Pretty Little Psycho

Escape

"A strong mind perceives it's own reality." -Batman

Song: This Little Girl - Cady Grooves
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I've locked myself willingly in another world. Briefly, I like to imagine the lines coming to life. Who would she be? What would she do?

Curling the eyelash, I hoped she would choose to live her life differently than I am forced to live mine.

I brush up on the last upturn of the lips before I'm finished. This I will shade red. Every artist needs to signature their work, so this will be mine. There always had to be a little bit of red. Blood, lipstick, shoes. It just had to be there.

Puddles splash on impact outside, and I brace myself for what is to come just as the door kicks open. I could have been asleep and it would have woken me up. It wouldn't matter to her. I glance at the rain pouring from the gutters outside into Mums glittering hair. She comes into the light, along with another figure. A man. Mum has decided to bring another of her friends home.

He wasn't as handsome as the rest had been, which is why I had tolerated them for as long as they stayed. This guy was chubby, and he had a smugness glued to his face that I didn't like. There was an almost oily appearance to his skin, perhaps from sweat. I don't care to ask this ones name. He didn't seem to be staying long anyway. 

The man trailed behind mum, hairy arms gripping the back of her slim waist. I could tell he liked the way she looked in that slutty green cocktail dress. She, however, barely looked at him. Mum had sunken so low that she didn't bother to have expectations anymore. All she wanted was a distraction I guess, and he must be good enough.

The woman's disoriented eyes turn to me. I could already tell she was high on drugs, laughing along with something the man said that wasn't even meant as a joke. She raises both her legs to take off her heels, snapping the silver hoops out of her ears.

"Birdie, can you go to your room please? It's one of those nights again."

A night in, she calls it. One of those nights I wind up trapped in my room until later the next day when he leaves and she has had her fix. My fingers wrap around my journal tightly, forever holding in my criticism. I wrap the leather strap to bind in my new drawing and rush up the stairs and into my room before they have the chance to start kissing.

I slam my door behind me and collapse too hard onto my pillows and throw wool blankets. Not long after I close my eyes, another presence appears on my bed, brushing up against my cheeks and purring. Sitting up, I take my tortoise-shell into my arms and smother her with kisses. 

Music starts to boom from the television downstairs.

"Okay. Are you hungry?" I ask Cub, holding up her food bowl and grabbing the biscuits. Her green eyes stare at me. I can never read her. What does she want? Aren't cats usually excited when they see food? I pour it and place it in front of her. Her eyes roam the meaty contents, and then she looks back at me before she starts to eat it.

I've had suspicions that Cub has anxiety. One of the men mum brought home found her at the junkyard, dumped with her mother who supposedly died trying to look for food to feed her kittens. He told me she was the only kitten he could find. That was the one time I appreciated having a guy at our house, even if he was just there to seduce my mum. His name was Paul, and I wish it was him downstairs now.

Cub is still young, but she is wise, and she understands me like no one else does. I can't think of her as just a kitten. She's family. I'm the only one who can touch her, and I feel I know why. She's sick of it too. She wants to be somewhere else, in a different house. It's not me, because she knows I love her. She knows I'm sick of it too.