Heartless

Chapter 2

/ˈhärtlis/

Chapter Two:

As the sun dips below the horizon and the moon occupies its place, memories begin to reminisce without any consent from anyone, really. The only way to truly keep the memories from wrapping around you as if it were seaweed and pull you under to its treacherous waters is to drown them with liquor, because quite frankly, memories can’t swim. This is the philosophy I’ve been living by ever since I could get my hands onto my first alcohol bottle.

If only my womb loaner hadn’t been such an inconsiderate asshole, I wouldn’t need to worry about kidney failure due to the amount of alcohol that coursed through my veins.

With my eyes following up the tattoos scrawled across my arm, my finger tapping against the glass bottle that contained the only thing that kept me sane, my mind began to get lost in ‘what ifs’ and ‘should haves’

If the world wasn’t convinced with the concept of taking your heart out and keeping in a jar to keep it pure and in result, terminate spontaneous deaths, maybe I would be sober every once in a while.

Then again, if my mother hadn’t left me for dead, giving my heart to someone in exchange for whatever it was that held more importance than my life, maybe I wouldn’t be who I was now in general.

Ages ago, when I dreaded sleep and longed to be awake and take life for what it was, I always thought my mother dearest left me for a greater cause.

Maybe she sold my heart for money to find a cure for cancer, perhaps she knew I was a loop hole in this crazed of a world and was waiting to come back for me.

However, with every passing birthday, a shred of hope was faded into oblivion, leaving me not only hopeless, but heartless.

More than usual, that is.

22 years, and still not a word from the sperm donor or the womb loaner, however this held little importance to me as I had given up years ago.

Life was to drag on, with or without my consent and if I somehow survived without my heart for this long, I may as well try to exist instead of just live.

I left the clutches on the bottle of vodka, lifting my fingers to trail over the mouse pad of my laptop, refreshing the Dominos page to track my order.

Since the nights only offered to pull me under, sleep a wasted wish, I managed to keep busy with a simply two hour shift from three to five in the morning at a 24-hour convince store. The money was much needed, and rarely did anyone ever bother to barge in other than the usual’s who appeared a couple times a week.

Also, I was the only one running the convince store, so I was either hung over, or buzzed myself.

I could use the second job as well even if it was only two hours. After much searching of apartments in New York, I had landed nothing at all. Spending bone chilling nights against buildings and drowsy eyes caused a wave of sympathy to run through Mr. Smee who offered the room on top of the café to me on minimum rent. With only necessary appliances and cold water, the small one roomed apartment was barely livable, but it was all I knew.

The downside to living on top of the café was the fact that Brooklyn and her friends would occasionally get together and blow off some steam downstairs, causing the old rusting building to sway. Their laughter and talk was always too loud to handle and tonight was one of those nights.

Annoyance started to build up in the put of my stomach as I listened to their loud voices fluttering up through the stairs and past the thin walls of this poor excuse of a room.

The fact that I had to deal with these twats for the entire day, and now in the night as well caused me to huff out, sloshing the vodka in the cup, ignoring the bits that splashed and fell onto my legs.