One week after her mysterious rendezvous, I decide to take matters into my own hands and give mom a wake-up call of her own.

Bright and early on Sunday morning at 7am, I shoulder mom's bedroom door open and smirk as the sound of it slamming against the wall jolts her out of bed. She jerks awake, wide-eyed and flabbergasted, and lets out a loud curse.

I whip the empty trash bag from behind my back and drop to my knees so I can start rummaging through her room. She's quiet and confused as she watches me sift through the piles of clothes on her floor, but she tenses up when I pop my head up from the side of her bed and make a show of tossing the half-empty bottle of vodka in the trash bag.

That gets her attention.

"The fuck are you doin'?" her raspy, half-asleep southern accent snaps, "stop takin' my shit!"

I ignore her and start flinging open her dresser drawers. I scrunch my nose up in disgust as I deposit a baggy of weed and two small bottles of Crown Royal into the bag.

When I move to her closet, she throws her duvet to the side and lunges for me.

"This is my house! This is my shit!" she yells.

I snatch the trash bag from her grasp and glare at her, "You paid for none of it. You don't pay a single fucking bill in this household. Things are changing around here. Starting now."

Mom throws her hands up in frustration and grips her thin, greying hair, "I don't have to put up with this bullshit. You mind your own fucking business, you hear me?"

I shake the trash bag at her and yell, "This is my business! I clean up after you. I take care of you. I take care of all of us! I understand that you're going through a hard time right now, but this shit needs to stop. This isn't the right way to deal with it."

Tears gather in her eyes and before I know it, she's falling to her knees and burying her head in her hands. I watch on in stunned confusion as she begins sobbing uncontrollably.

"None of you give a damn about me! Your father didn't and neither do you! My husband left me. He's gone! I'm grieving his loss and you're being selfish." she wails.

Holy shit. She really went there.

I grip the trash bag in my hands, trying to get a grasp on how the hell our conversation got to this point. I'm not shocked that she pulled the victim card. In a way, I do feel sorry for her. I can't imagine how it feels having your husband leave you, but it's not like they had a healthy, loving relationship in the first place. He was always high, cheated on her all the time, and was never home.

But the self-destructive path she's heading down isn't good. She's never sober or coherent and she's always disappearing. She's turning into dad.

Mom quiets her cries when she notices that I haven't said anything. She peers up at me through snot, tears, and greasy hair matted to her forehead and wet cheeks.

I take a deep breath, exhale, and calmly say, "I clean your vomit from the carpet. I cut my palms when I pick up shattered glass off the kitchen floor. I hold Savannah as she cries and asks me why you love alcohol more than her. I'm the furthest thing from selfish, and if you can't see that, then I guess you need to put down the bottle and open your eyes a little wider."

I don't look back as I walk out of her room. Instead I slip on a pair of flip-flops and carry the trash bag to the big garbage can outside, rolling it to the edge of the driveway so it can be picked up tomorrow morning.

I refuse to let her make me feel guilty anymore.

Truth is, ever since Savannah and I walked into my Aunt Dina's personal drug lair last week, I've lost the little bit of confidence and hope that I had when I was so sure mom wasn't on drugs.

I really just don't know what to believe anymore.

I can't be totally sure, considering I personally haven't seen her use, but she's always with Dina. And there's no way to know what kind of shit those two get into when they're alone together.

Savannah hasn't been the same since that day. She's been stand-offish and more on edge, which sucks because she's usually so energetic and alive. The light in her eyes that never seemed to go out has dimmed since that day and it breaks my heart. I wish I could fix everything for her.

Which is why today I've decided her and I will spend the day together. Sunday is my day off, and even though I'm tired as hell, I'm determined to get Savannah out of her room and to put a smile on her face.

I go back inside and head to the bathroom to take a quick shower. I brush my teeth and hair and slap on some much-needed makeup. I change into a cropped tank-top and my favorite pair of ripped high waisted jeans, and head to Sav's room to wake her up.

I don't bother knocking on her door and instead I gently push it open and tip-toe inside.

I smirk when I see her. If there's one similarity that Savannah and I share, it's that we're both very heavy sleepers. Currently, she's lying face down on her stomach, body splayed out like a starfish and brown hair covering her entire face. Her comforter isn't even on the bed.

"Sav." I say.

Nothing.

