“Beth would kick me out,” Steph says, then laughs. I wonder what she sees in Beth. She’s pretty but beyond dull.

“Do you and Beth have sex?” I ask.

Pierre runs up and starts humping Steph’s leg, and we both crack up.

“Well?” I ask when we finally stop laughing.

“I plead the Fifth,” says Steph. I guess that answers it.

I am feeling restless, reckless. My body is on fire. I need to act out. Before I know what I am doing, I am running up the stairs.

Steph runs after me. “Where are you going?” The panic in her voice fuels me.

I just keep running, sprinting, until I charge into the bedroom. Beth is rubbing moisturizer on her wrinkly elbows, saggy and sad looking. Before I can fully clock her reaction, I charge her. Steph tries to grab me, to hold me back, but I shake her off. I tackle Beth and throw her onto the bed, start rolling on top of her laughing like a maniac.

Beth shoves me off. “Get the hell off me.”

Steph pulls me off the bed. “What the fuck, Dawn?”

Steph grabs my arm. I can’t stop laughing. My heart is pounding and it feels good.

“Seriously, Dawn, what the fuck?” Steph drags me into the hallway, and I am still laughing.

“This is why I don’t let that trashy bitch come over,” Beth yells as Steph pulls me down the stairs.

“You ladies just need a good fuck!” I shout. “You both need to get railed and calm down.”

Beth has already disappeared back into her room. Soon I am on the street and Steph is shutting the front door.

“Go fuck your girlfriend!” I yell, then laugh again. I don’t feel mad or ashamed.

I feel alive.

At home I smoke a cigarette out my window and open my text thread with my son. I know I shouldn’t text him now, but I have no control. I am in that state my court-appointed therapist called “the point of no return.”

I hear knocking on my door. I assume it’s Karen, furious at me for smoking inside. She can go fuck herself, or one of her stuffed animals. Fucking furry.

I hope you had a nice Thanksgiving, I send to my son.

I hope you enjoyed leaving your single mother, the woman who RAISED YOU, alone on Thanksgiving.

You’re a rotten son. Too good for your trashy mom. Your just a snooty skinny faggot in HollyWEIRD.

The knocking gets louder. “Dawn, are you smoking in there?”

Fuck you Bo, I send.

“Dawn, I will call the landlord if you don’t put that cigarette out,” Karen yells. “I have asthma.”

I wish I never had you.

Part II

EMILY.