Mum was ill.

I didn’t mean with the flu or a hangover. I was talking seriously ill. The drinking had taken its toll on her body, tearing away at each organ, inch by inch. Her liver was failing, and her eyes and skin were a sickly yellow colour. She was lucky to even be alive. Although, that wouldn’t always be the case. She was hanging on by a thread. Each drop could so easily be her last, and I had to sit back and wait for that moment, knowing there was nothing I could do to change it. She was adamant she didn’t want any help, and rehab was out of the question. I wasn’t even sure if it would help anymore.

The day Lola left me, I promised myself that I would make her learn to trust me again. I’d soon learned that in order to do that, I needed to trust myself, and that wasn’t so easy. I had convinced myself early on that I was a screw up, so I did what any normal person would do, and that was to be just that. I didn’t deserve Lola. But if I tried hard enough, I could.

It hadn’t been easy, but I was slowly getting there. Day by day, I was growing, learning to be someone she could lean on. I had tried to call her so often that it was starting to take over my life. I hated not being near her, but eventually, I knew I had to stop trying to reach out. I wasn’t worthy of her love and until I was, I wouldn’t be in her life at all.

I’d left college a few days later and quit playing football altogether. My conversation with Jake had left me with a lot to think about. Quitting football and moving back in with Mum had been two of the many decisions I had made. Even though she had lied to me and continued to hold the truth back about my father, she was still my mum, and she needed me. Jake wasn’t happy about it, but he accepted that it was what I needed to do.

Seeing her drink the days away had been difficult to watch. Knowing that every drop of alcohol could so easily be her last made it unbearable to witness. But there was no other choice. She had tried going cold turkey. I’d sat by and held her shaking hands as she cried, held her limp body in my arms as she vomited down the toilet. I’d watched her cry one minute and lash out the next. I hadn’t been strong enough to watch her suffer any longer and gave in to her needs. I watched her polish off a bottle of vodka like it was water and didn’t even flinch. Seeing her openly suffering was harder than knowing the effects it was having on her internally. That was easier to ignore.

She would never drink in front of me, with the exception of that one time. Mostly, she would hide away in her room and get wasted alone. Although I turned a blind eye to it, I knew what was going on behind the closed door. I always knew when she’d had a drink. Unfortunately, it was pretty much all the time.

Lately, though, there was a sadness in her eyes. The hollow look had me forgetting all about her wrongdoings and the hatred I felt when I realised she was killing herself right in front of me. Even laced with a shit tonne of alcohol, she was still my mum, and she was still in there somewhere.

Sometimes I struggled to keep up the pretence. Changing urine stained bed sheets wasn’t something a kid my age should have had to see or deal with. Every time I ripped those sheets off, replacing them with new ones, I had to force myself to remember that she was my mum and that she would do the same for me if she needed to. Often, I wanted to run away from the situation I had found myself in. I want to pick up a ball and have a kick around. I knew the second I did, though, I would sink into a depression I wouldn’t be able to get out of. I missed the game, but I missed having a mum more.

She was very much aware of what her drinking was doing to me. She just couldn’t control herself. I knew what that felt like. I had been there once.

I shook my head, ridding myself of that time in my life, and picked my keys up off the counter.

“Mum, I’m just going to the shop. I won’t be long, okay?”

She didn’t answer me. Then again, she never did. She would sit in her room feeling guilty for what I was about to do. I’d be supplying her with the drug that was eventually going to kill her. Just like I did every day. Watching her suffer wasn’t something I could live with, but the guilt? That was something I knew I would have for as long as I lived.

I clutched the carrier bag in my hand. The biting chill in the air began to creep through the thin material of my jacket and I lifted the hood, shrinking inside it.

It was Christmas time. Not that it felt like it. If it hadn’t been for the date on the newspaper, I never would’ve guessed. The streets and surrounding area looked glum compared to what it would look like back in Winslow—where tall, bushy trees would be covered in coloured lights with a star perched on the top. We would be lucky to have a plastic tree in town this year.

