Little Girl Blue - 𝐖𝐋𝐖

𝐈𝐈. Pragma- ThirtyTwo

Today was bound to be long. I couldn't move, not entirely. My body was sore and bruised.

Last night had happened in a blur and rage. Once coming through the patio doors, everything within reach was subjected to be destroyed.

I had not yet seen what damage was done but I knew  it was there. The scratches on my arm indicated glass was broken. The bruises and grass stains after I stayed outside until dark, and tripped along the stairs. The headache signified I had probably broken my sobriety.

So, I just didn't move.

~

"Janine."  A pillow was launched across the room, hitting my calf. "Get up."

I recognized the calm, vigor voice as Linda and immediately urged my body to take shape. I had to show some type of remorse for what she's likely seen downstairs.

She confirmed when she spoke; "I'm not going to ask what happened. I already know." Hesitantly, she set down her tote on what was left of my dresser, walking through the piles of ruined clothing and pages ripped from books and magazines.

The room, barely lit and spinning, formed figures that looked monstrous. I recoiled into my fort of blankest and pillows and tried to clutch onto the nothingness in front of me. I was sick to my stomach, absolutely disgusted with myself.

Wanting to reply, my throat was found dry and lost. The lamp next to my bed flickered, the painful sight forcing my head beneath the covers.

She ripped back the cover and tugged on my wrist, before hoisting me up, encasing her arms around my naked waist, and guiding me into the bathroom.

Gasping, "God, Janine what did you do?" Her tone was never accusatory or disappointed even, which I whole heartedly expected her to be.

There was a trail of dried blood on my hand. My leg was beaten bad and bleeding too. She shook her head, eyes softening as she began to hum.

I became lucid, the muffled sounds of her patching me together faded out as she brushed my hair, bandaged my wrist, and treated my cuts.

When we finished she leaned her hip against the counter, tucking her silver hair behind her ear. "Do you want to talk about what's downstairs?"

I managed to say no.

"Well then...are you hungry?" I nodded.

She sighed and exited the bathroom, patting my cheek. "I'll cook, you start cleaning."

I obliged, just carrying myself behind the broad woman, down the stairs and through the halls. It was worse than I imagined.

"You don't remember any of this?"

I swallowed, "not exactly."

Looking around at the horrific sight of things, she asked if I had been drinking.

"I..I don't know, every happened—"

Silencing me with her index finger to her lips. "Of all the things you are Janine, I know you're not a liar. So," she folded her arms, "I'll ask again,"

"Yes."

Parting off into the kitchen, she stepped over the wooden table that lay crushed, it's legs sent across the tile. But that was the least of my worries. At least now I knew she was disappointed.

I stood in the doorway with my feet planted and fist balled. I didn't know where to start, the chaos touched every wall. And more importantly, what was left of my father was now broken and damaged.