Echoes of the Heart

Scars

Stephanie woke up and 2am came soon enough. Her mom was blaring music. More break up songs. She was probably on her second bottle of Pinot Grigio. She decided to get up and join her. It was their usual routine, they kept each other company. They both had their demons and vices, the difference between me and my mom was that she didn't hover and I didn't share mine with her. She shared every experience she ever had with me at an early age. Things you shouldn't tell your twelve year old daughter. Ever since then, shes seen me as a friend, not a child. To the point of where she created my demons I now face. Thats the problem with demons though, you know you shouldn't want them, but when you're alone and the alternative is facing the truth of what happened. You learn to enjoy their company.

"Hey sweetie!" She says excitedly grabbing me a cup from the cabinet. Our apartment was nice, she decorates well and loves expensive things, even more than groceries which there was always a lack of. When her and my dad were married we lived well and had the best of everything, since the divorce she has never learned to live with in her means, so most nights I didn't eat. Nothing but wine and alcohol in the fridge. Something I can scrounge up enough for a bag of chips but that was on good days.

"How was work mom." I asked pouring my self a mix of vodka and whatever I could find.

"It was boring! Sam started shit with me again, I think she is threatened of me because he husband flirted with me that time we went out together." She continues, she was really good at pretending to be the victim. I saw through it but with her personality, pointing it out would only start a fight, and those were usually violent.

"Wow, you definitely don't deserve that. Why don't you go back to working at the hospital?"

"Oh you know I enjoying helping the elderly more than pushing papers." She laughed, sipping from her glass.

"Ya, you're good at helping people." I lied. My mom was a CNA, she had a degree as a medical assistant but found more value in being the one that could garner the attention of people by "helping others" then making enough money to support her kids.

"Lets go smoke" she said grabbing her pack of menthol cigarettes and her glass, heading for the front door.

"Alright" I said, grabbing my own and tugging my jacket sleeves down still, not wanting her to see my scars. It was a conversation I couldn't have with her. She would turn into a competition about who had it worst as a kid then bring up the story about her stepbrother supposedly forcing himself on her and then she would cry for hours until she felt sufficiently coddled. I had school tomorrow still and didn't have the energy to deal with her and school on no sleep.

She handed me a cigarette and I quickly lit it. I didn't enjoy menthol, but it helped with the burn of the alcohol.

"So did you see anyone you think is hot?" She asked winking.

I laughed "no, theres no one at school like that. No one that likes me anyway."

"Dont say that you never know, some of my best hookups were schoolmates when I was your age."

"I dont know."

She takes a puff of her cigarette "what about Jack. That guy you met at the KoRn concert?"

"That was months ago, and it didn't work out since I am still in high school and he isn't."

"Well not everyone is like that. Just remember, you can't date anyone older than I did."

"I know mom, hey can you take me to the clinic this week, I'm due for my birth control"

"Sure next Tuesday after school right?"

I nodded taking another puff. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was tired, always tired. My scars itched and the demons started to whisper to me "no good, whore, damaged, loner, useless, waste of space." The more they spoke the more I drank, drowning them out with the burn of alcohol.

We talked about men a-lot, her men usually she complained about her on again off again ex, usually calling him once she drank her third bottle and usually had me talk to him once she got so irritated. I didn't like him, he tried to parent me. He kept trying to do the right thing by me and I didn't want that. I wanted to escape. It was about 5am before my mom passed out drunk on the couch, still in her work clothes and makeup.

I cleaned up the glasses and empty bottles. I put a blanket over her and set her alarm on her phone. She had work at 7am. At least would get some sleep. She usually ran off a few hours of sleep then would catch up on her day off. She was used to this lifestyle. Her past as a stripper helped engrain this behavior in her its something she never grew out of. Life was one giant party for her and I was just a long for the ride.

I went to the bathroom and washed my face. Not drunk enough to quiet the demons in my ear. I went to my next escape and grabbed my knife I had hidden in my bathroom. I looked at the scars on my arms and knew I couldn't use the skin there, it would be too obvious. So i decided with my waist. No one would notice and those that would see it wouldn't care enough to ask about it. I didn't sleep with men who cared. I made sure of it. I didn't want to involve anyone in my darkness and those that did usually ran soon as they got too close to my darkness. I carved a messy heart onto my hip. I didn't feel anything. I patted away the blood with a napkin and admired my work. This scar would be pretty when it healed. I cleaned and sterilized my knife before hiding it again. Then went to my room to sleep again, satisfying the voices of my demons.