I passed a row of houses and glanced into a window where a single bauble hung from the handle. I breathed in, wondering what poor kid lived inside.

I shook my head and continued walking. The glass bottle clinked with every step I made, taunting me as it pressed against the jar of coffee I’d also brought from the corner shop. I rounded the last corner that led to the flat and continued down the street, until I eventually found myself outside the tall building. I lifted my eyes to take in the scenery before me, and wondered how drastically my life had changed in such a short amount of time. I closed my eyes and blew out a breath before continuing. It was only when I opened the door and walked inside that a small figure at the end of the corridor forced me to stop dead.

“Lola?” I whispered, pulling my hood down.

It couldn’t be, could it?

I glanced up, craning my neck to take in the height of the building. My neck began to ache as I continued to stare up at the block of mega high-rise flats that stood before me. I ignored the throbbing in my chest as I allowed my feet to move forward. Just as I pulled back the door, a group of teenagers pushed through, barging into me and knocking me back. I gasped as I stepped aside, allowing them room to pass. My heart hammered in my chest, but I ignored the stares and rude comments and continued through the door.

I stood in the doorway, overwhelmed at the sight before me. Three doors were situated to my right and there was another three to my left. The doors appeared to have been red at some stage but years of decay had taken the colour from them, leaving an ugly pink in its place.

The stairs were directly to my left and I glanced up, instantly regretting it. It made me dizzy just looking up there. I was sure to be out of breath and sweaty by the time I reached the eleventh floor. Deciding the lift was a better option, I made my way down the dark corridor. The only light that worked flickered above me and I held my breath, forcing myself to remember why I was here.

I squinted my eyes and dug into my coat pocket for the piece of paper Jake had reluctantly given to me. Pulling it out, I read it again, and feeling more confident, I pressed the button that said the eleventh floor and waited for it to travel down to collect me

I grew more and more anxious as the green light showed me which floor it was on, before eventually landing where I was waiting.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, I thought to myself, drawing in a breath as the ping echoed through the hallway before the door glided open fully, revealing an empty lift. I took a step forward just as a small commotion sounded at the entrance I’d just came through. I glanced over my shoulder and my breath caught in my throat.

Taylor.

“Lola?” he whispered, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words.

“Hi,” I said, the words I wanted to say bubbling in my throat, causing me to swallow. I took my bobble hat off and smoothed out my hair before I lifted my eyes to meet his. I almost wished I hadn’t.

He pulled the hood down off his head with a frown. When he ran a hand through his hair, I held back a sob. Jake had said that Taylor was in a bad way, but I’d never expected to see him like this. It was like he’d given up. The grey tracksuit he was wearing looked as though it had never been washed and was at least two sizes too big for him. His hair had grown a few inches and stuck out in every direction. The urge to run my hands through it was still very much there, though. Even dishevelled, Taylor was beautiful.

When I finally met his eyes again, he shook his head. “If you were planning on taking the lift, I wouldn’t,” he said, taking a step forward.

Huh?

I opened my mouth and glanced behind me.

“Old man Jefferson has a habit of pissing in there,” he finished, forcing my eyes back to him.

“Oh,” I said, lowering my head.

“You shouldn’t be here, Lola. This place… It isn’t…”

I didn’t know what came over me, but I found myself closing the distance between us so quickly that even Taylor seemed confused. When I threw my arms around him, he instantly tensed up, but I ignored that and how it made me feel because Taylor was there. Months away from him had done nothing to ease the ache he’d left inside of me. Seeing him—being this close—I hadn’t realised just how much his absence had affected me. I hadn’t realised just how much I missed him.

“I had to see you,” I whispered against his neck, feeling his shoulders sagging beneath me.

“Now isn’t a great time,” he said, pulling back.

I let my arms fall to my sides and blinked up at him. “Please, Taylor. Just give me five minutes,” I pleaded. I didn’t care how whiney I sounded. He had to hear me out.

