"Mom?" I step into her dilapidated, darkened bedroom.

Broken beer bottles cover the floor, and my shoes crunch over them loudly in the silent space. The shades are drawn, and no sunlight makes it through them. The bed is rumpled, and the whole room smells of stale alcohol and vomit.

Milan's comforting presence helps a little. He stays close, his fingers entwined with mine to provide reassurance. I glance over at him, and he smile encouragingly. He gently tugs me toward the bed where my mom is lying.

"Mom?" I say again, swallowing back the fear.

She opens her eyes and squints up at me. Her hair fans out over the pillow, a dark fountain streaked with grey. It used to be so thick and luxuriant, but the years of drugs and alcohol have taken their toll. Her hair is now thin and scraggly with more grey than anything else. Her once bright smile has become brittle, and her teeth are yellowing instead of the pretty white they once were.

It's worse right now. She hasn't bathed in days. That much is obvious. She's got a wedding band around her finger though, and I realize with a jolt that Petre wasn't lying. They're married now. She really did marry him.

Her eyes are rheumy as she stares up at me in the gloom of the room and a chilling laugh gurgles out of her. "Now you decide to come back, you wretch."

I still, wondering what she means. I thought she was sorry. But Petre's a liar. Always has been, and doubtless he lied about this too in order to get me back here. It worked, but not in the way he wanted it to.

"I'm sorry I didn't make the wedding, Mom," I try, the guilty feeling washing over me as it always used to. The self-loathing returns. I'm such a horrible daughter. She got married, and I couldn't bother to be there. You didn't know, my conscience whispers. I still should've been there.

"You would've ruined it anyway, you ungrateful child. Be glad I'm bed-ridden. If I wasn't, I'd beat the living daylights out of you for leaving like that. Petre said you ran off with some boy," she sneers. "Just give me a minute with that boy and a brick... See how he likes it."

"Mom," I say, trying to stop her. A tear slips down my cheek. "Mom, he's trying to help us."

"We don't need anyone's help. We're just fine, and we have Petre. He'll take care of both of us, Meri. Now shut up and go fix dinner."

"Mom, no," I finally force the words out, reluctance simmering through me.

"A week away with some boy and you already talk back!" she shrieks. "Can't you see how bad he is for you? Anyone who tries to steal my daughter away from me is evil."

My gaze lifts to Milan, who's standing by the window. My mom still hasn't seen him. I struggle to hold back the rush of tears. "He's not evil, Mom. He just wants to help us both. You'll see... I brought him to meet you."

"You did what?" my mom snaps, raising a bony hand to point at me. "Get rid of him. If he ever comes back, I'm going to kill him."

For a long moment, I stay quiet, unable to decide what I should do. I've been free from her for a week and a half now, and already I can see just how bad my life was. Before, I bore it and believed that it was okay because I had my mom. Now I see the truth. This isn't my mom. She's a paranoid, twisted version of my mom.

I haven't been living with my mom for the past seven years. I've been living with this stranger, and this stranger has been abusing me every chance she gets. Finally I realize that I'm tired of it. I want to be free and happy like I was before she got sick.

Not that I'm blaming her. I don't. She was fragile. She lost her fiancé — not the nicest guy, in my opinion — and that really broke her up, especially when he told her he was leaving because of me. I have no clue what I did, but I think he just didn't know how to handle the responsibility of having both a wife and a growing nine year old. Six months later, she lost her job and the house was going to be foreclosed. Kind of like our situation now. It was the last straw. She just went insane. Started drinking and staying out odd hours.

I ignored it at first because I didn't understand what was happening. At nine years old, I didn't know that she was spiraling out of control. I didn't know to get her help before it was too late. Well, on my tenth birthday, she finally snapped completely. She moved us to this dingy old house and got a job at a bar. Things went from there.

Again, it's not like it was her fault. Maybe some would say it is. But I don't think it was anyone's fault, really. She needed support, and it wasn't there. It led to bad choices. Now we're here. Things are what they are, and we just have to deal with it.

"Well, don't just stand there gawking, you stupid girl. Get him out of my house."

Finally I realize that I have to say no. I have to do what's right for myself if I want to help her. Staying here isn't helping anyone. "No, Mom. I'm sorry, but I can't," I murmur, reaching out to take her hand. "I have a better life now, but I'm going to get you help. You'll have a better life too. You'll see."

She grabs my wrist and squeezes tightly, yanking me close. I can smell the beer and rancid food on her breath. "No. I have the life I want, and it'll be better once we're living with Petre. He has a beautiful mansion. It'll all go back to how it was before that jerk left me. See, you messed everything up back then, but this time even you couldn't mess up my happily-ever-after," she chortles.

I try to pull my hand back, but she doesn't let me. "Mom, you have to get help. If you keep drinking and doing drugs, you'll kill yourself."

She eyes me with a malignant stare. "It's your fault I turned to that. If you had been a good child and offered the support your poor mother needed, I would never have gone down that path."

Be firm. Be firm... I remind myself of Milan's words to me as we pulled into the driveway. You have to be firm with her, or she'll end up stomping all over you like she did before. "Mom," I say, my voice shaking but determined. "I was ten, for heavens' sake! I wasn't prepared to deal with the situation. I didn't even understand what was going on."

"Just because you're clueless too doesn't excuse you," she snaps.

"No, it doesn't. I'm sorry, mom. I'm really, really sorry. I've spent the last seven years trying to be good, trying to help you, and trying to atone for the mistakes you feel I made. None of it is enough."

"You're right, you brat. Nothing you do will ever make up for it, but I might be willing to tolerate you if you give up this foolish notion of leaving me. I need you to stay, so you'll stay." She lets go of me and crosses her arms.

