Never Forget

 Alcohol's the shovel, and I keep digging my hole deeper and deeper. Drugs are the meds I take to alleviate the pain and then the therapist is the annoying bitch trying to put a stop to it all.

The morning I found her, lying in a pool of her own deep red blood with spare pills littering the floor, it felt like a terrible, terrible dream. The kind that you wake up drenched in sweat from. Only I couldn't just pinch myself awake from this one. It was real. It was right in front of me.

It was my other half, my twin sister, dead, by her own hands.

I wish I had seen the signs. The bruises that aligned her collar bone and wrists, the black eye she had tried to mask with makeup, or the happy facade she put on everyday of her life. I wish I hadn't of had to learn about her double life from the medical examiner. In his own words, she had been beaten regularly for the past couple months. I wish I could have gotten a hold of the son of a bitch who dared to lay his hands on her, but there was no way of knowing who it was. She had taken several pills, enough to kill her without the help of the razor she had dragged against her pale, bruised skin.

I shake my head and drag myself back to the hell I live in. The bar I sit in, only half present, with a drink in my hand in the hopes of numbing the pain, even if only for a night. Maybe a girl would come along and offer some sort of distraction, but it wouldn't be enough to completely diminish the pain I'd bared for too long now.

Some blonde girl had been glued to my hip the whole night. Maybe I'd take her to my crappy apartment and try to make her think that she actually meant something to me when in reality, she'd be out the door and I'd break the promise of calling her.

I hear faint whispering in my ear, mentioning her name was Becca. The voice whispered tales of a good time that night if only I'd take her back to my place. Something like hopes of a good night that was me and her and some drug she carried in her purse. It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about the life I led now. But what other way is there to numb my pain? And once I started, it's almost impossible to stop.

Claire would hate me. No, rather she'd hate the man I had become.

Claire, with her seemingly carefree spirit. She always had a smile on her face. I see that flawless smile every time I close my eyes. The strawberry blonde locks that always carried the faint smell of her peach shampoo. She had this way of making me think everything was perfectly okay when everything was actually falling apart. Through the divorce and the new marriages, she was the one holding my hand and guiding me through it. Now that she's gone, I'm lost.

As I lead the girl to my rundown apartment, the smell from Becca's blonde hair lingers in my nose, bringing me back to the late night talks Claire and I always had.

As we walk through the door, I take off Becca's clothes and will myself to forget.

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So what do you guys think? Don't worry, it's not gloom and doom through the whole story. Just some details to get out of the way(:

Vote. comment.

XOXO - Haylie and Bri :D