Chapter Seven: Bumps In The Night

On the way home, Mila drove down the dimly lit streets, barely touching the gas pedal, as if her worn-out station wagon was weary of the night's events. The neighborhood unfolded before her, a humble backdrop of modest homes, some adorned with chipped paint and unkempt lawns, while an assortment of cars decorated the darkness, their sorry state making Mila's own vehicle seem almost glamorous in comparison.

A loud crunching sound shattered the silence as she pulled into the driveway, jolting her already fragile nerves. Dread welled up within her as she stepped out of the car, only to discover that she had run over her little sister's pink bicycle, its worn out handlebars now in ruins. Helplessness washed over her, but there was no time to fix the damage, so she dragged herself into her tired two-story home, needing peace in the form of sleep.

The ground floor greeted her with an eerie stillness, permeated by the faint scent of PineSol that attempted to mask the neglect of the house. Passing a tattered couch and a broken window, Mila's gaze fell upon the closed door beneath the stairs. A flicker of light escaped from underneath. It was her mother's domain, where pipe dreams were typed on an ancient word processor, the fervent belief in a future as a famous author fueling her late-night endeavors. Mila had mastered the art of stealth, knowing exactly which creaky steps to avoid to go up to her room unnoticed.

But as she approached her room, a foreign sound invaded her ears, different from the usual clatter of keyboard keys. Muffled cries of passion seeped through the walls, a cries of lust that echoed through the hallway. With dread, Mila swung open her bedroom door, turning on the light, only to be greeted by the sight of her friends entangled in a web of sexual acts upon her own bed. Five pairs of shocked eyes turned toward her, their guilt etched upon their faces, and Mila released a groan of frustration.

"Oh, come on, guys! This isn't my fourteenth birthday party! Get out of here!" she demanded, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

The disheveled group hastily disentangled themselves, scrambling for their scattered clothing as if their lives depended on it. One by one, they hurried past Mila, their naked bodies a blur, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence tainted by the lingering scent of sex and stains upon her once clean sheets.

Disgusted, Mila stormed back into the hallway, her voice piercing the air. "Who let you in anyway? Mom!"

With each step down the staircase, she vented her frustrations and deposited her anger deposited on the old worn-out wood. The door beneath the stairs groaned in protest as it swung open, revealing her mother, Meghan, crawling into the living room with a desperate grip on the wall. Her disheveled appearance told a story of a night of questionable choices, and her bloodshot eyes aimlessly searched for refuge from the unwelcome brightness of the living room.

Meghan's unkempt blonde locks seemed to mirror the chaos within her mind, while her underwear inched uncomfortably up her midriff. Mila's heart sank deeper into sadness as the weight of her family's dysfunction settled on her tired shoulders.

In that moment, as she sank into the cheap couch, Mila felt a strange mix of frustration, exhaustion, and an unexpected glimmer of determination.

"Are you high again, Mom?" Mila groaned, her patience wearing thin as her mother slumped onto the other side of the couch.

"A bitty bit, dear. It helps my writing," Meghan slurred, Mila could hardly understand her words. She attempted a smile, but her stained teeth only disgusted Mila further.

"No, it doesn't! Every time you write while high, it's just gibberish nonsense about how Dad ruined your life, how having two kids destroyed your body, and all those explicit details about your intimate life. Correct me if I'm wrong, but nobody wants to read that stuff," Mila retorted, her frustration evident.

Meghan rolled her head against her shoulder and stuck her pinky in her ear, disappearing it almost entirely inside. "Did I ever tell you about how you were conceived?" she asked, her eyelids drooping.

"I don't want to know. I wish you hadn't let my friends in. I need some time to think," Mila replied, hoping for a moment of clarity amidst the chaos that was her home.

"I was getting' out of the shower, clothes off, naked as a Special-Ed kid. Reached for a towel to dry myself off, went to the mirror, but slipped and fell to the ground like a ton of bricks. Seems your old man—Cal, that drunk bastard—lost track of his seed after a wank-session not too long before. Came right down on top of it and got a bruise this big around. He wouldn't touch my ass for a week, saying it looked 'bout to fall off, but that wasn't the only surprise. Just goes to show, even the hardest falls can bring an unexpected miracle," The meaning of her words known to only her, Meghan babbled, a hint of a smile on her face as she reached out for Mila, who recoiled and slapped her hand away.

