Brooklyn.
Yep. Named after a city in the big apple. A place of love, romance, sex... hah, not even close. Of course, I only lived there for 8 years. Then we moved to Rhode Island. I love it here. No love, no romance, no sex.
That's a lie..
Its everywhere. The only time I can escape it, is at night.
Anyways, enough about my back story. I'm sure you read those all the time. You probably already know how this story will go.. I meet a cute boy, we fall in love, get married, and have little Brooklyn babies...
Once again.. Not even close.
This story might disappoint you. So I suggest you put it down. Now.
After all, I'm only a disappointment.
x x x x x
"Brooklyn, get off your god damn ass, and make breakfast!"
"Bitch..." I muttered under my breath. I rolled out of bed, and onto the floor.
Morning Routine.
"Brooklyn!"
"Yeah, Yeah, I'm coming!" I ran downstairs, and made my way to the kitchen.
"God. You sound like a fucking elephant," My 40 year prostitute of a mom grumbled.
"Another hangover?" I rolled my eyes.
"Mike, breakfast!" My moms peircing yell rang through the whole kitchen.
"Who'd you bring home this time?" I mumbled under my breath.
"Shut up," She rolled her eyes as she peeled off her socks.
"Rawr," I teased with mock interest.
She glared at me. The so called "Mike" had just approached the table. He was watching me. My mom noticed this too. She looked me up and down, from my messy bun to my boxer shorts.
"Go put on some clothes. You look like a slut."
I looked at my mom, in her skimpy lingerie, "Touché," I mumbled.
"Come on lazy ass, we got things to do today!" She turned and sat on "Mikes" lap. I watched them grope each other, then turned and ran upstairs.
"What the hell? What about breakfast?" I heard "Mike" complain from the table.
Next thing I knew, the sound of my moms feet were pounding up the stairs.
"What the hell Brooklyn? Make fucking
breakfast. A pregnant women's got to eat!"
"..."
"Pregnant?" Was this even possible? She was 40... My heart pounded.
"Yes pregnant. Mike! Get up here!"
Another set of pounding feet were headed upstairs.
My mom linked her arm through his,"Tell the girl I'm expecting."
"She's expecting," Mike groaned.
"What the hell ?! Expecting? Are you serious?!"
I had kept my cool for too long,"You bitch! Like I'm not enough?! What's next? I'm gonna be breast feeding the little bastard too?"
My mom stood there. Taking in every single bomb i threw at her. She looked speechless. Even "Mike" looked a little speechless.
Good.
"Brooklyn Patterson!" My mom screamed, her hand whipped out and lashed my face, "You Ungrateful shit! You're almost 18 anyways."
She spun on her heel and slammed my door.
x x x x x
That morning I cried. Harder than I ever had before. My mom can treat me like crap, a servant. But she can never hit me, or reject me.
I snuck out my window that night. Hoping to find a place for serenity. Just me and my crappy skateboard, that I had named Barbie.
And that was the beginning. Of everything.
