Page 183 of Always Love You More

I pull my hand back, and she stumbles forward. I reach out to steady her, but she moves away from me.

“I hate you!” she throws at me. “I fucking hate you!”

I freeze, and Sam moves from her place in the doorway, stepping into the room.

She’s high, I tell myself.She’s only saying this ’cause she’s high. She doesn’t actually hate you. She doesn’t …

“Did you hear me?” she sneers.

“Yeah, Ma,” I mutter, my voice hollow. “I heard you. You hate me.”

“Give me back my things,” she says, pacing. “I need my things.”

“No.”

She grabs the ashtray from the nightstand and hurls it across the room. “You can’t just take my things!”

“You need to calm down,” I tell her, moving for the door.

“Where are you going?”

I motion for Sam to step out into the hall.

“Jameson! Where are you—”

She rushes for the door, but I close it behind me before she can reach it, holding it closed as she yanks at the doorknob.

“Open this fucking door,” she pleads.

Sam grabs my other hand as I listen to my mother rant and bang on the door, saying things I try to ignore.

“… I’m a prisoner in this house …”

“… I have nothing …”

“… you’re nothing …”

“… you’re useless, Jameson …”

“Block it out,” Sam whispers beside me. “She doesn’t mean it. Just block it out.”

I try.

I really fucking try.

But as much as I attempt to rationalize it, tell myself that she isn’t thinking straight right now, each insult, each accusation, hits like a blow to my gut. Another stab to my already shattered heart.

Sam brings her hand to my face, forcing me to look at her. “Focus on me,” she murmurs. “Tune it out.”

Something breaks on the other side of the door.

“… this is what you wanted …”

“… I hope you’re happy …”

“… just open the fucking door …”

Briefly, Sam’s eyes flick to the doorknob at my whitening grip on the handle. “Let me take over,” she says. “You should go somewhere else. You don’t need to hear—”