

But he smiled when he saw me, and something in my chest loosened just a little.

"Hey, genius," I said, ruffling his hair as I passed. "Have you eaten?"

"Made some ramen." He gestured to an empty cup. "There's more in the cabinet."

I opened the fridge instead, assessing our options. Half a loaf of bread. Some lunch meat that was probably still good. A carton of eggs with three left.

"Where's Mom?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Chase's pencil paused over his homework. "She left around six. Said Samuel was picking her up."

My stomach clenched. "Did she say when she'd be back?"

"Nope." He resumed writing, too deliberately focused on the page.

I made us each a sandwich, adding the last piece of cheese to Chase's. As I set the plate in front of him, I noticed the orange prescription bottle next to his water glass.

"Did you take your meds?"

"Yes, Chelsea." He rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance there. This was our routine.

I pulled up a chair next to him. "What are we learning tonight?"

"Trigonometry." He pushed his notebook toward me. "It's not hard, just tedious."

I looked at the neat rows of equations, the precise angles he'd drawn. Math had always come easily to Chase. Before he got sick, his teachers had talked about advanced placement and scholarships.

"You're still the smartest person I know," I said, meaning it.

He snorted. "That's because you work with rich idiots who buy their grades."

"True." I took a bite of my sandwich. "Though not all of them are complete morons."

Chase raised an eyebrow. "That sounds suspiciously like a compliment for a Crawford Elite student."

I thought about Kade in the diner tonight, the way he'd looked at me. The money he'd tried to give us. The way he somehow knew about Chase's condition.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "I maintain my complete hate for all things Crawford."

"Mmm-hmm." Chase wasn't buying it. "So that's why you've been extra quiet lately? Complete hate?"

I threw a napkin at him. "Eat your sandwich, smartass."

We fell into comfortable silence as he worked and I ate. These were the moments I lived for—just me and Chase, safe in our little bubble.

No, Mom. No Samuel. No Crawford Elite kids looking down their noses at me.

"I got a letter today," Chase said after a while, his voice carefully neutral.

"Yeah? From who?"

He reached into his backpack and pulled out an envelope with an official-looking letterhead. "Valley Community College. They have this early enrollment program for high school students with 'exceptional circumstances.'"

I took the letter, scanning it quickly. "Chase, this is amazing. They're offering you a full scholarship!"

"It's just community college," he said, but I could see the excitement in his eyes. "And only if I can pass their entrance exams."

"Which you will. With flying colors." I squeezed his shoulder. "This is the first step. Community college, then transfer to a four-year school."

"Think we could afford the rest, even with a scholarship? The medical bills…”

"Let me worry about that." I folded the letter carefully and handed it back to him. "You just focus on getting better and being brilliant."

He looked down at his textbook. "I heard Dr. Patel talking to you about that new treatment."

My heart sank. I had thought he was asleep during that conversation.

"It's experimental," I said. "Insurance won't cover it."

"How much?"

"Doesn't matter. We'll figure something out."

Chase closed his book. "I found the clinical trial information online. It's thirty thousand dollars, Chelsea. We don't have that kind of money."

"I'm saving," I insisted. "And I might be able to pick up some tutoring jobs. The semester's starting and those Crawford kids always need help."

"At twenty bucks an hour? You'd need to tutor for 1,500 hours." His voice was gentle but genuine. Chase had always been good with numbers.

"That's more than a full-time job for a year."

I didn't have an answer for that. The truth was, I had been lying awake at night trying to figure out a solution. Kade's money flashed in my mind again…exactly the amount we needed.

Like he knew.

"We'll figure it out," I repeated. "I promise."

Chase reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I know you're trying to protect me. But I'm not a little kid anymore. Whatever happens, we face it together, okay?"

Looking at him…sixteen years old but with eyes that had seen too much…I felt a fierce surge of love and pride. Chase was everything good in my life.

"Okay," I agreed. "Together."

He smiled and reopened his textbook. "Now, are you going to help me with these sine functions, or what?"

For the next hour, we worked through his homework. I made hot chocolate with the last of the milk, and we talked about his classes, the community college opportunity, anything but the money we didn't have, or the mother who wasn't home.

It was nearly midnight when we heard the key in the lock.

The sound of stumbling footsteps and low, slurred laughter instantly shifted the atmosphere. Chase's shoulders tensed, and I felt my own body preparing for battle.

