Part 2

                You are seventeen, and you’re alone at home. At least, you’re pretending to be. You don’t remember when you locked your little sister in the basement anymore, and you start to relax. She finally stopped screaming for you to let her out. She could have screamed for hours, but you would have never listened anyway. You just don’t care.

                No one would care if it had been you locked in there anyway, and someone will be home soon enough to let her out. They would have found something to yell at you for anyway, so you might as well have made it worthwhile.

                You must have fallen asleep, because someone pounds loudly on your door and yells your name furiously. “Andy!”

                You suck your teeth because worse than your mother calling, its your step-father. You unlock your door and before you can turn the knob, it swings open from the outside, nearly hitting you in the face. You know that it was meant to, you’re just so used to dodging.

                “What the f**k, Pete.” You say. His eyes are ferocious and nearly bulging out of his head and you feel your lips curve into a smile. He always looks like this when he sees you, but you just love to make it worse because you hate him so much. You inwardly hope you’ll give him a heart attack one day. Today you feel a little closer to the goal.

                “Watch your mouth, boy.” He says, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt. “Why the hell was my daughter locked in the damn basement when I got in from work you little b*****d?”

                “Because she’s annoying as s**t.” You say casually. You aren’t surprised when you get shoved to the floor, and you aren’t surprised when you feel a hard kick to your side. This would’ve happened for some reason or another. At least this way you got to take a good nap first.

                “I don’t know why your mother insists on having you here.” Pete nearly growls, and despite the pain you’re starting to feel in your ribs, you smile.

                “I don’t know why either. Maybe she likes playing Mother of the Year.”

                You get picked up by the collar of your shirt " again " and a hard punch finds its way to your mouth. That mouth you're supposed to keep shut, but you can’t quite figure out how. You don’t really want to.

                “What’d you say, boy?” You watch the way you talk about your mother. She should’ve aborted you, as far as I’m concerned…”

                Your ears burn red and you realize they’re ringing, and you spit out blood into the trashcan next to you, though you fight the temptation to spit in his face. “What?” You say, certain you missed that last part, something about an abortion, something you probably heard before, but would just love to hear again. Maybe you’ll come up with a great comeback this time.

                “Yeah, I thought so.” Your stepfather says. He turns around to leave your room but stops. “Don’t you ever let me find Janie locked in that god damn basement again, or I’ll make sure you’re of this house before you’re eighteen.”
                “You’d be doing me a favor!” You say, right before he slams your door.

                You’re half amused and half pissed off and decide you deserve and adventure to the basement yourself, where mom’s liquor cabinet is. She keeps it locked up nice and safe so Jane and your step brothers can’t get into it, but you’ve lived with her your entire life. You know all her secrets. You know the lock can be easily picked if you twist a paperclip a particular way " she likes to keep things easy, just in case " and she taught you how to pick the locks when you were seven, so you could get her drinks for her when she was too far gone to do it herself. She called you Mommy’s Little Helper then and you were so glad to oblige. At least she pretended to love you on those nights.

                You find an unopened bottle of vodka amongst several half empty ones and decide to help yourself. You make yourself comfortable on a garbage bag full of old clothes and it feels like a bean bag chair. You drink all your troubles away, as you’ve come to get used to doing, and you understand why Momma likes it so much, although you wonder what problems she could’ve ever had " besides you, that is. Nana and Papa used to treat her like gold, unlike the way she and Pete often treated you, especially compared to Janie and Pete’s two older sons. You take another large shot, straight from the bottle, to push those thoughts along, until you start to feel warm all over. You smile a little. Fuzzy.

                Your mind drifts finally to a pleasant place, or at least the basement starts to seem a lot more pleasant, despite the cracked grey concrete surroundings. A tiny laugh escapes your lips and you don’t quite know why, so you laugh even more. You laugh so hard you don’t know how to stop and it starts to hurt your stomach. Tears roll down your cheeks and there comes a point where you’re not longer sure if you’re laughing or crying, but what’s it matter anyway?

                Finally whatever it is subsides and you finish off that bottle " you suddenly feel exhausted, sick. You lean back and rest your head against the cold hard wall, when suddenly that familiar glow that has haunted, amused, and saved you ever since you were a child begins to reveal itself, as if she were sitting next to you in that basement. She brings your head down onto her lap and gently smooths your hair, soothing the dizziness you’re beginning to feel, and now you feel so safe despite having achieved your goal of losing all clarity, just for a little while.

                “Mom...” You slur before your eyes flutter closed.

                “Hope.” You hear her say before you lose consciousness, and you wonder if you’re crazy because you don’t understand this ‘girl’ or where she comes from.

                A distant door slams and you hear your mother scream, she screams your name, but you just don’t care. You’re so far away from here.

                Somehow, there’s still Hope for you.