Freeing Carter

"Take my truck home. I'll call you tomorrow and you can bring it back."

"Carter."

I turn to her. "Please, Kira. Just go. I can take care of it."

Racing into the house, I slide to a stop at what I see. Mom lying across the couch. Black and purple bruises on one of her arms, like she fell or ran into something really hard. She's always bruised easy and quick, but this is bad. The coffee table is wiped free, her stupid knickknacks and candles scattered on the floor.

And I can't move. My whole body is frozen, staring at Mom. A very drunk, passed out, Mom.

Chapter Seventeen

"Oh my God," Kira says from beside me. "Tell me she had that bruise before you left, Carter."

I don't have it in me to say no. I don't have it to tell her to go home either. There's nothing, nothing inside me right now. "Sara..."

Kira touches my arm and then runs for the stairs. I know I should do something. Be the one upstairs checking on Sara. Go over and try to help Mom, but I can't move. Am I broken? I feel it. Nothing on me will move.

Rolling over, Mom groans, reaching her hand over to the table. It flops around, reaching for something that isn't there. The bottle that fell to the floor.

And all of a sudden, I hate her. Hate everything about her. Hate that she can't get better. That she'd chosen this bottle over us. That she loved my dad so much she can't get over it. There have been times I've been mad at her, times where I hated what she does, or maybe thought I could one day hate her, but this is different. I really do hate her and I hate myself for it.

"She's okay. She's asleep in her room. I made sure the door was closed." Each of Kira's hands, touch each of my shoulders as she leans against me. Still, I don't move. Can't. "I'm sorry, Carter. So sorry."

But I can't talk either. I really do think I'm broken. That she broke me.

"What should we do?"

Her words push me into action. Loosen the ties, holding me in spot, but still not freeing me. "I'll take care of it. I'll put her to bed and tomorrow it'll be like nothing happened." I step out of her grasp. "You can go. I don't..." What? I don't want her to see? It's not like she hasn't seen enough. It's not like she doesn't know. I shake my head. "You shouldn't have to help."

"Carter." She's in front of me now. "I know I don't have to, I want to. You don't have to do this on your own. Not anymore."

Does it make me weak that I sag in relief? Because I do. I don't want to do it alone. I don't want to do it at all, but knowing someone will take some of the weight? Well, it doesn't make it better, but easier to handle. Reaching out, I let my finger travel down the side of her face. She steps closer and our foreheads come together, like they always do.

"I hate her."

"You don't."

"I'm scared that I do." I breathe her air for another breath and then pull away, making my way to Mom. "Ma, come on. It's time to go to bed." Bending I try to pull her up, but it's as though my words have awoken something in her. Her eyes pop open and she pushes my hand away.

"I'm fine."

My stomach lurches. I have to swallow the urge to vomit. "You're so not fucking fine, now come on." When I try to grab her, she slaps my hands away, pushing me and fighting me in a way she never has before.

"Leave me alone. I can take care of myself." Her anger has taken away her typical slurred speech. My anger has taken away any need to be soft with her.

"Prove it! If you can take care of yourself, I wouldn't be cleaning you up, again." My grip on her is harder than I've ever touched her, than I've ever touched another girl before and it's right on her bruise. Mom cries out, her scream piercing me.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And then Kira's there. Standing between us. Her eyes full of tears. Her face wet with them too.

"We need to call someone. Let me call Bill."

Fear spikes inside me. "He'll take Sara away from us. I can't." But I know that's not true either. There's no way I can't do something this time. "Just let me take care of it. I can do it."

Slipping around Kira I bend down, eye to eye with her. Fu

Her eyes meet mine, sad. And I can't hate her. Not Mom. Because I can see that she loves me, how much she hates herself for what she's doing. But it still doesn't make it okay. This isn't the way to deal. Shouldn't be. Not for her, Travis, or anyone else. "Carter..."

Without letting her finish, I lift her. She's dead weight in my arms. I feel the shoulder of my shirt getting wet with her tears. She's sobbing by now, and it hurts so much to see her like this.

When we get to the top of the stairs, Kira stays out of her room, but it feels good to have her at my back. Knowing she's there, lingering in the doorway if I need her. If Sara needs her.

I almost drop Mom when I try to put her on her feet. She stumbles, trying to catch herself on me. Her nails dig into the skin of my arm.

"It's not fair! Why did they take him away from me?" she screams, swinging again. "Why does my dad hate me? Why can't I have Tommy? I'm tired. So tired. And you'll leave me soon too, Carter. How can I do it without you?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know." I can't stop saying the words over and over as I fight for her arms. As I wrap my arms around her from behind so she can't swing and hit anymore. You'll leave me soon too, Carter. How can I leave her like this?

Mom's whole body collapses. Cries echoing in her room.

"Do you need help?" Kira's voice whispers from behind me.

"No, just stay. And close the door so she doesn't wake up Sara."

That's when she starts to heave. I jerk her around before she vomits on her bed. There's a trail of it behind us as I help her to the bathroom. How many people have to hold their mom's hair back while they puke? I should be doing this for my girlfriend while we're at a party or even helping my best friend at a dance, but not this. Not her.

She cries and pukes. Cries and pukes and I sit there with her. Kira's behind me, alternating between rubbing my back and walking out to check on Sara.

"Are you sure we shouldn't call someone?" she asks later. We're in the bathroom, on the floor. She hasn't thrown up for about twenty minutes now. Mom's sleeping, her head resting on the toilet seat.

"No. I think she's okay. If she does it again, we will." Wrong or right? I don't know. I've never known which side of the line I stand on. I want to be on the right one, but I just don't know anymore.

For another fifteen minutes, we sit in silence. "I...I think she's okay now. She'll sleep it off." I stand up to lift Mom again, but Kira stops me.

"Hold on." Plucking a washcloth from the wrack, she wets it and then wipes Mom's face and hands.

"Thanks." My eyes won't meet hers. My girl just had to wash puke from my mom's face. It breaks another piece of me inside.

Mom's easy to lift this time. I feel her breath against my cheek as I lower her to the bed. On the way out, I grab the monitor. Even though Sara's too old for one, Mom still keeps a monitor so she can hear everything that happens in her room.

The second Kira closes Mom's door, I fall against the wall. And cry. Kira's seen my mom try to beat me up, cleaned up her vomit, and now I'm crying, crying in front of her.