14. Chapter 14

"Oh, come on, Deacon, it's just a little fun,"

Troy says.

"You never come out with us.

Always running back home to Mommy.

What are you, some kinda Mama's boy?"

"Yeah, it's not like she'll miss you anyway,"

Matt adds with a roll of his eyes.

I can feel my ears starting to burn.

I wasn't very popular at school, what with being late all the time and missing so many days.

People thought I was weird just because I didn't go out and create havoc like a lot of the other kids my age.

I was a freshly minted teenager, and with my hormones raging and my body changing more and more every day, I knew I was in that awkward stage between being a boy and becoming a man.

Considering all this and my general demeanor of gruffness, I'd managed to make exactly two friends.

And they were both fucking idiots.

Against my better judgment, I'd snuck out tonight to meet up with them.

Rumor had it that Vickie Kincaid was having a sleepover at her house, which was only two streets over from mine, with a bunch of other girls from our year, and the guys wanted to go over and play peeping Tom.

I knew this was what kids our age did, but I still thought it was pretty stupid.

Although Vickie had come back to school after Summer break with boobs that definitely weren't there last year.

So I'd had the thought earlier that maybe the guys weren't quite as stupid as they appeared and so here I am.

Looking at them now, I'm reminded of why I formed my original opinion in the first place.

"Shut the fuck up, you guys.

Y'all don't know shit," I retort.

Problem was, they did know shit, and that's what was so embarrassing.

Everyone in school knew about my mama's … issues.

That was the problem with small southern towns.

People loved getting into other people's business.

For the millionth time, I wish I could just be nobody.

No name, no face, no story.

Maybe someday.

Mama had been doing really good the last few months.

Maybe if I could come up with a plausible lie to explain where I'd gotten the little nest egg of money I kept in an account no one knew about, we could move and start over.

Looking at my only friends, I don't feel the expected tug of sadness at the idea of leaving them behind.

They were morons.

I knew it; our classmates knew it, and hell, they even knew it.

But even knowing this, their needling about my mother has the desired effect of prompting me to do stuff I normally wouldn't.

"You guys are dumb,"

I finally say with a shake of my head.

"Fine, let's go."

Two yells of excitement echo in the still night air.

Shushing them, I lead the way as we cut between houses, skirting flower beds and cyclone fences.

As Vickie's house comes into view, I quickly look around to make sure no one is watching.

Pulling Troy, who's now in a whispering match with Matt about whether the girls sleep in their underwear, we finally make it to the bushes that border one side of the house.

I don't know the layout, but Matt claimed Vickie's bedroom is somewhere towards the back.

Keeping as low to the ground as possible, we scurry around the back side of the house and, sure enough, there are three windows, all of which have lights shining from inside.

Crouching down beneath the first one, I peer over and look inside.

It's the kitchen.

I watch as Vickie's mom empties a bag of microwave popcorn into a large bowl and then carries it out through a doorway that leads to the hall.

As she goes right, so do we.

The next window is much smaller and, at first glance, appears to be an empty bathroom.

As I'm about to move on to the third and final window at the back of the house, movement within the small bathroom catches my eye.

Before my brain even has a chance to register what I'm seeing, the guys are rushing past me to the last window.

Peeking their heads up, they quickly duck back down in a fit of giggles.

What a bunch of little girls.

"Deacon, come on! They're in here! Holy shit, Chelsea's lying on the bed and the back of her nightgown is hiked up.

I can see her ass! You gotta see this!"

Matt whispers over to me.

His excitement is palpable, but still, I don't leave just yet.

Ignoring my friend, I stare hard through the window, trying to locate the source of the movement I just saw.

It's difficult to see anything through the tiny sliver left open between the closed curtains and most of the window is all fogged up.

Just as I'm about to chock the movement up to a trick of the light, I see it again.

My eyes squint hard before turning into saucers.

Vickie Kincaid just stepped out of the fucking shower.

Even though my mind knows that spying on her like this is wrong, something inside me ignites, and flames eat at my skin.

I'm starting to sweat, and I lick away a line of beads that've formed above my top lip.

I'd like to blame southern humidity for my sudden attack of perspiration, but I know the heat has nothing to do with the climate outside and everything to do with the sight of Vickie's newly developed breasts.

As does the sudden hard-on that's pushing against the zipper of my worn-down jeans.

What must only be seconds seem like hours before I'm able to tear my gaze away from Vickie and look towards my friends.

They're still alternately peeking into the bedroom window and ducking down to laugh and talk shit amongst themselves.

They're so caught up in what they're doing that I might as well not even be here.

I open my mouth to call out to them, to tell them what I've found, and to come quick, but at the last second, I stop.

I close my mouth again without saying anything.

