Chapter 225 - I Still Can’t Leave You
Mr. Robinson was gone.
Roxie kept her hand on the lock and listened to his footsteps cross the porch. She expected him to stop. She expected another knock or his voice coming through the door, calling her Roxxane and telling her they would finish the conversation after she calmed down.
Part of her wanted him to.
She still had questions. She wanted him trapped inside the bungalow until he answered every one of them. She wanted to know how often he spoke to Claire, what Claire told him about her, and how many times he watched Roxie leave his house knowing she was returning to a mother who spent money meant for her.
His vehicle started.
Roxie pressed her fingers harder against the lock.
The engine faded down the road, leaving the bungalow silent.
She stayed beside the door even after her fingers began to hurt. Her body felt ready to move, but she had nowhere to go. The bedroom held Zac’s absence. His papers remained scattered across the living room. The kitchen held every lie Claire had told her.
Three thousand dollars.
Every month.
From her father.
Roxie released the lock and slowly turned around.
Nothing inside the bungalow had changed.
The cabinet beside the sink still hung lower than the others. A crack ran through one tile near the refrigerator. The couch cushions had flattened years ago, and the curtains had faded from sunlight.
The place still looked poor.
Roxie walked toward the kitchen. Her legs felt heavy, and her arms hung stiffly at her sides. She stopped beside the counter and stared at the drawer where Claire used to keep cash, overdue bills, and receipts she never threw away.
Roxie remembered standing in that same place and asking for money for notebooks.
Claire had opened her wallet and stared at the bills inside. She sighed before Roxie finished explaining what she needed. The sound made Roxie apologize. She promised she would use every page and keep the notebooks clean so they would last the entire school year.
Claire gave her enough for two.
Roxie had needed four.
There had been three thousand dollars that month.
Her fingertips pressed against the edge of the counter.
She remembered asking for lunch money after using the last of what Claire had given her. Claire asked whether Roxie understood how hard it was to keep both of them alive. Roxie had stood there with her backpack over one shoulder while shame spread through her stomach.
She told Claire she understood.
She went to school without eating because asking again felt selfish.
There had been three thousand dollars that month too.
Roxie’s nails scraped over the counter.
Cheer expenses had always been worse. Shoes, uniforms, competition fees, and transportation caused arguments before Roxie even finished explaining them. Claire accused her of choosing an expensive activity when she knew they were poor.
Roxie found ways to pay for it herself.
Roxie had stood near the door with the damaged shoe hidden behind her other foot. She apologized even though she had worn the same pair for years.
Three thousand dollars had arrived while Roxie was trying to hide that broken shoe.
Her grip tightened around the counter.
Some nights, the only food inside the bungalow had been crackers. Roxie would break each one into smaller pieces and leave them on a plate. She ate one piece at a time and drank water between them, stretching the meal until her stomach hurt less.
She used to tell herself they were lucky.
They had crackers.
The water worked.
The electricity stayed on for another night.
Roxie shoved herself away from the counter.
Her hip struck the cabinet behind her, but she barely felt it.
Some of the money had paid for pills. Some had paid for drugs. Some had kept Steve on their couch while he snorted lines from the table and acted as though Roxie was the one intruding.
Money meant to feed her.
Money meant for clothes and school supplies.
Money sent because she existed.
Her fingers curled until her nails pressed into her palms.
"That was mine."
Her voice sounded small inside the kitchen.
Roxie looked toward the shelf near the wall.
Claire’s ashes sat beside the blue mug.
"That was mine," she repeated.
The words came out stronger.
She crossed the room and grabbed the container with both hands. The metal felt cold against her palms.
"That was supposed to be for me."
Her fingers tightened around it.
"Why?"
Claire gave her silence.
"Why did you lie?"
Roxie waited as though an answer might come from somewhere inside the container.
Nothing came.
"You made me think we were starving because of me."
Her lips trembled. She pressed them together, trying to stop it.
"You made me apologize for needing lunch."
The first tear slid down her cheek.
Roxie wiped it away with her shoulder because she refused to release the ashes.
"You watched me work."
Her voice rose.
"You watched me come home tired after school and cheer and the odd jobs, and you still took it."
She pulled the container closer to her chest.
"You let me think I was taking everything from you."
Her arms jerked. The ashes shook once in her hands before she steadied them.
"Answer me."
The refrigerator continued humming behind her.
"Tell me where it went."
