Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Gianna Gabriela
Not The End
Prologue
Better With You
Fighting For You
Not the Same
Copyright © 2018 Gianna Gabriela
ASIN: B07MMVQND
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, or by any other means, without written permission from the author. The only time passages may be used is for teasers, blog posts, articles, or reviews, so long as the work isn’t being wrongfully used.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events, and incidents portrayed are solely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, events, or other incidents is coincidental or are used fictitiously.
Editor: Lauren Dawes
Proofreader: C.L. Rose - Full Bloom Editing
Cover design & formatting by Sly Fox Cover Designs
Prologue
I wish dad was here.
“Hey, Mom, what’s this?” I ask, holding up a small plastic bag. I found it inside one of her shoes in the closet when I was playing hide and seek with Ethan. “Is it sugar?” Maybe she forgot it was there. I know she’s planning on making lemonade today.
“Where did you find that, Aron?” she asks. She sounds like she’s mad, but I don’t understand why; she’s usually happy when I find things.
“It was—”
She runs to me, prying the bag from my hand. “Where did you find it?” she yells and my bottom lip begins to tremble. I look down to see there’s a little bit of blood on my hand. I think she scratched me when she snatched the bag away.
Tears begin to stream down my face. “It was in your…” I mumble, not understanding what I did to make Mom so mad.
“Where?” she shouts and I flinch.
“Closet,” I reply. Ethan stayed in the room. He’s hiding until I go and find him. I’m glad he’s not here to see me cry.
“Don’t go in there again!”
“We were just playing hide and seek,” I say.
She gives me a look that tells me I’m in trouble. “Don’t ever go in my closet again.” She says each word slowly and I nod, lips still trembling, tears still falling.
I don’t know what I did to make her mad.
She’s not usually mad at me.
I wish Dad was here.
She was never angry when he was here.
1
I shouldn’t be the one parenting the parent.
Five years later…
I walk into my house, angry and ready to confront my mother for leaving Ethan at school for two extra hours. She’s supposed to pick him up when I have football practice. That’s her one job—the one thing I let her do, but she even fails at that. When I showed up, the principal gave me a look of pity and my little brother gave me a hug. Ethan was scared. He’d been crying and I could only imagine how many scenarios ran through his little head—none of them close to the reality I walk in to.
Just as I suspected, and the reason I told Ethan to wait for me in his room, my mother is sitting at the kitchen table with white powder spread out on the surface in front of her.
“What are you doing?” I ask in disgust. I’ve caught her doing this enough times to know exactly what it is, but I ask anyway, hoping the answer will be different this time.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had practice?” she asks, changing the subject. I drop my gym bag onto the floor. The disappointment I feel should be obvious to her, but I think she’s oblivious—or perhaps used to it—by now.
I watch her try to put the rest of the white powder—the evidence of her wrongdoing— back into the bag. “I did have practice.”
“So why aren’t you there now?” Her tone is accusatory. Only my mother would dare question my actions when hers are less than legal. She puts the small bag inside her jeans pocket.
“The school called,” I say, counting the seconds until she realizes what she did this time.
Ten seconds.
Ten whole seconds.
“Shit, Ethan!” she says, finally remembering.
Anger is coursing through my blood. “You were supposed to pick him up two hours ago.”
She looks over my shoulder. “Where is he now?”
“Upstairs doing homework, not that you actually care.”
“I do care!” she snarls in reply.
I look at her intently. “Really? You care? Since when?” I spit out. I shouldn’t be the one parenting the parent. This wasn’t supposed to be my job.
“I’m your mother,” she argues weakly.
I scoff. She hasn’t been a mother to us in years. I had to raise myself—and Ethan too. “Is that what you want to call yourself now? Because you seem to be forgetting what your role is.”
Suddenly contrite, she approaches me, framing my face with her palms. “I forgot, okay?” she says softly. I place my hands on top of hers, prying them from my face. I won’t give her the absolution she seeks.
“Yes, you did.” You forgot you’re a parent, that you have children, that you shouldn’t be doing drugs. You can’t forget your kid at school for two hours because you’re too busy getting high.
These are all the things I want to tell her, but I don’t.
Because I’ve said it all before to no avail.
I guess she also forgot how to listen.
“Dude, you can’t quit!” George says as I pack my things from the men’s locker room.
I sigh. Mom has forgotten to pick Ethan up not once—but every day this week. I can’t keep leaving practice early to go and get him. “I have no choice.”
