Under My Skin

14 | he's my son

TW: Touches on substance use.

Chapter Fourteen:

"Are you a cop?"

"No," Ria sighed. "I've already told you I'm not a cop. I just came to check if...if Blaine was here."

The middle-aged woman's eyes roamed Ria's body continuously; suspicion lined every crease and furrow upon her wrinkled face. "What business you got with Blaine?"

"I'm just a friend. He...comes to visit me most days, and he didn't come today, and he wasn't answering his phone, and I just thought...I was just worried about him, that's all." Ria explained, unsure how much information she should disclose to the older woman.

The woman let out what sounded like a rather coarse-sounding laugh. It appeared to take a great deal of effort to produce the sound from her vocal cords. "That's Blaine all over, isn't it? Never around when ya need him, useless piece of shit at the best of times." She stopped when she registered the baffled expression on Ria's face. "He ain't been here today, alright? I don't know where he is, and I don't care. But listen, if you do see him, tell him I need more money." She almost growled as she prepared to slam the door shut.

She was his mother.

Ria was certain of that despite never clapping her eyes on the woman before. There was little resemblance except for the grey eyes. The same grey eyes Ria had unknowingly grown increasingly accustomed to, the ashy residue of a great fire that still managed to exude a soothing effect upon her. The older woman's eyes didn't quite emit the same effect, for they appeared cold and desperate. The pupils were constricted beyond normal physiology, the sallowed skin surrounding the sunken orbs overly moist despite the lack of heat outside. Her skin was pale beyond belief; the level of pale that made you question how much blood circulation a person was getting to their head and neck.

Ria wondered if she had always been this pale, for Blaine had always been naturally olive-toned owing to his half-Hispanic background. Looking at the woman in front of her, she was sure that the ethnic side of Blaine didn't come from her.

Ria's eyes zoomed in on the oversized grey hoodie the woman was wearing. As she squinted, she saw the Queen's University logo in the corner, telling her the hoodie had belonged to Blaine. As the older woman prepared to close the door on Ria, she saw how her wrists were less than half the size of the cuff of the sleeve, only adding to her skeletal appearance. The woman looked like she hadn't had so much as an apple in the last six months, let alone dinner that evening.

"Wait," Ria said, her hand pressing against the door, preventing the skeleton-like woman from closing it with ease. "Wait, please. You wouldn't know where he lives, would you? I mean, his address?"

The woman's eyes seemed to soften slightly at Ria's words. Either that or she physically didn't have the energy to keep them open any longer. "Look, kid, I wouldn't bother with him. My Blaine isn't worth it – he's my son, I know I shouldn't say that, but he's useless. I held him inside me for nine whole months, and he's never ever —" The woman halted in her tracks as her sentence was disturbed by the sound of a sudden choking from inside the house. She raced back into the home, Ria no longer her concern.

Ria knew she shouldn't have, but she followed the woman into the house. She was immediately met with the stale and undeniable earthy smell of mildew hanging in the air intermingled with cigarette smoke. She could almost see the deathly particles in the concentrated air, the odour foretold of tar-stained lungs and a precocious death.

She quickly held her nose with the back of her hand, unable to take the fumes any longer. She followed the woman into what she assumed was the living room – despite the lack of actual living.