Fighting Dirty - Sidney Halston Page 0,7

door, stepped inside, and then slid shut the three deadbolts before turning on all the lights. JL hated being home now that Violet, her best friend, had moved out to live with her boyfriend, Cain. She had never liked being alone, but lately that was an all-too-common occurrence. At least Violet had left behind her surprisingly entertaining parrot—appropriately named Bird—while they remodeled their new home.

“Woof woof woof,” Bird cawed as JL turned the corner into her small living room. JL giggled. She’d taught Bird all sorts of animal calls. Violet didn’t appreciate her parrot’s new skills—including the string of curse words that now flowed out of it at the most inappropriate times—but it always made JL crack up.

“Good girl,” JL said to Bird. She’d been slowly trying to tame the bird into letting her pet it, but every time she got close to the enormous parrot, it snapped at her. “Oh, come on. I’ll give you a second helping if you let me pet you.” The bird snapped again. “Bitch,” JL hissed.

“Bitch. Bitch. Bitch,” the parrot repeated, making JL giggle again.

Turning on her stereo to drown out the silence, she heated up two frozen dinners and sat down on the couch to eat, chatting with Bird, who occasionally repeated the words. When she was finished, she went into the bathroom, reached into the medicine cabinet with her eyes closed, and picked out a box. Opening her eyes, she saw which color she’d picked. “Magenta. Nice.” She took off all her clothes and applied the dye to her head. Once she’d finished, she showered and blow-dried her short hair, then examined her reflection in the mirror, happy with the results. She always kept a stash of different colors for when the mood struck. Tonight the mood had led her to a shocking shade of red-purple.

After she was done with her bedtime routine, she looked at the clock and realized it was still early. She paced around her small apartment for a few minutes. Finally she pulled out the canvas from earlier in the day and studied her work. She’d spent too much time staring and not enough time sketching when she’d been in class. She took out her charcoal and began to finish it using just her memory.

In a trance, busy shading lines on the canvas, she reached for her ringing cell phone. The caller ID said UNKNOWN, but she knew exactly who would be on the other end of the line.

“What do you want, Mama?” she said by way of greeting.

“JL, I need your help.”

“How much?”

“It’s just that my electric bill is due and—”

“No, Mama, that’s bullshit. I paid the electric bill directly to the electric company last week when you called.”

Silence.

“Just fifty dollars, JL. That’s all. It’ll be the last time, I promise.” Rita’s voice sounded frail and distant, and JL could hear noise in the background. JL had heard this exact statement so many times throughout the years she had it memorized.

“Mama.” She closed her eyes and released an exasperated breath. “If you need something, I’ll go get it for you. You know I’m not giving you money.” Last time JL had given her mother money she’d gone on a three-day drug binge that had landed her at St. Mary’s Hospital after an overdose.

“You’re just being spiteful. I’ll call Travis.”

“And he won’t answer.” Travis had stopped talking to their mother a long time ago.

“You’ve always been worthless.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those toxic words from her mother. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Jamie Lynn Calhoun, you think you’re—”

JL clicked the phone off and threw it aside. She knew exactly what would be next. You think you’re better than me. That you can just leave the trailer park. It’s your fault I’m alone.

Rising abruptly, she shut off the stereo, because suddenly she didn’t want noise. She needed silence. She wanted to be lost in her drawing, which was the only way to quiet her mind after her mother’s hateful words. She knew her mom was sick. Addiction was a disease. But Rita Calhoun didn’t want to go into treatment. She didn’t want to mend her relationship with her children. She only wanted a quick fix.

Suddenly JL knew she was done. She would never be able to move on as long as there was an anvil attached around her ankle in the form of a beautiful albeit waif-thin blond woman who looked almost exactly like JL—the same woman who kept pulling her down every time she felt even a