A poor excuse of a mother

MIGUEL

The front door creaked as I shoved it open, the stench of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume hitting me like a slap. Home. If you could call it that. 

I kicked off my sneakers. The bar’s grime still clung to them, and I didn’t need screams from Emily about me soiling the house.

I took the next step and paused as I heard it. 

Emily’s voice. She was loud and shameless, moaning like a damn p**n star from upstairs. My stomach turned, but I kept moving, dragging my tired ass up the narrow staircase.

Each step groaned under me. The wood was warped from years of neglect, and the closer I got with each creak, the louder her noises echoed off the peeling walls.

“Jesus, woman, shut up,” I mumbled under my breath. I just wanted to crash, to wash the day off me, especially the drunk’s hands, the shadow man’s stare, and the endless grind. But no, she had to make her private life a goddamn show.

I hit the landing and cursed under my breath. Her bedroom door was flung wide open like she wanted the world to see. My eyes caught it before I could stop myself. 

Emily was sprawled on the bed, her blonde hair a tangled mess, with her red satin dress hiked up around her hips. Some guy—sweaty, balding, pants around his knees—was on top of her, thrusting like his life depended on it. Her blue eyes were half-lidded, mouth open, letting out those grating moans while her nails raked his back. 

His grunts mixed with her noise, a disgusting rhythm I’d heard too many times. I sighed long and heavy before turning away. Another night, another stranger. She’d been dragging men like him through here since I was a kid, and it was always faceless, horny bastards who’d leer at me when she wasn’t looking. I’d learned quickly to keep my fists up and my knife close.

I slipped into my room, shutting the door with a thud that didn’t drown her out. The space was small. All I had were bare walls, a mattress on the floor, and a cracked window letting in the cold. I dumped my jacket, peeled off my shirt, and headed for the bathroom down the hall. 

The water was ice when I turned on the shower, but I stepped in anyway, letting it hit my skin like needles. I leaned against the tiles, shivering, replaying the day. The bar. The lewd prick grabbing me. That shadow figure lurking. My hands clenched, water dripping from my curls. “Hold on,” I muttered to myself. “You are almost done with this slavery bullshit.” 

Nine years of busting my ass, waiting tables, scrubbing floors, and dodging creeps, all to pay Emily back for the privilege of being born. Her ledger was a noose, tightening every time I got close to breaking free. A few more months, maybe. If I didn’t snap first.

I toweled off. The chill still clung to me as I threw on a pair of boxers and collapsed onto the mattress. Their noise still bled through the walls. I could still make out her gasps, his groans, and the bed frame creaking. I yanked the thin blanket over my head and pressed it against my ears, but it was useless. The sounds drilled into me, relentless, a flashback to nights I’d huddle under covers as a kid, praying they’d stop.

Finally, mercifully, it did stop. Silence fell and I let out a shaky breath. I just needed sleep.

My eyes drifted shut, my body sinking into the lumpy mattress, when something brushed my arm. Light, tentative. My eyes snapped open, my heart slamming as I jerked upright. 

A face hovered over me. Pale, sweaty, with bloodshot eyes and a leer that made my skin crawl. It was the guy from Emily’s bed. He was shirtless now, his hairy gut spilling over his unbuttoned jeans. His hand was on my thigh, creeping higher, and I saw red. 

“Get the fuck off me!” I snarled, shoving him back, my voice cutting through the dark.

He blinked, dazed, but didn’t move. “C’mon, kid, relax,” he slurred, reaching for me again. I didn’t think before swinging. My fist slammed into his balls and I heard a solid crunch. He yelped and doubled over, clutching himself as he hit the floor. 

“You little shit!” he howled, voice cracking with pain, loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood.

The door banged open, and there was Emily, wild-eyed in her satin mess, screaming like a banshee. “What the hell did you do, Miguel?!” She stormed in, her face twisted with fury. 

The guy groaned, still rolling on the floor, and she dropped to his side and glared up at me. 

“I was just turning off the lights!” he wheezed, a pathetic lie that didn’t even deserve a response. I stood there, fists clenched, staring him down as he crawled toward the hall, still whimpering.

Emily whirled on me, her blue eyes like hot coals. “You ungrateful brat! Do you think you can just attack people in my house? I could throw you out right now and leave you on the street where you belong!” Her voice rose, spit flying as she jabbed a finger at me. “You owe me everything, every cent I spent raising your sorry ass! I could demand it all tomorrow, and where’d you be then, huh? Broke and begging!” 

She crossed her arms, smirking like she’d won. “Pay up. Now. Gimme something, or I swear—”

I bit back a curse and stalked to my jacket. My hands shook as I dug out the crumpled bills, my take from the week after dodging drunks and pocketing scraps. I shoved it at her, hating how it felt like handing over a piece of myself. 

She snatched it and counted it with a sneer. “That’s it? Pathetic.” She turned, hips swaying as she strutted out, leaving me with the echo of her venom.

I sank back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, but her words still stuck to me, heavy as the debt she’d never let me forget. I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow.

The agony would continue in the morning.