My eyes shake as I try to focus on a glass that is half empty. I am fully aware of the young, blonde woman leaning over the counter next to me, but I am doing my best to keep my eyes on the glass until it's gone. I forget that I'm not supposed to be here sometimes. Maybe I don't forget, I just don't give a fuck what people say about it. It's practically a nightly thing by now. It became a lifestyle in the blink of an eye.
"So...?" The busty blonde interrupts my thoughts. My head snaps to the side, "So what?" She giggles, "Are you going to come through or what?" I can't seem to focus on her face because of an obviously large fur coat with matching earrings. Who wakes up and plans to wear such loud shit? "Come through to what?" I ask her, receiving an eye roll. It was probably earned. "Whatever, drunk." She dismisses herself from the counter, and I look back at the glass - empty. I don't recall the burn or finishing it. "Sorry for my drunkenness." I mutter while I push my stool back, and then I stumble my way around. People crowd around me and push all over me. At thins point, I feel like they're just throwing me around. A dark-haired woman gives me a charming smile, and I lift a brow at her with a smirk. I can't do this tonight though. Ik already way past my limit. Too much is going on, and I can't keep up. I continue to shove past her and the others. I'm not like them. I don't want to talk.
The whole world pools around me, and I smile as I vanish in the darkness. This is how I love for it to be. I love the small needles that prick my skin just before it goes numb. I love the low hum that fills my ears over the blaring music of shitty bars. I love forgetting so quickly. I love it all too much, but who is to say it is too much? Who is to say anything without even knowing me? The trees wave at me as I walk by, and I laugh. It seems they are the only ones who enjoy my late-night company besides bitchass blondes and stuck-up brunettes. I can't forget those freaky nerds either. They sure are something, believe me.
My hands swim through my pockets as I search for my keys. My heart drops. I must have left them at The Whiskey. I turn around and then hear a clink. Eyebrows furrowed, I search for the source of the noise. My keys are right between my worn down boots. I shrug, pick them up, and open the door.
"Who's fucking mess is this?" I ask as I shut the door loudly. I hope it didn't rattle my neighbor's walls too much, but I'm sure he's used to it just like the moans. Laughing, I knock a plate of old spaghetti in the sink. It's fucking mine. I live alone in this messy shithole. My hip hits the counter, I hiss at it and bang my large fist on it with a pointless, "Fuck you."
Leaning, I let the shower water scold my dirty, inked skin and flood my hair. My droopy eyes meet a small bottle of blueberry scented kid shampoo. Before I know it, It slips out of my hands, so I follow it with a slow grab. I growl as I miss. I wipe my face before bending over to get it, slipping, and hitting my eyebrow on a small shelf.
My pounding head finally hits the pillow, looking left, 3:44 a.m. I set my alarm for class and pass out before I can even tell my own self goodnight.
My eyes burst open, and my body flies up to the toilet. I'm so tired of throwing up every morning. Eventually, I finish and get ready for class or whatever. More like organized daydreaming. I finally got my new schedule over the break, so maybe there is so hope for enjoyment in store for me.
I walk back past the same old trees, and they seem to curse me today instead of being friendly. They always seem to act like they know more than I do, but I doubt it. My independence started early. That's why I stuck where I am. You can't survive without an accepting family, and I started down this road at age 13. Someone should have comforted the poor baby, he had no idea what's he would endure.
