cigarette butts ➸ michael clifford

02. Ruby

A flurry of colors flew through the air of my soon-to-be abandoned room. I sat cross legged on my bed, ear buds sat in my ears, music drifting out of them. My Vibes playlist was keeping me entertained and I couldn't help myself as my head bobbed along to the music, ignoring everything and anyone. My eyes were unfocused, my mind elsewhere, but I could vaguely register my mom's lips moving, her expression annoyed - possibly angry. I gave a mental shrug, hoping - praying - that something would go wrong, meaning this day wouldn't have to happen. I couldn't stop my fingers from absentmindedly tracing the dried blood spatter on the brand new, crisp white sheets that I was currently occupying. It was my fault, I should of taken more care when I had done it. A sigh slipped between my parted lips, a heavy feeling in my chest. There was no way I was getting out of going. As they say; you made your bed, so sleep in it.

Basket Case had just finished, with Six Feet Under The Stars coming on after, when a pair of socks grazed the side of my face. I flared my nostrils, puffing air out of my mouth and frowned in my mothers direction, desperately wanting to flip her off and tell her where to stick it. She wasn't even looking at me, probably confident that I would finally pack. Disobeying, I let my eyes slide shut, the euphoria from the music taking over once more. I got back in to it, my head bobbing again - wanting to be in that moment forever. Just as it was to hit the chorus, the part where I become an air guitarist, my earphones had been ripped out, cutting off the melodic sounds and prompting me to flick one eye open in distaste.

"Do you realize what's happening, Ruby?" my mother calmly spoke.

I stared right through her, a blank look settled on my face. I was far from okay with the situation, kicking up a fuss whenever I had the chance. She knew that better than anyone. I was involved in a one man protest. Did it get violent? Maybe.

I didn't even acknowledge my mothers presence, acting as if she didn't exist. Maybe if I try hard enough, she wouldn't.

My mother still existed, wasn't impressed and didn't take too kindly to being ignored. This earned me a sharp slap to the thigh. I tried hard not to raise my eyebrows - didn't even flinch or make eye contact with her. It drove her crazy and she grabbed for more clothes, flinging them in my direction.

"Pack," my mother hissed. "Now. You're leaving tonight."

I didn't move a muscle. I'm proud to say I didn't even bat an eyelash, the music I had been previously listening to still playing very quietly out of my abandoned earphones. The only sound that could be heard other than my mothers heavy breathing. This game was getting so old. If she really wanted to see me go, she was going to have to do it for me. My mother wasn't impressed, her face becoming red. If she was a cartoon, there would be steam flying out of her ears. I would be Bugs Bunny, she would be Elmer Fudd. I would be Road Runner, she would be Wylie Coyote. She stared at me, her only child, probably wondering what went wrong. She slowly shook her head and grabbed at clothes and other stuff one would need to acquire on this "holiday." She jammed shirts upon shirts and various hooded jackets in a duffel bag, filling it to the brim with two weeks worth of clothes. She wanted me gone. She definitely couldn't do this anymore. She bought new sheets every week, worried what people would think, as they were marred with my blood, but I had no one to visit me or even enter my room other than the witch herself. That had angered her, but finding ziplock bags filled with pills? She wasn't doing this anymore. Not without dad. Not without him.

"I'm going out to the car. You better be out there in five minutes," my mother threatened before turning on her heel.

I let out a sigh once more, grabbing my newly packed duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder. I let out a chuckle under my breath. This wasn't what I wanted, but I wasn't going to cause an argument over a subject my mother was ignorant about. I'd be the bigger person and take the high road. Maybe write a poem or rap about it.