I know Coach understands, since he’s the only one who has even a vague idea of what my home life is like, but I can’t keep doing this to the team. A quarterback is one of the really important pieces on the board—a piece that needs to remain constant.
“You’re the quarterback,” Tyler says. He doesn’t understand my situation—probably because I haven’t said anything. To anyone. I’m too ashamed.
I shake my head. “Not anymore.”
“What about the college scholarship?” George asks.
“I’ll have to aim for a merit one instead,” I reason. The truth is, a college scholarship won’t matter because there’s no way I’ll be allowed to bring Ethan to the dorms with me. And I can’t afford to live off campus with him while going to school.
The best I can do is graduate high school and get a job so I can get a small place for us.
Maybe when Ethan finishes high school and goes to college, I can think about college for myself.
“Really? A merit scholarship?” Tyler says, laughing.
I punch him in the shoulder. “I have straight As!”
“Dude, watch the arm. You may be done with football, but I can’t get injured if we’re going to try and not get killed this season because of the second-string quarterback you’re leaving us with.”
“He’s not so bad,” I tell them.
Tyler and George open their lockers in unison, staring at me in disbelief.
“Not that bad?” George says. “The guy can’t complete a pass!”
“The dude freaks out when he sees players running his
way,” Tyler adds.
“No quarterback wants to get sacked,” I say. It’s true. Not everyone can take a hit either.
I look at my uniform, my number and name on the back. I’m going to miss doing this. Playing football was my shelter from the chaos that is my life, but it’s time to grow up. I’ve got someone else I have to protect. Although I love football, I love my brother a lot more.
“I’m just saying, we’re about to hit a dry spell,” George says and we all laugh. It’s not like we’ve been winning every game; we’re a worthy opponent, but far from having a perfect season.
“Let’s just hope it’s a short one,” Tyler says, picking up his bag from the bench and tossing it in his locker.
“So, no practice for you today?” George asks.
I shut my locker. “Dude, I’m not playing football anymore. Why would I go to practice?” I look down at my watch—I’ve got to be at Ethan’s school in a few minutes for pick up.
Tyler shoves George and gives him an are you serious? look.
“I gotta go,” I tell them.
“We’ll miss playing with you,” Tyler says, never afraid to voice his thoughts.
“We’re still friends,” I assure them.
“Since we are friends, I’m throwing a party next weekend. My parents will be away. We can celebrate, or commiserate over, your departure from the team. You better be there!” George says.
“I’ll try and show for a couple of hours,” I tell him, knowing it won’t happen. There’s no way I’m going to leave Ethan alone with Mom so I can go off and party.
2
She doesn’t ask how I’m doing
It’s been a week since I quit football and I miss it so much. It was my one outlet and now it’s gone. Instead, I’m stuck having to mitigate the impact my mom’s drug habit has on my little brother’s life. When I arrive home, I can hear the sound of furniture being moved or dumped onto the floor.
“What did you do?” Richard barks at me as I walk in.
I look at him with disdain. “What are you talking about?” I ask, pretending not to have a clue.
He closes the distance between us one step at a time. “You know what I’m talking about.”
I defy him because if it weren’t for him, we probably wouldn’t be in this place right now—my mom wouldn’t be in this place.
I shrug casually. “Nope, no clue.” Turning around, I head to my room but I don’t make it two steps before I’m slammed against the wall.
Richard leans in close to my ear, his forearm on the back of my neck pinning me in place. “Where did you put it?” he demands in a slow drawl. When I remain silent, he grabs my shoulder and spins me around. Trapped between him and the wall, I feel the rage pounding through my blood. I want to hit him so badly.
But I hold back.
“Where?” he shouts. Richard glares at me with red-rimmed eyes. Still, I say nothing. With a frustrated growl, he brings both of his hands to my throat, wrapping his fingers around tightly until he cuts off my air.
I gasp loudly, my breath barely a whisper when I say, “Trash.”
“You threw it in the fucking trash?”
He lets me go, walking to the kitchen. I hear him upending the trash bag, looking for the drugs responsible for destroying my family.
Tough shit.
I walk over to where he is, watching as he searches for something he won’t find. “Where are they?” he shouts, briefly turning to me before returning to his search. I look towards the yard through the kitchen window.
Richard follows my gaze. “God dammit,” he breathes. I don’t know why I’m still standing here, watching him look for it. This might not end well for me, but I don’t care.
Not today.
Richard throws open the door to the backyard, yanking it so hard it comes off its hinges. Mentally, I count down how long it’ll take for him to return empty-handed. A devious grin appears on my face as I picture him going through the trash with his bare hands, searching for his precious drugs.
