Total Knock Out / Book Two

Chapter Ten: Family Drama

Stanford took a deep breath and held it in his lungs, counting to ten before slowly letting it out. He didn't want to deal with this right now, didn't have the patience or the courage to face his mother. But he knew that if he didn't walk through the door then she would continue to call and show up to his house in a drunken stupor, and he couldn't risk Logan or Rori seeing that.

He eased the front door open and slipped inside, making sure that it was locked behind him. His mother didn't live in the best neighborhood but she refused to leave, constantly telling him that this is where she made her life and she would stay until it ended.

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch!" Stanford ducked just in time, avoiding the glass vase that was aimed at his head. He let out a sigh and slowly straightened back up, shoving the broken shards of glass on the floor away from him with his foot. He was getting faster at this, and the fact that he was proud of not having to dust broken glass out of his hair spoke volumes about how pathetic this whole situation was.

"Hi mom," Stanford ducked a glass ashtray this time, "it's nice to see you, too. Why are you upset this time?"

He watched as his mother stood in the doorway, chest heaving from exertion and a candy dish in her left hand. Her blonde hair was matted to her head and her blue eyes were glazed over, a sure sign that she was drunk at the moment. The pajamas she was wearing were drenched in sweat and the entire room smelled like a combination of vodka and vomit.

"Stop fucking calling me that," she snarled, throwing the candy dish against the wall by Stanford's shoulder. He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face, counting to ten before looking back at the short woman in front of him.

"Shelia, why are you upset? I can't fix whatever it is until you tell me what's wrong," Stanford soothed, feeling like the parent in their twisted relationship for the millionth time. It had been like this for as long as he could remember, ever since his dad left and his mother had placed the blame and her hatred on his small shoulders.

She couldn't physically abuse him like she had done when he was a boy, couldn't put out her cigarettes on his sternum or lock him in the tiny hall closet anymore. But she had always been a master of guilting him, and somewhere deep down he was still that small child just craving his mother's love.

"I need more money. That shitty check you wrote at the beginning of the week isn't enough. I'm gonna need at least seven hundred more."

Stanford shook his head, finally moving away from the wall and following his mother inside of the living room. He was already giving her a thousand dollars a week, ensuring that she never had to work and that she was always waist deep in her preferred alcohol.

His mother grabbed the half full vodka bottle off of the coffee table and brought it up to her mouth, swallowing down half of the alcohol in just a few seconds. Stanford stepped over the puddle of vomit by the couch and dug in his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a handful of twenty dollar bills once he got it open. His mother snatched it out of his hand and glared at him after she had counted it.

"Two hundred is all you can give me? After everything I've done for you? Two hundred dollars is the thanks I get for bringing you into this world, even though I didn't want you in the first place?" she screeched, throwing the money on the ground and slamming the vodka bottle onto the coffee table.

Stanford held his hands up and backed up against the wall, trying not to anger his mother even more. This was the reason he didn't want to come in the first place, didn't want to face her crazed eyes and the accusations she had been hurling at him for as long as he could remember.

He watched in horror as she knocked the vodka bottle onto the floor and she stepped on the shattered glass, bending down to pick up what was left of the bottle by the neck. Blood smeared the floor as she stalked towards him, waving the broken bottle around like a weapon.

"I should have let your ungrateful ass drown when you were a baby," she hisses, slashing out with the bottle and catching Stanford on the forearm. "Your father never would have left me and I wouldn't be a fucking has-been if you had just died like I wanted you to."

He shot out his hand to knock the broken bottle away when his mother lunged at him again, slicing up the palm of his hand in the process. He watched in tense silence as the glass dropped to the floor and shattered completely, waiting for his mother to break just as badly.

Blood dripped steadily down his arm and he repressed a shudder when he saw the satisfaction in the eyes of the woman who was meant to love him unconditionally. He couldn't help the comparison that popped into his head: Logan against his own mother, and the way they treated their children. He knew that something was fundamentally wrong with his mother, but he hadn't realized how badly until he had been forced to spend time with Logan and Rori.

"I'll bring you a check next week like usual. You should clean up the glass before you hurt yourself," Stanford whispered, shoving his wallet back into his pocket and practically running out of the house.

He waited until he was back in his truck before checking the damage done to his arm and hand, the tears burning his eyes making it a little difficult to see clearly. He shrugged out of his shirt and wrapped his arm as best as he could before scrubbing the tears off of his cheeks and backing out of the driveway. Elijah could patch him back up when he got home, or even call Darcy for all he cared. He just needed to get away from this place and drunk as fast as possible.