"Chelseaaaa!" Mom's voice sang out, too high, too bright. "You home, baby?"

I stood up, gesturing for Chase to stay put. "In the kitchen, Mom."

She appeared in the doorway, makeup smeared, hair Messy. Samuel loomed behind her, his massive frame taking up most of the space. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes wafted in with them.

"There's my kids," Mom said, stumbling forward to press a wet kiss against my cheek. I held my breath until she pulled away.

"Why are you still up? It's a school night."

"I just got home from work," I said evenly. "And Chase was finishing homework."

Samuel's eyes narrowed as they landed on Chase. "Homework on a Friday? What a fucking nerd."

I stepped into his line of sight, blocking his view of my brother. "It's late. We're going to bed."

Mom was rummaging through the fridge, ignorant of the tension. "Where's all the food? I told you to go shopping."

"I get paid on Monday," I said. "We have enough until then."

Samuel moved closer, and I caught a whiff of something stronger than whiskey on his breath. The sweet chemical smell made my stomach turn.

When he was drinking, Samuel was dangerous. When he was using, he was unpredictable.

"Your mom says you've been holding out," he said, his voice deceptively casual. "Says you got extra cash stashed somewhere."

I kept my expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Someone saw you," Mom said, abandoning the fridge to join Samuel. "At the diner. Talking to a Kingston boy." She spat the name like it was poison.

My blood ran cold. Kingston. She knew. Somehow, she knew.

"I wait tables," I said carefully. "I talk to lots of people."

"Don't lie to me!" Mom's mood shifted like lightning, her face contorting with sudden rage. "You think I don't know what those Kingston boys want? You think I don't see what's happening?"

Chase stood up, moving to my side. I tried to push him back, but he stood firm.

"Mom, you're drunk," he said quietly. "Why don't you go lie down?"

"Don't tell your mother what to do," Samuel growled, taking a step forward. "We know you've got money. That Kingston kid gave you something."

I thought of the envelope, still untouched in my locker at Crawford. How could they know? Who had seen us?

"Nobody gave me anything," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "And even if they had, it wouldn't be any of your business."

Samuel's face darkened. "Everything in this house is my business. Including you."

Chase's hand found mine, squeezing hard. I squeezed back, a silent reassurance.

"Go to your room," I told him softly.

"I'm not leaving you," he whispered back.

Samuel took another step forward, and I automatically moved to keep myself between him and Chase.

"Your mom needs medicine," Samuel said, his tone shifting to something falsely reasonable. "She's sick. You want to help your mom, don't you?"

Medicine. That's what they called it now. Pills or powder that made Mom forget she had ever been anything other than Samuel's puppet.

"We don't have any money," I repeated firmly. "And Chase needs to get to bed. He has a doctor's appointment tomorrow."

"Always about Chase, isn't it?" Mom's voice turned bitter. "My perfect, sick little boy. What about me? What about what I need?"

"What you need is to sober up," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

It was the wrong thing to say. Mom's face crumpled, but Samuel's hardened into something dangerous.

"Don't talk to your mother like that," he said, taking another step. He was in the kitchen now, blocking the doorway to the living room—our only escape route.

"Apologize."

"It's late," I said instead of apologizing. "We can talk in the morning when everyone's thinking clearly."

I tried to guide Chase toward the hallway that led to our bedrooms, but Samuel moved to block our path.

"We're talking now," he insisted. "About the money that Kingston boy gave you."

I felt Chase stiffen beside me. He knew the name too. Knew what it meant for our family.

"Get out of our way," I said, my voice low.

Samuel laughed, an ugly sound. "Or what? This is my house. You live here because I allow it."

"We live here because Chelsea pays the rent," Chase shot back. "You're just a parasite."

Samuel's face darkened with rage. In one quick movement, he grabbed the nearest object—the empty mug I had used for hot chocolate—and threw it at the wall. It shattered, sending ceramic pieces across the kitchen floor.

Mom started crying, that theatrical wailing she did when she wanted attention. "Why are you all fighting? We're supposed to be a family!"

"Some family," I muttered.

Samuel took a frightening step toward us. I pushed Chase behind me and backed us toward the counter where I kept the baseball bat.

Just in case. Always just in case.

"Get out of my way, girl," Samuel slurred, his massive frame blocking the doorway. Behind me, I could hear Chase's breathing quicken with anxiety.

"Not happening," I said, reaching behind my back for the baseball bat I kept just for nights like these.