Pressure gathered beneath her ribs.
"Tell me how much you spent on drugs."
She wanted Claire to answer with one of her excuses. She wanted to hear that Mr. Robinson had lied or that the money paid for something Roxie had forgotten. Claire could tell her there had been hospital bills, rent, repairs, or some hidden debt.
Anything would have been easier than silence.
"Say something!"
The shout scraped through Roxie’s throat.
Claire remained inside the container.
Roxie stared at the faded label near the lid. She tried to picture Claire sitting at the kitchen table, rolling her eyes before giving an answer Roxie would hate.
The image came too easily.
Roxie could almost hear her.
You have no idea what I went through.
Roxie’s breath shook.
"What about what I went through?"
She waited again.
The bungalow stayed quiet.
Roxie could no longer look at the container.
She carried the ashes toward the door. Her fingers slipped against the lock twice before she opened it. Cold air struck her damp face and made the tears on her cheeks feel colder.
She stepped onto the porch.
The trash container stood near the side of the bungalow.
Roxie walked toward it with Claire pressed against her chest.
She wanted the ashes gone. She wanted the bedroom emptied, the blue mug thrown away, and every trace of Claire removed from the bungalow.
Claire had taken Roxie’s money.
She had taken Roxie’s love and used that too.
Roxie stopped in front of the trash container and lifted the lid.
The smell made her turn her face away.
She raised the ashes over the opening.
Her hands began shaking.
All she had to do was release them.
Roxie stared at her fingers and tried to loosen them.
They stayed locked around the container.
She tried again.
Her thumbs moved slightly, but the rest of her grip refused to open.
Throwing Claire away would leave nothing.
There was no body to bury. No grave to visit. No voice left on Roxie’s phone. There was only a container of ashes and the few things Claire had abandoned inside the bungalow.
Roxie wanted her gone.
She also wanted her mother back.
Claire had lied, stolen from her, disappeared, and chosen drugs. She was also the woman Roxie searched for whenever she was sick. Some nights Claire had climbed into bed beside her and rubbed her back until she fell asleep.
Roxie remembered Claire pressing a cool cloth against her forehead during a fever.
She remembered waking later and finding the other side of the bed empty.
Roxie could no longer tell which memories counted.
Her arms dropped.
She pulled the ashes against her chest and sank onto the porch.
"I hate you."
Her teeth pressed together until her jaw hurt.
"I hate you so much."
She bent over the container.
A sob tore out of her before she could swallow it. Another followed, forcing her shoulders forward.
"I miss you."
Roxie pressed her face against the top of the container.
"I still fucking miss you."
Both feelings stayed inside her.
She wanted Claire back.
She wanted Claire alive so Roxie could throw the truth at her and watch her try to explain it. She wanted to hear Claire admit that the hunger had been real for Roxie even if it had never been necessary.
She wanted her mother to look at her and understand what she had done.
Roxie stayed on the porch until the cold began soaking through her clothes. Then she carried the ashes inside and locked the door.
She slid down against it with the container across her stomach.
Her breathing remained uneven, but the sobs had weakened. She rested her head against the door and stared into the living room.
Zac’s shirt lay near the couch.
For a moment, Roxie expected him to walk out of the bedroom and ask why she was sitting on the floor. She could picture him picking up the shirt and complaining that she had thrown everything hard enough to scatter it across the room.
The bedroom stayed empty.
He had packed his clothes.
He had taken them to Dylan’s house.
Roxie looked at the papers covering the floor. Zac had written plans for Tennessee while she was still waiting for him to tell her what he wanted. Dylan knew where he was staying. Mason knew he had been thrown out. His friends knew pieces of his life that Roxie had learned only after forcing the truth from him.
Speaking to them had been easier than speaking to her.
Her grip tightened around the ashes.
Mr. Robinson had Cynthia and Jason.
Zac had Dylan, Mason, and Tennessee.
Claire had drugs.
Everybody had somewhere else to go.
Roxie lowered her head.
"Fuck all of you."
Her voice cracked before she finished, ruining the strength she wanted the words to have.
She dug her nails into her palms. Crescent marks appeared beneath her fingers. The sting gave her something small and clear to focus on.
She was still here.
She was alone, but she was still here.
Roxie tried to pull in a deeper breath.
It caught halfway down.
She lifted her head and swallowed.
Her throat felt tight.
