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LAS VEGAS chapter i. ❝ a good girlfriend ❞
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Her head hung low. Her mind raced. His body shook, another hit, another loath of fame. His eyes darted around. Her thoughts subsided under her feet, being pushed down and forgotten. Her arms danced around another's neck, feeling the comfort of lust she had mistaken for love. He asked himself to beg, to plead. A soft noise escaped her lips before another's pressed on them, the loneliness being replaced. His arms leapt to hug her waist, deepening the kiss. Finally, he had gotten a kick in the side; groaning in pain, he hugged the spot the bruise would form, not being prepared for the boot in the back. Letting his hands leave his body, he turned over and faced the intruder, only being able to stare at the blood splotches on his oversized dress shoes.
"Please," his voice cracked. He knew he shouldn't of pleaded, but his voice was so soft he didn't believe his father had heard him. He knelt down and slapped him in the face. "Don't act like your mother, son! Take a hit! Don't be scared! I won't break your ribs again!" Another kick in the back made him bite his lip to keep from more words to come out of his mouth; he could taste the metallic substance as the pain echoed in him.
She couldn't take it anyone. Each shot, each hit, it racked her brain. She detached her lips from his and looked at him. She moved his hands from her waist and walked away. She couldn't take it anymore—all of the lies. "Chloe!" He yelled. He caught up to her fast-paced walking and stopped in front of her, grabbing ahold of her hands. "What's wrong? Did I do something?" "Don't call me that." She sternly spoke. "Let go." "Not until you tell what's wrong. Chloe, speak to me!" "I said, let go!" She yelled. He looked confused at her sudden outburst. He did what she asked, watching as she ran away from him. "Screw off Chloe!" He yelled after her, knowing that she had heard him.
She continued to run, tears streaming down her face. She hated that about every guy—they all left. And it was always her fault. Catching her breath, she stopped running. She looked around her scenery, seeing nothing but shade and the sunlight. Breathing heavily seemed like a work out, she tried to look around but her hair got in the way. It was practically stuck to her cheeks due to the tears. With a hiccup or two, her breathing seemed to slow and she could barley hear her heart beating.
Toppling; his father hit his back with his cane he used to get senior citizen discounts at diners. The old man huffed, thinking of how weak his son was and walked away, leaving his child on the floor in aching pain with bruises becoming more visible by the second. Tears glazed over his hues, but he was never one to cry. Clenching his teeth, he waited until he heard his dad leave the house before he cried—but how could be ruin his pride like that? Boys don't cry.
Getting herself together, helping her composure up, she wiped her eyes and looked at her setting once again. She was standing in an alleyway, the other side the baseball field and park, the other the town centre. Walking the back way into the baseball field, she watched kids run around the field. Standing at home plate she knew as Kitsey Barbour, a strong girl that once tried to pickpocket her. She stood at the railing, watching as Kitsey stood her ground and tightened her grip around the bat.
He got up from the floor, with much of his strength being used, though he quickly thought it was a bad idea as the pain hit him like a bus. He got up and walked to the phone, dialing her number.
"Hello?" Her soft voice spoke through the speaker. "Boris, are you okay? It's like 2 in the morning." Her voice was groggily as he assumed the phone woke her from her beauty sleep, not that she needed it he thought, she was beautiful no matter what. "Can you come over?" "Yeah I'll be over. Is he still home?" "No he left." She sighed and told him goodbye and made her way to his house, it wasn't far nor was it super close. He put the phone back on the counter and immediately fell. His body couldn't support him whatsoever with the amount of sore he was. He smiled, thinking of his girlfriend running to his side with her same loving eyes and asking where the first aid kit was. He loved her, there was no doubt about it, and she loved him. They had already agreed to run away together and get married, spend the rest of their lives living next to beer bottles and getting in trouble.
Walking away from the fence, she couldn't help but feel saddened. Why did you tell him your name was Chloe? She asked herself. She knew that wasn't her name but she still said it, she still put her real personality on the side and let this different person take over. "You're name is Juliette Elodie Boivin, get used to it because you aren't changing it anytime soon," she muttered to herself as she kicked a rock away from her path.
"Borya," Kotku whined. When she had came by, Boris knew his fantasies of her caring were wrong; she didn't one bit. "What?" Boris snapped, the russian of his accent sounding more thicker than normal. "You asked me to come over and now we're just sitting in silence! So, what do you want?" "Gee, don't know, comfort me? Something a actual good girlfriend would do!"
Kotku faked looking offensive, she knew deep down she didn't love Boris and she was only there for the drugs and countless nights of tangled sheets. "Fine then! I'm leaving! Have fun without me Pavlikovsky!" And with that, she stormed out, leaving Boris immediately regretting what he said; but it was too late to play cliché romance and run after her in the rain. Tugging at his stringy curls he found the bottle of vodka he stashed from his father, taking a couple swigs.
Nothing could be better, Boris thought. He was 'single', tipsy and bloody: completely shit-faced.
"What do you mean you're too poor to buy me a refill!?" Juliette was beyond furious. If her terrible day hadn't been worse, she had ran out of her antidepressants to help her with her 'disorder'. "It means I don't have the money! Simple as that—you're just gonna have to pop some others pills darling!" Her father yelled, the nickname he had given her sounding more of an insult than anything with its bitter tone. "You're acting like this doesn't mean anything! If you were me you—" Red; for that split second, that's all she could feel—red. His hand was marked on her skin before she stumbled back, catching her balance quickly. Tears brimmed her eyes the slightest before she blinked them away and stormed to her bedroom. None of it was fair—he wasn't the one battling a disorder and for one, something she didn't even think she had she just wanted the pain to go away. Though a part of her was relieved she ran out, Juliette knew that if she kept popping them, she would end up overdosing one day.
Which another part of her wanted.
"Currently in Las Vegas, a huge jackpot was almost won tonight! The person responsible for messing with the machine was put in jail and will be released soon. But on other news, with the money the player received will be held up for prize in a raffle. You have to be 17 years of age or older to win the $420 million prize!" The TV spoke. It not only gave people across the US hope of being rich, but most importantly Juliette Boivin to help her family out of poverty.
