The first couple of chapters are pretty boring.

Sorry! Forgive my noobness and inability to make a good story!

Yes, I re-wrote it. There's not much of a difference but...whaddever. Enjoy:

Chapter 1: Mother Dearest.

When I was seven, six, eight, or whatever damn age it was (the point is, I was a child and I was so embarrassingly naive), I would always be glued to the television. Now that I think about it, it was probably the only escape I had. I remember this one show that I was watching; (I think) it was about a lion pride and it talked about how mothers had this natural instinct to protect their young. I remember feeling so relieved and happy when I was watching this. I was stupid and thought that my mother was included in this category of 'mothers' that the show was talking about. I think she did have those natural and protective instincts at one point but if she did have any, I'm sure all of the drugs drowned them out.

I lie down and laugh while recalling this memory. God, I must look like a total creep. So I stop laughing and stare at the ceiling instead. I can hear the clock ticking away and I curse every second because time is scary. As each second, minute and hour pass, I'm torn apart from the comfort of now and thrown into the...now. Well, the point is, I don't like change, even if the only thing changing is the second hand on the clock that hangs on the wall. That damn clock. Does that make sense? Whatever. I start to hum 'twinkle twinkle little star' to tune out the sound of the clock. It doesn't go away. It's as if it's trying to get my attention so i look up at the clock. It's eleven in the evening. She should be home soon. I'd rather not be here when she is.

I start to grab for my coat, when I hear that high pitched and laughter/shrill, "Daniel! Oh God, you are so funny." I flinch, thinking she's brought home another customer but when she opens the worn and vandalized door, I notice she's on the phone. I feel myself get woozy from relief. She gives me a nasty look and turns her back to me before she continues, "'Kay, Daniel. See you tommorrow night, then.'

She glances at me and spits, ' Where do you think you're going?'

I look down and mutter, ' ..out.'

When I see that she isn't going to respond, I make a move toward the door when I'm stopped by her bony, leathery hands. She slurrs the words sweetly, " Allan, baby, you wouldn't have any money on you, would you?"

I stare into her depthless blue eyes. She already knows the answer. God, she knows I still want her to love me. She knows that I'm a weak mother fucking pussy. But to my suprise, and her's too, I say 'no..'

She lets go of my shoulder and before I know what's going on, I'm being slammed into the wall. I feel like my head has cracked into two but I don't wince or yelp because there's no point in it and well, because..okay...let's be honest..I enjoy pain. Yeah, I know, these sorts of things need to get checked out. I sigh, in my head. Not aloud because that would make my mom get the wrong idea annnnd because she'd probably flip shit. " You piece of filth! I gave you life! I went through hell and gave birth to you. I SHOULD HAVE THROWN YOU OUT FOR MAKING ME GO THROUGH HELL BUT I FED YOU AND TOOK CARE OF YOU!" So, basically, what she's trying to say is that she is, all in all, God. i internally sigh again. I can't stand parents and they egos.

I stare at her. My mother. Her depthless blue eyes. Her dark and long black hair framing her face. The circles under her eyes. The heavily colored lips that are screaming. The rage in her once lovely, but now drugged and contorted face. My mother.

I stare at her and her lips turn into a slow smile. "Baby, please."

Fuck it. I internally smack myself and I take out thirty seven dollars.

Her lips turn into a slow and lazy grin. " Thanks, babe. I knew you were worth it." She winks and I take her hand while she counts the money. " Mom..."

Goodbye to a week's worth of food and hello to a week's worth of drugs.

I know I'm not that naive and stupid child who still hopes for his mother's love anymore, but I love that smile. It's not even one of those loving smiles, just one of those creepy ones. But something's better than nothing. Everyone ( well, the few people I know) thinks I should just turn her in, be free, but I can't. I don't know why I'm defending her. I don't know why I still love her. All I know is that she's all I've had for sixteen years and she's just trying to survive this god forsaken world of ours, just like I am. It's survival and even though we're all dead inside, it makes us all more important to hang on to the physical life that we have left. I'm defending her because I can understand her need to survive because the same need is inside me.( Maybe it's genetic?) Maybe it doesn't make sense. Most things about me don't. Most things about all of us, don't.