Page 123 of Flock
It’s the truth, the absolute truth. Hypocrites they may be, but with them, I’d unleashed the truth about myself, about my nature. I’ve changed, and my mind’s changed too, despite their slut-shaming hypocrisy and damning cruelty.
“You better call me every day.”
“I will.” I turn to her, my only true friend. My only real family. “Let’s go visit my mom.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Christy sniffles as Hubble walks away from Katy before they glance back at each other. “W-w-wait, they don’t end up together?”
The credits roll as Christy shifts murderous eyes from the screen to me. “They don’t end up together?!”
“Nope.”
Christy’s jaw drops as Mom and I laugh at her. She sits on the couch tossing Milk Duds at us both. “What kind of shit is that?”
“Not all love stories have happy endings,” my mother says softly. I glance over to where she rests in her recliner— the only piece of furniture she moved to her boyfriend’s place. He’s absent today, his excuse that he’s gone ‘fishing’ to give us a day together. She’s gained a little weight, and there’s a little color in her cheeks, which was absent before I left. I can only be happy for her. She’d been a shell when I moved to Triple Falls. But her last statement piques my curiosity.
“Who did you love like that, Mom?”
“One too many.”
I nod in perfect understanding.
“I. Cannot. Believe. They don’t end up together!” Christy exclaims, exasperated as we both turn to her.
“It’s called The Way We Were for a reason. First of all, he cheated,” Mom points out. “More importantly, he couldn’t handle her personality or her beliefs, or her strength; therefore, he did not deserve her. And given the choice, he didn’t have a damn thing to do with their daughter because of it. You still think they should be together?”
“But—” Christy objects.
“That’s the truth,” I add, “people don’t want the brutal truth in love stories anymore, but that, there,” I gesture at the screen, “is the brutal, ugly truth.”
“Right on,” my mom says with clear pride in her eyes. “And that’s a story that will stick with you, too.”
Christy sighs. “Well, shit. That was awful.”
“No, it wasn’t,” My mother laughs, lighting a cigarette. “You ate it up.” She gives me a conspiratorial grin. “Should we totally ruin her?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
“You two are masochists.” She glances between us as I grab the remote. “Making me watch all these old sad movies that hurt.”
“The best ones,” Mom replies, a hint of sadness lacing in her words.
“That may be the truth for some, but I still believe in Prince Charming,” Christy declares, “no matter what brutes you are to me.”
“As you should,” Mom chimes in, “but just know, the picture in your head might not match your reality. There are very few men worth the hell they put you through. So be very careful about who you give your heart and body to. They might eventually take more than you can handle.”
Touché, Mom. Touché.
“Brace yourself,” I say to Christy, grabbing the remote. “This was made in eighty-one.”
“Oh, God.” She sinks beneath the blanket on the couch. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Mom winks at me, stubbing out her cigarette as I press play on Endless Love.
It’s there in that living room I find some strength. It’s not the movies I grew up watching with my mom, that she shared with her own mother that gave it to me, though I’m sure they didn’t fucking help my warped perception of love. The strength I draw is from the women surrounding me. For months, I’ve lived for nothing but the men that consumed me before throwing me away. Despite my best efforts, I’d lost myself in them, allowed my affection for them to take up my existence. I made no friends outside their circle, and when I get back, I’ll have no life beyond them. I might have discovered a few things, but mostly all I’ve become is co-dependent. And I’ll make it a point to rectify that.
The only thing I have left to do is grieve and get angry.