It’s too bad I flushed them all down the toilet.
“What the fuck did you do with them?” he shouts, stepping back into the kitchen.
“Oh, wait, you mean your drugs?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth.
“I thought you were asking about something else.”
“What else would I be asking about? Where are they?”
“I flushed those down the toilet,” I answer and pain radiates from my mouth. Richard hits me a second time, blood pouring from my split lip. Fisting my shirt with both hands, he throws me down onto the floor and kicks me in the ribs.
“You bastard! Do you know how much that was worth?” he asks, kicking me again.
One kick.
Two.
Three.
With an inarticulate scream, he turns around, grabbing his hair desperately. As quietly as I can, I get up from the floor and sneak up behind him. With lightning speed, I wrap my arm around his throat, tightening my grip as he begins to struggle. Richard tries to pry me off, but I’m stronger than he is—I have been for a while.
I let him get some hits in today, but he had to know it was my choice. For some reason, I wanted to hurt—to feel that pain, but now I’m going to hurt him.
“What the…? Aron stop right now!” my mother screams, rushing to help Richard.
“What’s going on?” I hear someone say.
Ethan.
What’s he doing here? It’s the middle of the day?
I know he sees the blood running down my face.
I know he sees the way I’m holding Richard.
The way Richard is struggling.
I look at him and feel his fear.
I can see every question running through his mind and I’m angry at myself for putting them there in the first place.
I almost don’t feel my mother pulling at me, hitting me, begging me to let go of Richard. I’m numb to it all.
“You’re bleeding, Aron.”
Those are the words that break me, tearing me from my frozen state. My little brother’s words laced with concern and confusion are what cause me to let go of Richard altogether.
Richard drops to the floor, holding his neck and gasping for air. My mother falls down beside him, asking him how he’s doing, if he’s okay.
She ignores me, though.
She ignores the fact that I’m bleeding.
Richard has all of her attention.
“I’m okay, buddy.” I try to assure Ethan but I feel like I’ve somehow torn up his image of me. I’ve disappointed him and that hurts me more than the punches and kicks Richard had rained on me earlier.
I’m an idiot.
I got carried away trying to piss off Richard.
“What are you doing out of school so soon?” I ask, wiping the blood from my face.
He ignores my question. “Why are you fighting?”
“I was just showing Richard something I learned—we’re not really fighting.”
He reaches up to touch my mouth, but I pull away. “You’re bleeding,” he says.
“Oh… I fell earlier and didn’t wipe it off.” I hate that I’m lying to him but I don’t want him to think the worst of me.
“I don’t want you to fight, even if it’s make believe,” he says innocently.
“Okay, I promise I won’t,” I assure him, guiding him up the stairs to his room and away from Mom and Richard. “So why are you home so early?"
“Water was falling all over the classroom.”
“A pipe broke?” I ask.
“Yeah, they called Mom.”
“Did she pick you up?”
He shakes his head. “No, Lance’s mom brought me,” he responds and that makes more sense to me.
“Look, I’m going to clean up and when I get back, we can go somewhere special,” I tell him, praying I can erase what he’s just witnessed.
“Are we going for ice cream?” he asks, hopeful.
“Ice crea
m and somewhere else too!”
He nods eagerly, and I take that as my chance to walk out of his room and compose myself. I don’t want to be the reason for his nightmares.
3
I scream at the top of my lungs, letting out all the frustration, the anger, the pain
“Are you going to try it or not?” George asks me from his seat on the couch. I decided to come to his party after all, especially since Ethan is sleeping over at his friend Lance’s house.
George’s parents are out of town for the weekend, and they trusted their seventeen-year-old to stay at home and not throw a party. Big mistake.
The house has so many people in it that his parents wouldn’t know what hit them if they dared come home early. I take another gulp of my beer and set it down on the table.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“You gotta try it at least once,” Tyler shouts over the music, taking a hit of the joint in question.
“Seriously, dude. Try it and then you can check it off your list,” George says, trying to persuade me. Drugs aren’t on my list, but I’ve always wondered what makes them so attractive.
What makes them so good that my mother gives in to them every other day?
“Screw it,” I mutter under my breath. “Pass it over.”
Some would call it peer pressure; I’d call it research.
“Just remember: inhale, hold, and then release,” Tyler says, coaching me through it.
“Whatever.” I take a hit, holding it for as long as I can. When I release it though, I start coughing like crazy.
“Dude, breathe,” George says, laughing.
Not the Same (Not Alone Novellas Book 2) Page 1