He shook his head.

“Seriously? I come all the way here to see you and you can’t even give me a few minutes of your time? Come on. What can be so important to you that you can’t give me that?”

Taylor gazed up at the ceiling and it wasn’t hard to see the conflict going on inside his head. What was wrong with him?

“Five minutes. That’s all I’ve got.”

I followed Taylor as he walked back outside and waited. He sat down on the steps to the building and tucked the carrier bag he was holding under his legs. I shook my head and sat down beside him.

He still hadn’t looked my way, and after spending the first five minutes in awkward silence, I blew out a breath, feeling aggravated. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

Stupid question, Lola.

He shrugged. “I’ve been better. You?”

“I’m good. Better than good, actually. I have a job now.” I tried to smile, but it was fleeting once I realised how inconsiderate that sounded.

Taylor finally glanced across at me and smiled softly. “Jake told me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. It’s great, Lo. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. That really means a lot.”

Taylor nodded and stood up. “I should get going.”

“No, wait.” I gasped and reached for his hand.

Taylor glanced down at my fingers on his and frowned. I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming here. It was obvious that something had happened to him. He was different, closed off. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. I couldn’t blame him. I had hurt him by not trusting him. That hurt would never go away.

I pushed up from the step and kept my hand in his. Taylor made no effort to move it. “I don’t want you to go,” I whispered. “Not like this.”

“What do you want from me, Lola? You’ve obviously spoken to Jake. You know how fucked up my life is right now, so why are you here? To rub my nose in the fact that you’ve moved on? That you finally got your happily ever after and Taylor got exactly what he deserved, right? Well save it,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I already know.”

“What? No.” I shook my head, anger forcing its way to the surface. “You think I’m happy? That it was easy for me to come here not knowing what the hell I was going to walk into? Is that what you really think? Because you’re wrong. So fucking wrong.” I wanted to tell him that he’d hurt me, too. That seeing him with Melanie had me feeling like I wanted to die. I didn’t, though. I’d already said enough.

I watched as Taylor’s eyes closed and he let his head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Taylor. I want you to speak to me.” I sighed.

“Why would you care if I spoke to you or not? It’s been months, Lola. Months.”

“Of course I care,” I told him and gripped the hem of his jumper. “I always have and I always will.”

“Just not enough to be with me, right? I mean, that’s what you said when you kicked me out of your house. You practically told me you never wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not fair. I was a mess. I just found out that—”

“And my life is so fucking perfect, right?” he yelled, cutting through my words and waving the bag in front of him. “Wanna know what’s in this fucking bag? Vodka. Alcohol, Lola. Alcohol for my alcoholic mother who is one bottle away from meeting her maker.”

“W-what? Sh-she’s…?” I stuttered

“If she doesn’t get help, then yes,” he admitted.

“So why are you…?

“Buying her drink?” he said, raising his brows. His face was red with anger. “Because I can’t stand to watch her crawl around the bed in pain because she hasn’t had a drink. Because I can’t stand to see her cry and then lash out at me. I buy her the drink because I’m a fucking pussy. A weak little boy.”

“You’re not,” I whispered.

“If you think that then you’re stupid,” he spat out. Taylor began to pace before angrily tossing the bag to the ground.

I stood frozen on the spot. I had no idea what to do to calm him down. I’d never seen anyone this angry before and here I was, concerned that he wouldn’t speak to me when he had all this to deal with on his own.

I stepped forward and pulled Taylor’s hands away from his face, replacing them with my own. He glanced down at me, his face slowly relaxing. “You are none of those things, Taylor. What you’ve been through… No one should have to go through that. No one.”

“She’s my mum, Lo.”

“I know. And most people would run a mile and leave it for someone else to deal with. I’m sorry you had to do this on your own.”

Taylor shook his head. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t. I mean, I do, but… Taylor… I… “

“Don’t. Don’t say it, babe. I’m trying not to cave here, but you’re making it extremely hard for me.”

