Loving Lakyn | ✓

[17] Just Boy Stuff

L O V I N G
L A K Y N

I DESCENDED THE stairs, wearing my mother's favorite white dress. It was like a fit and flare dress, ending just above my knees, it made me feel like a princess, especially paired with my white Louis Vuitton heels, with a pointed toe.

My curls bounced with each step, a wide smile plastered to my lips as I frolicked through the living room, mom was back finally, after being away for four months. It is a special day. Father and I have practically been counting down the days until she will return. 

Father said that her detoxing specialist and therapist claimed she made a strong and rather fast recovery, considering her past, I just hope that this time father doesn't have to send her away again, I need her here.

I am only thirteen, I need my mother as every child does, I need her to help me with my homework and the extra credit work that father forces me to do, I need her to welcome me with lunch when I arrive home, not the maid. I just need my mother.

My mouth opened as I neared the kitchen, about to shout my father's name, when I heard my mothers' familiar voice, causing me to close my lips in an instant.

"Lila isn't stupid, Foster." my mother said sternly.

What are they talking about?

I heard my father clear his throat, "Far from it, love." he clarified, "But, your lack of responsibility and parenting is going to impact her future, she won't go to Yale if all she can think about is when her mother will overdose next."

My mother gasped at his words, which would have definitely hurt.

For once, he was not wrong, though. How can one proceed with daily activities knowing there is a high possibility their mother is in the bathroom sticking a needle in her arm.

It is unbelievably hard. I am thirteen, for goodness sake. I hear girls at school telling their friends about how they are going out for lunch at Melrose's after school, or how they are going shopping on Sunday. I want that, so bad. The only genuine time my mother and I have shared, is over the phone whilst we are in entirely different environments.

She is in a jail called rehab and I am in juvenile detention, located at my house, and the terrifyingly brutal warden is my father.

I am so envious of those girls at school with two loving parents. What did I do to not deserve that?

Hale asks me that all the time. What did I do to not deserve my mother? He would ask. Hale, like me, lost his mother due to rather unfortunate events. It is elusive, really. I cannot recall a specific time of which I thought, that's what I did to make my mother destroy herself internally and externally, it has just always been this way.

Sometimes I find myself wondering, if there is a god, or some religious-revolved presence above, why is this happening to my mother?

I used to get on my knees and sob, clasping my hands together as I shouted; Why? Why my mother? Please, give us peace. But after praying, I came to the conclusion that my prayers would never be answered because no one other than ourselves can control our actions.

My mother chose the drug route, no one made her. The only way she will get better is if she wants it.

I guess that is why Hale and I are so close. We gravitate towards each other because our hearts both run off hurt, every beat ache with self-pity.

"God, Foster!" my mother cried, "You wonder why I do this to myself? Look at you! You're too controlling for your own good, the only relief I have from you is when I am high, if you aren't careful, our daughter will be the exact same."