Roxie tried breathing through her nose. Air entered, but her chest refused to open enough to hold it.
She placed the ashes beside her and pulled at the collar of her sweatshirt. The fabric stretched beneath her fingers.
The pressure remained.
Roxie looked toward the door. She had locked it. Nobody was inside with her. Nothing was touching her neck.
She still could not breathe properly.
Another short breath entered and stopped.
Her hands began tingling.
Roxie pushed herself away from the door. She needed to stand. Sitting there made the ceiling feel lower and the walls feel closer.
Her knees folded as soon as she rose.
She caught the wall with one hand and nearly knocked the ashes over with the other. The container rolled against her leg before she trapped it beside her hip.
"Breathe."
Her voice shook.
She dragged in another breath.
It broke before reaching her lungs.
Fear rushed through her body.
The refrigerator sounded farther away. The edges of the couch blurred, and the room narrowed until Roxie could see only the floor in front of her.
She left the ashes beside the wall and crawled toward the bedroom. Her palm slipped across the floor. Her shoulder struck the hallway, but she kept moving because staying still made the pressure worse.
By the time she reached the bedroom, two of her fingers had started going numb.
Roxie pressed her back against the bed and pulled her knees toward her chest.
There had to be a reason everyone left.
Her mind searched until it found one.
She was the person connecting all of them.
Claire had left.
Mr. Robinson had stayed away.
Zac had walked out.
Maybe she had always been the problem.
Roxie pressed both hands over her face.
No.
Her chest loosened enough for half a breath.
Then she saw Zac’s face after she slapped him.
The swelling around his eye.
The way his head turned beneath her hand.
The shock on his face before anger covered it.
Roxie’s stomach twisted.
He had lied.
She had still hit him.
She remembered shoving him where she knew he was bruised. She remembered feeling his body tense beneath her hands and pushing again because she wanted him to hurt as badly as she did.
She had nearly hurt Karen during practice too.
Roxie wrapped her arms around her knees.
Claire needed drugs because raising Roxie had made her life unbearable.
The thought arrived before Roxie could stop it.
She shook her head.
Mr. Robinson stayed away because Roxie was never worth destroying his family.
Another broken breath left her.
Zac had left because she was jealous, angry, needy, and exhausting.
"No."
The word barely came out.
She had expected him to stay after she hurt him because everyone else had already left.
Her breathing broke again.
Everyone would have had easier lives without her.
Claire would have had no child to feed.
Mr. Robinson could have stayed with his family without hiding anything.
Zac could have gone to Tennessee without planning around Roxie or worrying about what she might do whenever he made a choice.
The thought settled inside her with frightening calm.
"I should never have been born."
Roxie heard herself say it.
The words scared her because they sounded true in her own voice.
Her fist struck her thigh.
Pain flashed through her leg.
Every thought disappeared.
Roxie stared at the place she had hit.
For one breath, there was only the ache beneath her jeans. Claire disappeared. Mr. Robinson disappeared. Zac disappeared.
Then everything returned.
Her hand lifted before she understood what she was doing.
She hit the same place again.
"You ruin everything."
The pain spread through her thigh.
"You make everyone leave."
Her fist struck her other leg.
She stopped with her hand still pressed against it.
Her knuckles hurt.
Shame moved through her because she knew what she was doing. She knew it would solve nothing. She also knew the pain had quieted her mind for a few breaths.
Her fist tightened again.
Something scraped across the floor outside the bedroom.
Roxie froze.
The container holding Claire’s ashes had tipped after Roxie left it near the hallway wall. It rocked once, then started falling onto its side.
Roxie moved before she could breathe.
She crawled across the bedroom floor and reached into the hallway. Her fingers caught the container before it struck the wall.
Her fist opened.
Roxie pulled the ashes against her chest and folded around them.
Even now, she could not let Claire fall.
She had wanted to throw her away minutes earlier. Now she held the container as though keeping it safe was the only thing she still understood how to do.
"I hate you."
Her voice broke.
Roxie pressed her face against the cold metal.
"I hate you, and I still can’t leave you."
Her body shook while she held on.
The pressure inside her chest slowly began to loosen. Air reached deeper into her lungs. Her fingers continued trembling, but the tingling faded.
Roxie remained curled on the hallway floor with Claire’s ashes inside her arms.
She had spent years protecting a mother who had failed to protect her.
Even after learning the truth, Roxie still caught her before she could fall.