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"i thought about killing you last night."
_______
"Who's car was that?"
Sandra Davis stands in front her teenager daughter. The girl looks nothing like her. Her ginger hair doesn't come from her nor do any of her facial features. The only thing the pair shared was the mole under their right eye. Everything else about Honey's appearance comes from her father. The mess of a man who abandoned them years ago. Honey just so happened to be a reminder of that everyday. Which means Sandra can not stand to be around her for more than five minutes.
She takes into account the smell of cigarettes wafting off of her daughter. She keeps a distance between them, the smell already making her nauseous. It reminds her of when she used to go through a pack everyday. Just to deal with the grieve of loosing her husband to some random girl he meant on the Internet.
"A friend's." Honey doesn't hold back the hostility in her voice. She doesn't like the woman. Doesn't like her black inked hair that is greasier than the oil the cooks fry food in at her job. She doesn't like the pale frame of the woman. She looks a day away from death itself. She doesn't like the look on the woman's face whenever she looks directly at her, almost as if she's judging her.
"What'd I tell you about hanging out with strangers?" Sandra isn't an idiot. She knows none of Honey's friends have a car, yet alone a sports car. She also knows none of them smoke cigarettes.
"And what'd I tell you about minding your business?" is what Honey wanted to say to her mother. But she bites her tongue and walks pass her instead. Purposefully getting close to the woman to make sure the smell of cigarettes lingers around her longer. She gets a sick satisfaction from that, knowing how hard it is for her mother to keep away from the tobacco.
The Davis household isn't a loving household. It hadn't been for a while. Not since Honey's father decided to leave her mother and her for some girl he met online. Her father had left her life that day and never once reached out. That was six years ago. She was nine. She still remembers her father yelling at her mother telling her to stop acting like a saint. Because she herself was no better than him.
He brings up the fact she slept with plumper to get out of paying for the plumping services. He tells her she isn't beautiful anymore, tells her she's no better looking than an old lady. Honey doesn't remember the much else that her father says but she remembers when he spots her ease dropping in the corner and yells in her face that she was unwanted and would always be unwanted.
She supposes he wasn't wrong. Looking at her life now it's clear as day she's a burden to the people around her. The people being her mother and the countless men her mother brings to her bed.
