𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 | billie eilish

001

saturday - may 30, 2020

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟑, 𝟕:𝟎𝟎𝐩𝐦
𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬

"Get out of the house, whore," my drunk, stumbling mom yells at me, a see-through, almost empty bottle of vodka with a marine blue logo on it is dangerously dangling in between her pointer and middle finger, innocently displaying the brand of the alcohol company.

A sharp stinging pain attacks my lungs aggressively and I'm becoming breathless from forcing back my salty tears, which just want to escape from the corner of my eyes, down over my slightly tanned and freckly cheeks. The big, hot teardrops would reunite on my bruised chin and eventually drip onto the material of my gray, oversized sweatshirt. Drops of sadness, disappointment, anger, and panic, but that's happened to be normality for me.

"I said get out," she repeats in a demanding manner but I keep standing across from her. My body won't move. The shock of my own mother being so extremely drunk paralyzed me, my limbs are frozen, eyes staring into the endless depth of hers. That horrible depth that is filled with my memories of catching her doing drugs, arguing with my dad and crying over Marlon, my brother.

"Okay," I whisper angrily and my head moves up and down slowly, nodding and realizing that the loving nickname I always called her—mama—now abandoned my great vocabulary.

I turn around, leave her behind and rush to the old front door of our comparably new house. Hastily, I grab a key, just in case, and my skateboard, then I'm out of my childhood home. I trip down the few flat stairs in front of the entrance and shut the door calmly, still clenching my jaw in order not to let the tears, which have been blurring my vision for already over five minutes, stream over my face and betray the expanding numbness inside my head.

Carelessly, I throw my skateboard down on the hot asphalt street, set my right foot on the black surface of the board and push myself off the ground to get the wheels rolling. Then I can't hold it back anymore and let my tears run free. Now it's not them burning and blurring my eyes but the Californian sunset, which appears in so many different colors. Pink, orange, yellow. They mix and it's a spectacle you can experience almost every evening in summer.

The comforting sunbeams warm my cheeks and I forget everything around me as I'm just driving down the street; past old and new houses. My thoughts are so extremely loud, they're laughing at me, screaming at me and I let them dominate my daily life. They're like devil and angel sitting on each of my shoulders, but the devil is already holding its knife to the angel's throat to raise its awareness of keeping all its positive words to itself.

Why me? Why does it always have to be me? What did I do that life has to punish me so damn badly?

I was born in El Paso, Texas, and everything was pretty cool around me till the age of six. We moved to LA that year, and I lost all the friends I had made in the few years of visiting kindergarten every day. God, I loved it to death. Meeting new kids, finding out about them and eventually growing so close that we'd tell each other our 'deepest' secrets. You know, the things that children think are badass and extremely cool. But all of that was ripped from me ten years ago. We came to LA as a little cute family. Mom and dad, Marlon and I. Everything seemed to be perfect until August 17, 2016. Two years ago. A wonderful Wednesday evening but suddenly a thousand messages blew up Mom's phone. Countless calls from the nearby hospital. Within a split second, our lives were turned upside down.