"That's great, Mom. Just what I wanted to hear," Mila replied sarcastically, trying to suppress her frustration.

Scolded, Meghan's eyes filled with tears, and she clutched her smacked hand to her breast, looking remorseful. "Why, you're right, baby doll. No need to bring up bad memories. You gotta be depressed as hell. Ain't nothin' worse than getting' dumped by a no-good man," Meghan sighed, her mind shifting to another topic.

Surprised, Mila turned her eyes to her mother, wondering how she knew about her recent breakup with Liam. If she couldn't even maintain the pretense with her mom, who else was she fooling?

"How did you hear about that? Did my friends tell you?" Mila asked.

Meghan took a deep breath and nodded.

"Mom, listen to me. You've got to stop hanging out with my friends. They're going to be a bad influence on you," Mila insisted, and she could hear the mix of concern and frustration in her voice.

"Oh, come now," Meghan muttered dismissively.

"No, I'm serious! You've got to clean yourself up. Find a job. I've seen the stacks of bills hidden in your dresser. They're going to evict us any day now. I can't live on the street. We need money. I just don't know what to do!" Mila poured out her fears as her desperation made her voice crack.

The room fell silent as the weight of their uncertain future settled upon them. Mila sat there, trying to be strong for her mother, but deep down, she knew that this was a battle she couldn't fight alone.

"It's only money," Meghan shrugged, brushing off their financial situation with surprising nonchalance. "What's really bothering you?"

Mila, however, ignored the question. Her gaze settled on her mother's well-endowed figure, she felt a twinge of jealousy. She couldn't help but compare herself, wishing she had inherited those attributes. "Why didn't you give me your boobs?" she asked very seriously.

But Meghan chuckled, oblivious to Mila's envy, taking it as a joke. "I'm sorry, baby doll. I did the best I could. But there's more to a woman than just that—like how well she can attract a man with money, what she has that puts other gals to shame, and how round her bottom is."

"That's easy for you to say," Mila grumbled, her frustration seeping through. "You don't know what it's like to be the only girl on the beach as flat as the surfboards. I hang out with third graders now just to feel better about it."

Meghan attempted to console her daughter. "You don't have any trouble getting attention from boys though. Obviously, there's more to it than just what you carry around up top."

"Yeah, but I don't seem to do a very good job keeping them. Do you have any idea what I could do with your boobs? I'd be invincible!" Mila exclaimed, her yearning for acceptance and validation very obvious.

Mila's response was unexpected, leaving Meghan taken aback. "Well, I don't know what to tell you, dear. You wanna go do plastic surgery?"

Mila hesitated, her initial impulse fighting with her reason. Then, "Alright!" she agreed impulsively, ready to act on her envy. But then, reality set in, and she quickly changed her mind. "No, that won't solve anything. I'll just have to go on living this way and hope Liam will take me back even though he could swipe me like a credit card."

As Mila attempted to go to her room, Meghan's sleepy haze temporarily cleared, and she woke with an outburst. "I don't know why you're in such a hurry to find a steady guy anyway. At your age, you should just be having fun and experimenting. That's what I did!"

"Yeah, and look where you've ended up." Mila snapped.

Meghan's mouth dropped open as she gazed at her daughter. "You're a very annoying child, and very disrespectful."

Mila couldn't help but release a sinister laughter that echoed through the room. Just as she was about to reply with a sharp retort, a melodious chime broke the silence, drawing her attention to an object resting in her palm–her phone.

She turned it over as her eyes fell on the glowing screen. A name flashed before her, a single word that held multiple possibilities within its letters—Liam. A rush of emotions surged through her, setting her heart ablaze like a tempest of desire and hope. In that electrifying moment, scenarios swirled through her mind, and her lips turned up in a wide smile. He wants me back.

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