I walked over to her in two short steps and pulled her nightgown down to cover her more modestly. “Damn it, Mom.”
I pulled on her free arm but she didn’t move. I expected her eyes to flutter open, but when she was high like this, she never opened them. I looked up at Skinner, who was now injecting the same crap in his own arm, using his belt and the same damn needle he just injected into my mom’s arm.
Shit!
He inhaled a rush of air and looked up at me. “Now that's some good shit.”
I watched as his eyes rolled into the back of his bald head. He deeply exhaled and opened his eyes to look back over at me. I just wanted to punch him in his stupid fucking face for always doing this to my mom… to us. So what do I do? The answer was simple; I punched him in the face.
He didn’t even see it coming. I reached over my mom, grabbing the front of his white shirt and punched him straight in the nose. Blood sprayed across my gray sweatshirt and onto my mom's pink nightgown. The punch didn’t even faze Skinner because he was so out of it. All he did was smile in my direction, his nose dripping with blood, and it covered his teeth, and for some reason, that pissed me off more. So, I punched him again and he fell backwards on the bed, and then landed onto the floor. My mom stirred and mumbled something, I tried to shake her awake, but nothing happened.
“Damn it, Mom, every time,” I yelled, hoping she would be her old self and talk back to me for yelling at her.
I heard groans coming from the opposite side of the bed and Skinner stumbled to his feet. He dabbed his face and glared across the bed at me. “Did you hit me?” he asked though clench teeth.
“No. You’re a clumsy ass who fell off the bed,” I said, turning to leave the room, but Skinner grabbed the hood of my hoodie, tugging me backwards, spinning me in the process, so I would face him directly.
“You hit me!” he yelled, while spitting blood in my face. I quickly wiped away the splattered blood with my sleeve.
I shoved him hard off me, but he came back swinging, hitting me in the jaw. I heard and felt a pop in my head. Skinner tackled me with a blow of his shoulder, slamming me back through the open door of the room, and into the wall in the hall. The wind burned from my lungs and I could hardly breathe.
“You fucking hit me, Tucker!”
Now more than ever, I was really angry. I could feel the rage boiling through my veins, my face burned and my heart started to race faster. “You fucking hit me too!”
I shoved at his shoulders to release the hold he had on me. He stumbled back into the room and fell on his ass; his head hitting the metal bed frame as he went unconscious.
I fixed my sweatshirt and made my way towards the front door. I couldn’t stay another damn minute with that jackass; he was a loser. I locked up the apartment and went back down the crappy stairs. I banged on the manager's door and waited for him to answer. Bouncing with rage, I felt like I was going to explode. When he finally answered, he looked at my bloodied hoodie and shook his head.
“Skinner is causing problems again,” I said through gritted teeth. Then I started explaining what had happened.
He shook his head some more. “Your problem, Tuck,” he told me, then slammed the door in my face.
Shit!
I raked my hands through my long brown hair. Normally, he would call the cops to get Skinner to leave the building; I guess Sam was done helping my deadbeat drug addict mother and me.