There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

A tiny smirk plays over my mother’s lips as I set the papers aside.
She sparks up a cigarette, holding it in her usual way, pinched between thumb
and index finger like it’s a joint.
I know her habits so well. Their familiarity repulses me, like an old journal
entry that makes you cringe.
“Do you have a bottle opener?” I ask.
Of course she has a bottle opener. I might as well ask if she has toilet paper.
It’s probably even more of a necessity in her eyes.
“In the kitchen,” she says, making no move to stand and retrieve it.
This is a power play—making me fetch the corkscrew and the glasses,
waiting on her like I used to.
I anticipated this, and it suits me just fine.
I carry the wine into the kitchen, which is even filthier than the living room.
The stovetop is piled with so much clutter that I doubt she’s ever laid eyes on
the burners, let alone used them to cook. When I snap on the overhead light,
several roaches dive down under the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
The cabinets are empty. I find the glasses in the dishwasher, amongst a pile
of plates speckled with green mold. Swallowing back bile, and avoiding the
roaches as best I can, I wash the cups in the sink. I have to swish a little water
in the Dawn bottle to get the last dregs of soap out of it.
My mother doesn’t call out to see what’s taking so long. I hear the faint
crackle as she sucks on her cigarette, followed by an exhale and a wracking
cough that rattles in her chest.
The glasses are wet, with no paper towel to dry them. I shake them off, then
search for the bottle opener. Unsurprisingly, it’s out in the open on the
kitchen counter, next to my mother’s keys, an open tube of lipstick, and a
handful of loose change. Next to that, a dozen prescription bottles, some with
her name on them, and some bought or stolen. Most of the bottles are already
empty.
I bring the glasses out filled to the brim, and pass one to my mother.