Chasing the Night || a moey au

Chapter Two

-Chapter Two-

“Hey! Whore!” she sang, every word like a knife, spinning through the air at such fast rates that it pierced through my window, breaking it into several pieces with every sharp edge. I was caught in one of these moments, a ‘flee or fight’ moment. I was caught between the decision of jumping off my bay window and hiding, leaning against the white cupboard in fear or actually saying something back to her, confronting her. But I never did, because I had nothing to say back, absolutely nothing that would be actually true, or would hurt her, in the way that she hurts me. 

So I did what I did every time her pretty face and flawless hair showed up below my window. I jumped off my window seat, crawling towards my bed in the middle of the room. I leaned against the cold wood frame and soft mattress, trying to give her the illusion that I wasn’t here. But she knew every well I was here, every night at the same time; I was here, and unfortunately today, so was she.

The sound of a metal pop can hitting the side of my room startled me, making my heart jump. I pressed my palms onto the hard wooden floor, pushing myself up. I still crawled on my hands and knees, for that matter, always in fear that the pop can would one day find its way through my window and hit me. I now knelt before my dresser under my window.

“Just go away, Tiffany! Please!” I shouted back, revealing myself to her, not my figure, just my voice.

“Oh! The slut decides to talk!”

I could almost imagine her flipping her hair during that statement. I buried my head in my hands, blocking out the world for just a little bit, long enough to think of something, anything to get her off my back.

Once again, I decided to do nothing, but this time, I had more of a reason. I could hear the rain beating down on my window clearly now, she would leave soon, I told myself.  She’d run a finger along the bottom of her eye, realizing that the pale red colour of her finger tips now had a dark black stain flowing down her finger. She would touch her head after that, feeling the dampness and maybe, just maybe, she would leave for shelter by then.

My visions were correct, I heard her breathe out a frustrated sigh before her high heels hit the pavement once again, and they soon started sounding fainter and fainter. But then it stopped. 

“I just wanna talk!” she called again.

Her voice didn’t fool me. She covered her rudeness with a sincere, friendly voice that I never have, and never will buy. Even behind the kindness, you could hear her defeat and frustration, but I didn’t answer her. I let her walk away again, this time for good. Until tomorrow at least.

I decided that the best, and really the only thing I could do would be to sleep now. I had counted off all the events of this day in my head, everyday almost exactly the same. 1. Wake up. 2. Try to look for job offers during the day. 3. Stand on the street corner, waiting, hoping. 4. Fight with whoever wanted to barge into my life, making my day, and life, worse than it already was. 5. Sleep with dread in my mind of what the next day would bring me, and of course in the end, start again.

Because really, the end is never the end is never the end is never the… get it?

I crawled under the thin covers of my small double bed, no need for thick covers in the Los Angeles weather. I’d probably end up kicking them off in my sleep anyways. For some reason, today I felt okay, which is not like my usual self. I felt as if everything around me lit up for some reason, even the turned down picture on my night table.

I turned my self over so that I was lying on my side, seeing the night table faintly in the darkness of my small room. The dark wooden picture frame still sat face down on the face of the night table. I never knew why I didn’t throw it out already; it’s just a piece of garbage to me anyway. Frankly, I really don’t want to see it ever again.

Maybe it was just because it may be my last part of my past. Not like I really wanted to remember my past, but that I felt bad losing everything to do with that time. You can never remove everything from your mind and of course heart, but I still felt like I needed it, just for now. 

Because of my good mood, I reached over to touch the wooden frame. I felt the softness of dust brush onto my finger tips as I wrapped my fingers around the edge. I propped the small picture up, warning myself to not look at it for too long. The moon reflected on the glass of the picture, making anything behind the glass just a blur. I ran my finger along the cool crack on the glass, stretching from left corner to right in one straight clean line.

My eyes finally focused to look at the picture being presented, two girls, one older, one younger. The younger one had a small smile painted on her pale face, the sun hitting her face making her squint the slightest bit. Her medium length dark brown hair flew up with the direction of the wind. Her rosy cheeks and bright eyes made her look happy, unlike what she turned out to be.

The older woman smiled wide, teeth showing, cheeks pressed up to the red framed glasses she wore. Her short blonde hair flew in the same direction as the younger girl’s. Her skin was bright and everything about her looked so goddamn flawless. She was perfect, as I remembered her. The younger girl was not so perfect anymore. I would always remember who these people were, and where they took this picture, because it was:

My mother and I.