The Opposite of Love by T.A. Pace

monitoring the space between them, pressing his body against the arm of the sofa, moving a pillow between himself and his mom. He found her appearance and odor so revolting that he frequently had to leave the apartment, even though he had nowhere to go.
    When he was twelve, he found his mom passed out in the bedroom one afternoon and took the opportunity to sneak a soda from the mini-fridge. The Beast came in the front door and stood staring at him as though he was an intruder. Tired of skittering away like a cockroach every time the man walked into the room, James stood his ground, made eye contact. The Beast let out an actual growl, like a bear, and when James didn’t back down, he crossed the room in two strides, grabbed him by the upper arm and shook him like a rag doll. At one hundred five pounds, there wasn’t much he could do to defend himself, but when he felt his arm crack, he didn’t scream. The Beast must have felt something too; he stopped shaking him and heaved him across the room where his forehead struck the corner of the mini-fridge.
    When The Beast stormed out and slammed the door, James was left with a broken arm and a cut on his forehead, but also with a sense of strength that he’d never had before, and he felt like he might be ok, like he might be able to take care of himself. In his preadolescent mind, he’d faced his worst threat, he’d stood up to The Beast, and he’d survived.
    His mother borrowed car keys from a neighbor and drove him to the emergency room. The whole way she cursed under her breath about how much money this was going to cost, and James kept his face turned toward the passenger window, pressing his wadded-up t-shirt to his forehead with his good arm. (After this, he would always have the good arm and the other one.)
    James didn’t want his mother to see his face because he was hiding his happiness from her. He knew that this was going to change something, maybe everything. The Beast would not be allowed to beat up on him again, that was for sure. His mother would have a laundry list of reasons that this was unacceptable: the cost of the emergency room, the cops potentially getting involved, not to mention the damage to her little boy. James knew the latter would probably not register as a legitimate concern to The Beast, but it might be worth mentioning anyway. Regardless, the bottom line was that The Beast would be in trouble, and he would either have to change his attitude or leave.
    But rather than kicking out The Beast, his mother said it was too dangerous for a boy his age in Las Vegas and she sent him to live with his grandmother in Orange County, California. This was not something he’d ever dreamed could happen. He’d never even allowed himself to imagine what would happen if his mother’s drug use got worse, if she overdosed. She had just always been there, and always would be. He could see that his father had one foot out the door long before he actually left, and so he’d been prepared for it. But his mother was forever. He’d never doubted that.
    Over the years, especially in his line of work, he’d seen the heroics of mothers thousands of times. Mothers were supposed to put children first and move mountains to provide for and protect them. But his mother hadn’t done that. In fact, both his parents had succumbed to their own desires, their own selfish behavior, rather than love him.
    So when his mother shipped him off, it changed everything he believed about her in particular, and about people in general.
    James’ grandmother had enrolled him in the Explorers in Orange County the very week he arrived. There would be no middle ground; he would be like his mother, or he would be the opposite. The choice was his, but he felt so betrayed by his mother that he couldn't find the words to plead for what he really wanted: to bring her back, to fix her, to make her better so she could love him again.
    He’d done well in high school, joined the police academy in