I huffed out a laugh, remembering how he always used to say that to me. I missed him. More than I’d ever thought possible.

“Get your mind outta the gutter, Lo.” He smirked and I felt my cheeks instantly flush.

Taylor cupped my hands in his before pulling them away. I thought he would drop them, but instead, he continued to hold them, his thumb lightly brushing my wrist where the scar was now fading. It was funny how, although he could barely see it anymore, he knew where it used to sit. Like he’d memorised the exact spot and knew how much that small motion would instantly calm me.

After I’d convinced him that I wasn't going anywhere, he began to open up to me. I hadn’t realised how tough the past few months had been for him. I knew something was up with the way Jake was acting, but I had no idea things were so bad. I wanted to hate his mum for putting him through this, but I couldn’t. Strangely, I felt sorry for her. Taylor had often brought his mum up during our conversations. He always spoke highly of her, mentioning the holidays they’d taken when he was young, the way she came to every football match right up until his dad was sent to prison. Taylor was young and he’d already been through so much. How he was still sane was anyone’s guess. But he was, and I was determined to make sure he knew just how good of a person he was and that he didn’t need to do this alone.

“Back when my dad left, I started smoking weed. At first I was just using it as a replacement for what I’d lost. I could forget about it all. But the days I was using became more frequent. It wasn’t just a dabble here and there anymore; it was beginning to take over my life. I no longer had the will power to control it. Some days were that bad I’d find myself shaking and angry. Those days were the worst. I’d never admit that I was addicted, but I must’ve been because as soon as I pressed the roach against my lips and inhaled that first hit, it all stopped. I sank back into that calm state where nothing else mattered except the next draw. Mum tried to get me help, but by the time anyone did anything, Mum was already heavily on the booze, moving from one hostel to the next. That’s when Uncle Colin came along. He was pissed at Mum for letting me get into the mess I was in. Really? I think he was more pissed that he hadn’t helped us when everything turned to shit. Anyway, he packed up my belongings and took me back home with him. I didn’t argue. In a way, I knew I needed someone to fix me.

“Did you stop? The drugs?”

“For a little while, yeah. But it wasn’t long before I was back on them again. Mum wouldn’t speak to me. She said I abandoned her or some shit. I guess I did. I can see why Uncle Colin took me in, though. Her drinking habits had become worse. She was rarely sober at this point and the men would come and go. A few weeks after Colin had taken me in, I went to visit her. She wasn’t my mother then.”

“What made you give up the drugs?”

Taylor smiled. “Jake. He was the one who pulled me out of the gutter and made me see sense. It took a while but I slowly started to see what I was doing to him. He was young and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters around. Helen and Colin worked a lot, so mostly it was just he and I. He was there for me. When I’d been kicked off the team, Jake was there. He made me realise that my life was worth more. We started to train together, hitting up the gym whenever he had free periods. Soon enough, I was back on the team and doing what I loved the most. I turned my back on the drugs that not only changed me as a person, but changed the way I saw life, too. If it wasn’t for Jake, I probably wouldn’t be here now.”

“I’m glad you are,” I said, smiling.

"Lola, why are you really here?” Taylor asked quietly, pocketing his hands inside of his hoodie. I opened my mouth to speak, but paused. “Don’t get me wrong, seeing you again is, well…” He paused. “I’ve missed you. God, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

I got it. I really got it.

“I saw Melanie. She explained everything. About the newspaper, and how you weren’t involved in any of it. I’m sorry,” I said, lifting my eyes to Taylor’s. “I should’ve trusted you.”

“I was pissed that you would even think I would be capable of hurting you like that, but I guess I can see why you would’ve thought that. I haven’t exactly been honest with you in the past.”

“You’re not entirely to blame. We’ve both made mistakes. Stupid mistakes. But look,” I said, turning to face him. “We can continue to play these ridiculous games, which will get us absolutely nowhere, or we can move on. The choice is yours.”

There, I said it. The ball was now in Taylor’s court. Where it belonged.