I walk closer and lean down towards her face. Louder, I say, "Sav."

Still nothing.

This time, instead of calling her name, I scream. Loudly.

She jerks out of bed much like mom did a while ago and topples over the edge, arms and legs flailing wildly.

I peer over at her and laugh when I see her sprawled across her floor.

"Get up," I say, "we got shit to do."

She groans but complies, stumbling to her feet and yanking her t-shirt off and over her head before I'm even out of the room.

Walking down the hallway, I peer into mom's room to see that she fell back asleep. Of course. I roll my eyes and grab my phone and purse from my room, slip on a pair of strappy sandals, and head to the kitchen to wait for Sav.

I'm downing a glass of water when she stumbles in the room and falls into a chair at the dining table. She pulls her hair into a high, messy ponytail and squints her eyes at me.

"Where are we goin'?" she mumbles.

I flash her a big, cheesy grin and say, "It's a surprise."

She raises a brow at me but says nothing else, instead walking towards the front door to slip on her shoes. She looks extra girly and cute today in a flowy summer dress and her matching pink Vans.

I follow her out the door and lock it behind me, knowing that mom will most likely be in bed until late afternoon and won't be leaving the house.

She's quiet as we walk side by side down the sidewalk. The sun is once again out in full force today, rays of heat blazing brightly across our backs. The neighborhood is well and alive today too. In one yard there are a group of kids running through sprinklers, and one lawn over rap music blares from a radio while a group of men stand around a grill drinking beer.

Tired of the silence, I ask her, "Are you doing okay today?"

"I'm fine," she says robotically.

"You know I don't believe you, right?"

"Yep."

I sigh and decide not to push her any further. I know that if she really wanted to, she'd come to me with what was bothering her. Pushing her to talk will only cause her to shrink further into her shell. Yet another similar trait that we share.

When she catches my eye, I nod my head in the direction of the small ice cream shop around the corner. A small feeling of accomplishment sweeps over me when I see her face light up.

I laugh as she skips ahead of me with a buzz of excitement that wasn't there before and swings the door of the quaint shop open. The inside is cozy and colorful, bright pops of pink and yellow spread throughout the place.

I order a small bowl, Sav orders a cone, and we head back outside after I pay. I steer us in the direction of the small neighborhood park a little ways down. It's small and consists of a single jungle gym, slide, and swing set with only two seats, but the park is buzzing with adults, energetic children, and even a few dogs on leashes.

I lead us to a small picnic table further away from the crowd and we sit down. We're both quiet for a moment, taking in the slight breeze and sound of children laughing.

I open my mouth to say something first but she cuts me off.

"I think mom is on drugs."

I freeze, arm poised with my spoon halfway to my mouth. I slowly put it down and calmly set the small cup of ice cream on the wooden picnic table.

I turn to Savannah and meet her eyes. She looks hesitant and scared. Instead of bullshitting her and coming up with some sorry excuse to protect her innocence, I decide to be honest.

"I do too." I sigh.

"That scares me," she admits quietly.

I swallow harshly, unsure of what to think. What would we do if she really is on drugs? Obviously she can't continue living with us. Its dangerous and the thought of CPS breaking down our door to take Savannah away makes my blood boil.

I'm at a crossroads. Mom needs help. I want to get her that help. But unfortunately, I can't afford to get her that help.

Fuck.

"That scares me too. But.. we'll figure something out. Maybe once I get a second job we can find a rehab place, put a payment plan in place. Try not to worry too much." I tell her.

Savannah huffs loudly and says, "I know you're trying to protect me, but I'm almost eighteen, Aria. I'm not a kid. I've seen enough shit to know what the real world is like, and I definitely know its not a good place. But I can handle it. We're in this together. You and me."

She's right.

Not wanting to argue, I simply say, "You're right. You and me."

She sighs loudly and dramatically rolls her eyes. "I love you."

"I guess I love you too," I smirk.

We finish our ice cream and sit around talking and laughing for a little while longer, but we finally decide to head back to reality. I need to clean the house, fix dinner, and there's a shit ton of laundry that needs to be done for the upcoming week. And even though I know mom's antics are far from over, I walk back feeling a new sense of hope that wasn't there before.

I'll find a new job. No matter how long it may take, I'll save up enough money to get mom into a decent treatment facility. I'll get Savannah through her senior year and off to college. I will. I have to.

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