Hellhole Read Online Free

refused. (“Yeah, like I want half my coworkers coming in to gawk at my emaciated body and trade small talk. ‘Come on in, Phil, grab an IV pole and let’s get this party started!’”) Confident, stubborn, and fiercely independent, she’d spent the last two ailing years retreating from society, not wanting anyone but her son to see her in such a weakened and pathetic state. Her parents had thrown her out of the house when she’d gotten pregnant with him, and she hadn’t been in contact with any members of her family for years, so she’d learned not to rely on anyone but herself.
    And Max.
    Max had not minded the added responsibility of caring for his mom; she’d done it for him by herself for so many years that he certainly owed her the same courtesy. But when he wasn’t kept up all night by the idea of her going into sudden cardiac arrest, he was ceaselessly worrying about the financial strain. Every moment he wasn’t in school he was at work at the gas station, forgoing any and all extracurricular activities and socializing, should he ever discover what that word meant. He was barely able to put food on the table and pay the bills every month, let alone cover his mom’s medical expenses, to say nothing of the desperately needed heart transplant they’d never be able to afford.
    He glanced at the beeper on her nightstand, the one that would send an alert from the hospital should a spare organ ever drop into their lives. It hadn’t gone off yet, though, and Max had all but given up hope that it ever would.
    â€œSo, what’s playing tonight?” his mom asked, going in for a second slice. She really wasn’t supposed to be eating all that cheese, but when she’d threatened to set herself ablaze at the thought of a life devoid of mozzarella, her doctors had agreed to exactly two slices per week. Which translated, in her opinion, to four. “If John Cusack’s involved, I’ll have to brush my hair first.” She combed her fingers through a flat, lifeless strand, then snorted. “Provided I can still hold a comb.”
    Max shook his head. “You’re too good for John Cusack, Mom. The guy hasn’t put out a decent movie in years.”
    â€œYou bite your tongue, young man.
Say Anything
. . . ? Lloyd Dobler standing outside the bedroom window with the boom box? John Cusack is one of America’s finest—what’s that?”
    When he’d pulled the DVD out of his bag, one of the overdue bills had come with it. He stuffed it back in. “Nothing.”
    It’s only a second warning,
he thought
. They don’t cut the electricity until after the final one.
    â€œHey, here’s a question for you,” he said brightly, holding up the DVD. “What happens when two hopelessly romantic business rivals hate each other in real life but fall in love over the Internet?”
    Her eyes lit up. “
You’ve Got Mail
!”
    She clapped as he popped it into the DVD player. “Oh, Max, you’re the best. You have no idea how much I needed this.”
    Cheesy romantic comedies put the “petty” in their weekly Petty Pizza Pity Parties, for reasons that soon became obvious.
    â€œDie, Meg Ryan!” Max’s mom shouted at the screen as the actress flounced around her children’s bookstore. “Get crushed underneath a bookcase of Harry Potters and DIE.”
    â€œWon’t work,” Max said. “Her perkiness will save her.”
    â€œAnd yet, inexplicably, Tom Hanks will only find her all the more charming.” She narrowed her eyes. “What a loser. Living on a boat. Boat hobo.”
    â€œMom, you’re the only person on the planet who hates Tom Hanks.”
    â€œGood,” she said, peeling blobs of cheese off the bottom of the pizza box. “Then I get to be the one who slays him.”
    They continued to rip the movie to shreds, with analyses both