Why should I share this with them? After the way they razzed me earlier, they don't deserve to see Vickie naked.

So I say nothing, instead turning back to the crack in the curtains.

As Vickie stands in front of the mirror, towel-drying her hair, I stare at her body.

It's not the body of women I've watched in my abundance of online porn surfing, but it's real and right here in front of my face.

I remain there, crouched down outside the small bathroom window, until Vickie finally pulls on a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt.

Brushing her hair in front of the mirror, she opens the door and leaves, having no clue that someone was watching her the entire time.

The act and the idea that I've done something forbidden sends a bolt of lightning up my spine.

My breathing is fast, and I know that if I don't get out of here right now, my cock is gonna explode in my pants.

"Guys, I gotta go.

I've got shit to do,"

I whisper over to Troy and Matt.

They both groan, calling me a pussy and taunting me about how I'll miss out on the pillow fight the girls are probably gonna have.

Who gives a shit about a pillow fight? That's nothing compared to what I just saw, but they don't need to know that.

Flipping them both the bird, I slink back around the side of the house and cut back through the way we came.

It takes me about five minutes to walk to my house from where I met the guys, and every step is agony on my poor dick.

Finally making it home, I stick my fingers under the crack I deliberately left beneath my window and lift it up, quietly climbing back through and into my room.

Closing the window behind me, I pull the curtains tight.

The last thing I need is for the guys to come back around and see me jacking off in my bedroom.

The house is quiet, and as I reach for the button on my jeans, it dawns on me that it's too quiet.

Looking at the clock, I see that it's only 11 p.m.

Mama may think I've gone to bed, but she wouldn't be asleep already.

She said earlier that she was gonna stay up a while and catch up on her soaps, but I don't hear the TV.

In fact, I don't hear anything.

A sudden, overwhelming sense of unease settles over me, and I'm plagued by a feeling of dread that I just can't shake.

All thoughts of Vickie are gone now, replaced by a pitching in my stomach, like wave after wave of unending nausea.

I stare at my closed bedroom door.

I'm actually afraid to open it.

I can't explain why I'm afraid, but I am.

Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

The way Mama taught me when I was younger and had the flu.

I know I have to open the door.

I have to make sure nothing bad has happened.

But I can't make my feet move.

It feels like I'm trapped in quicksand, slowly sinking into a bog of panic and nightmares.

Nightmares that haven't come true yet but that have always been there in the back of my mind.

With great effort, I finally force myself to take the few short steps toward the door.

My hand shakes as it reaches for the knob.

It takes me three tries to get the lock turned and open the door.

The living room of our small house is dark but not so dark that I can't see the figure sitting prone on the couch, head laid against the back, as though simply taking a nap.

But somewhere, deep down, I know that's not the case.

The sludge weighing me down only seconds ago disappears as my body jerks into hyperspeed.

Rushing over to the sofa, I reach out my hand to gently shake my mother's shoulder, but that hand pauses in midair when my eyes finally adjust to the darkness, and I'm able to get a good look at her face.

Her eyes are open, staring at the cobweb-covered ceiling.

Sightless.

She doesn't move at the sound of my presence.

She doesn't tilt her head and smile at me as she looks into my eyes.

"...

just like stars."

Everything inside me begins to tremble.

I feel like I'm coming unglued from the inside out.

Forcing my hand to breach those final few inches is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

I place my palm over her eyes and slide them close.

Her skin is cold.

All of the warmth from only hours ago is gone.

Feeling my own blood turn to ice in my veins, I close my eyes, too, letting the tears fall as silent sobs wrack my thin body.

Sliding down to the floor beside the couch, I sit next to my dead mother and cry until I can't anymore.

Until there's nothing left inside of me but a hole that I know will never be filled again.

I've got no one now.

She was the only person that ever loved me.

Even with all her problems, she made sure that I knew I was the center of her world.

That everything began and ended with me.

I felt it in everything she did.

Even when she was high and her eyes were glazed over, they looked at me like I was the best part of her.

Laying my head against my mother's knee, I bring my own to my chest and stare at the empty bottle and the few remaining pills that must've scattered across the ratty rug when it fell from her hand.

As I stare at those pills, it isn't resentment that I feel.

It never even enters my mind that, in the end, my mother chose the high over me.

Instead, there's something else taking over, and suddenly, that hole isn't so empty anymore.

It takes me a moment to recognize the emotion slowly filling up all that negative space.

Rage.

This never would've happened if it hadn't been for him .

Our lives would've been so different if he'd kept his promises.

As I sit there on the floor, I make a promise of my own to my mother and myself.

There were three deaths here today.

Hers, mine, and his.

He just doesn't know it yet.

But he will.