I shake my head and step back toward Milan. He wraps his arms around my waist, and for the first time, my mother's filmy gaze switches to him, noticing that he's in the room. Her jaw sets, and I hear her furious exhalation.

"You brought him in here? You know not to bring people into this room!"she rails, shaking a bony fist at me. "Get him out before I kill you both."

Milan gives me a reassuring squeeze. "Do you want me to go?"

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut as tears push past my eyelids and trail down my cheeks. All warmth flees me, and I start to tremble. "I tried so hard," I finally grate out. "I tried so hard to do everything right, Mom. But you know what... I was never the one who was broken, was I? I thought I was. Sometimes I still do. Sometimes I want to die because I feel like I'm a worthless piece of garbage. But I feel that way because of what happened to you. I feel that way because you told me that I was the reason for all of your woes since I was ten."

She stares at me, her mouth hanging open.

I smile at her sadly. "Mom, I love you so much. I love you for loving me as a kid, and no matter what you've put me through, I still love you. I think I always will. But I cannot keep hating myself either. If I keep living this way, I'm going to go insane. Then who will love you?"

"You broke me!" she wails. "You. You ruined me."

"No, Mom. You could've picked the pieces back up after Joshua left, but you chose not to. That wasn't my choice, and I couldn't stop you. So I did the only thing I could. I loved you even when you hated me. I'm not done loving you, but I've come to see that I need a new approach. If that new approach hurts for a while, I'm sorry. But I really do believe that the new approach will help you more than the old one ever could." My throat closes up, and I rest my hands on Milan's as he tugs me closer to him. "I'm sorry for all my mistakes. I'm sorry that you blame me for it. And I'm really, really sorry for anything I've done to make your life difficult. But this has to end now."

She looks away, and her shoulders start shaking. "Fine, then," she moans. "Leave your poor, bereaved mother alone. Forget about everything I've provided for you and just go."

I sigh. This is something I'm used to. If I even think about refusing her, she gets like this or she beats me. Depends on the mood. Both methods worked. Key word being worked. I can't give in to this now. She needs help, but she won't get it if I capitulate. Instead, I'll go back to a living hell, and she'll stay like this until she drinks herself to death or overdoses. "I'm leaving now. But I'll be back to visit next Friday. I promise. And I'll bring a friend."

"It better not be that boy you brought today. If it is, forget coming back. Until he's gone, you wicked, impure child, you're not setting foot in this house," my mother insists.

Trembling, I say, "I won't bring him here again. Will you meet me for coffee downtown next Friday?"

She stays quiet for a long moment. Then she asks, "Who will you bring?"

"Someone who can help us both," I say, giving her a wobbly smile.

Suspicion lurks behind her dull brown eyes. "If I don't like them, I'm leaving," she grunts.

I nod quickly. "Of course, Mom. Just meet with them and hear them out, please."

With a glare in Milan's direction, she says, "Fine. But only if he goes."

Falling silent, I stiffen against Milan. I'm not letting him go. That's one thing I won't do. He's been here for me through thick and thin, put up with her abusive words, and stood up to Petre for me. There's no way I'm leaving. "I can't do that. I'm sorry, but he's staying."

"I always knew a boyfriend would cause problems and go to your head," she mumbles irritably.

"He's not my boyfriend, Mom. He's just a good friend," I protest, blushing.

It's true that I'm starting to feel more toward Milan than a friend should, but I'm not ready to face those feelings or the possibility that he may reciprocate them. He brushes my hair off my neck as I try to convince my mother that we're not dating. "She's not going to believe you," he murmurs.

I go still, knowing that he's right. She's not. "Mom, he isn't going, and that's final. I'll see you Friday at one at Izzy's Coffeehouse."

She grumbles something as we leave, and I hear a shoe hit the door with a thud as I close it.

Closing my eyes, I resist the urge to sink down against the wall and crumple into a mess. At least she agreed to coffee. That's a start. Before, she would've screamed and ranted, refused to meet me, and left me stranded if I insisted on going. Then, when I got home, she'd beat me for my impudence. Maybe she realizes that she can't do that anymore, and that's why she's being nice, but at least if she comes, she'll meet the therapist Milan's mother found. Maybe then she'll take the shot to get better.

Milan wraps his arm around my shoulder and presses a soft kiss to my temple. One would think that he really is my boyfriend if they were to see the two of us. A soft smile flits over my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"It'll all work out. She said she'd come," Milan murmurs against my skin.

I shiver and nod. "I know."

We stand on the stairway for a long while as I take in everything in the house. Dust has carpeted everything since I left, and no light reaches the corners or anyplace else, for that matter. She's pulled the drapes in every window that I can see. A musty smell pervades the place, and it whispers of decay, loneliness, and despair.

Turning, I bury my face in Milan's chest. "I'm sorry you had to hear all of that."

"I wanted to come," he says, rubbing my back. "Besides, I knew what I was getting into. Remember how I said I'd support you no matter what?"

I nod, sighing.

"Well, this is the no matter what part of supporting you," he explains, hugging me.

I laugh and wrap my arms around him. "Thanks."

"No problem. Now how about dinner? My mom makes some of the best lasagna you'll ever taste. And she's got homemade garlic bread in the oven. Said we'd need comfort food after facing your mom. Was she right or what?"

Pulling back, I stare up at him. His grin is so wide and infectious. It makes him seem so beautiful, like a beacon of light in this dark, forsaken place. "Yeah, she was right."

"I figured she would be. My mom's a mind reader when it comes to us."

Laughing, I contemplate his words. Us. Such a beautiful concept.

q8-