Pieces of Me

Chapter One

Ally

I can hear the footsteps, before they halt at my door. I was naive to think that tonight would be any different.
I snuggle deeper into the bed, trying my best to just disappear. My heart is beating hard and fast, and I will it to be still. I'm trying my best to be quiet, but it's as if the beating fills the entire room, echoing off the walls. Giving away my frozen form under the covers.

I can almost physically feel my heart jump when I hear the bang of the door handle as it hits the wall. My stomach moves up to my chest and I stifle a cry.
The already chipped paint is like a record , inscriptions from the many nights before.

"Alison."

I am always surprised at how loaded one word can sound when barked as if an order, yet hissed in anger. All I hear though is disgust and hatred.

My eyes are clenched closed, so tight it hurts. Internally I beg myself to relax, and to take the form of a person sleeping blissfully, innocently - ignorantly even, but the act itself is so unnatural.

The light from the open door penetrates my closed eyelids and I can just make out the blurred form. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I know exactly how many steps it is from the doorway to my bed. The number does vary a little, depending how much alcohol has been consumed. The stumbled, sloppy steps are just as unpredictable as the person taking them. Then, I hear my name again. I hold my breath, but force my chest move in a up and down motion. I know the smell that will fill my nostrils if I breathe in. It is a odour that will make me gag. It is not just the smell of alcohol that does it. It is the reek of a whole day drinking beer, rum and smoking a packet of cigarettes. It's animosity spilling out of a mouth from which novels, movies and society has told me is where true love comes from.

Hair and slurring words fall on my face like a dark, dense curtain. The words are incomprehensible as they are whispered into my ear. I can feel the hot air fan across my face, my lungs bursting. I count the seconds ticking by, to take my mind off the pain. Suddenly there is a small shift in the air. After all this time my senses are so in tune that I know exactly what is coming next. A hand has been raised, and my heart knows it is about to find contact with skin.

I wake gasping for air, sitting up straight. My pajamas cling to my body, damp with perspiration and I can smell alcohol in the air even though it's impossible. I let go of my throat, rubbing my eyes with my fists, and I lay back trying to control my breathing.

In out, in out...fuck meditation.

Rolling over, I reach for my phone. The bright screen reveals it's 3.01am. An unhelpful notification from my mindfulness app takes up my home screen. Sighing, I place the phone back down, and grabbing the glass of water next to it, I drink greedily. The dreams and insomnia are always worse when I'm stressed but lately it's been almost every night. Putting the glass down, I roll over and close my eyes waiting for sleep to claim me.
It feels like minutes later that my alarm sounds - 5.30am. I swing my legs over the edge if the bed, swallow the heavy lump in my throat, and face the day.

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Work turns out to be one of those shifts where you wish you'd called in sick.

"Here, 5 dollars 20," the man says gruffly, flinging his money in my direction, refusing to make eye contact. His beard is peppered with grey spots and he looks about 50 judging by the way his skin sags around the edges of his eyes.

"Thank you sir, have a wonderful day," I reply with the amount of fake enthusiasm that could win an Oscar. Then I slam the cash register shut - harder than necessary, ruining the facade.

I let out one of those pent-up sighs you don't realise are going to sound so loud, and a customer turns to me frowning. It's been a long day to say the least. A long week really. Only yesterday I was yelled at because of the 5 cent cup holder fee - like I, a 24 year old student, dictates the café prices.

I'm tired from my interrupted sleep, and still a little shaken from my nightmare, so it feels like years before the clock strikes 12pm and I can finally rip off my dirty, black apron. My feet are sore, and I smell like burnt coffee beans.

"Hey, what are you up to now?" Jayson asks as he walks into the staffroom, his arms reach behind his back untying his apron at the waist. His sweet smile and the way he cocks his head to the side has me blushing.
"Would you like to go get some lunch?"
I falter a little, accidently dropping my apron to the floor. I swiftly pick it up and reply before I can think too much, "I'd love to, I really would but I've already made plans.."
His smile wavers but he replies kindly, "next time?"
"Next time," I agree nodding vigorously, and my enthusiasm is rewarded with a perfect, white smile. All his teeth align, almost a bright as the stars.
I turn away, and facing my locker I rifle through my crap for my keys.
"Are you okay?" he continues, "your smile today doesn't quite reach your eyes..."

It's sweet he even notices such a thing, and I can feel my face flushing further. I know what he really means is I look like shit today. But at least he's kind about it. To occupy my hands I pull my hairband out. My long brunette hair falls in a lump on my neck. Using my fingers to untangle it, I look up at him through my mop.

"No, I'm okay. Really, I promise."
His small nods tells me he's not convinced. But like the nice guy he is, he doesn't press me further. I find myself wondering why I don't give this boy more time of day. He ticks all my boxes. Funny. Attractive. Kind.
Suddenly I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I bet it's Maddie double checking I'm still coming out this afternoon. When my eyes meet the screen, my heart turns cold.

"How do you live with yourself..."

I can only see half of the message on the home screen. Despite knowing better, I open the text.

It's always like a band aid, better to just rip it off. Skin and all.

"You're just a stupid, ungrateful bitch. You always have been.'"

What I always seem to forget about the band aid is that there's not a scratch hiding behind it, there's a gaping wound.