Tragedy On Silverdale Road

Fucks

Twon serves me my forth plate of fried eggs. My munchies slowly die down as I giggle at the idea of Bryson on me again.

"Violet, tell me again, why are you laughing?" My heavy eyes look up at my best friend. He's handsome but very much a player. If he wasn't so well known around town I'd snatch him for myself.

"Because my past has come back to haunt me!" I burst into a fit of adulted giggles, the dirtiest images of Bryson Jones flashing through my mind. "But I've come to enjoy the pain." Finishing up the egg I press a kiss to Antwon's cheek and walk off into the cool morning air.

The wind blows my hair behind, making my eyes water but my smile grow. What I see before me is hilarious: Bryson locking lips with a club whore. I continue walking in their direction, the blunts from last night still lingering inside me. I should really cut down on the drugs.  As I get closer and see who the whore is my emotionless fascade is back.

Angelica loves breaking the broken.

Sensing my passing the two break apart. Angelica's eyes widen in shock, but instead of stepping away she pulls the obviously intoxicated Bryson closer. Intoxicated at ten in the morning, classy.

"Midnight--."

"It's Violet."

My sister sighs. "Violet, I didn't mean--." She stops speaking as I step closer, my right hand cupping Bryson's chin. His body says drunk, his eyes scream help. Poor man, drugged.

"Yes you did. You drugged him." Her eyes flicker to the left as she concocts another lie. "But don't worry. Your actions can't hurt me, because I no longer feel anything for you." I grab Bryson's arm and drag him towards my loft. He stumbles behind, slurring dirty words along the way.

He enjoys the softness of my old couch as he falls into a deep sleep.

➖✖➖

"Fuck!"

"Where the hell am I?"

"Shit!"

Crash

With a grumble, I exit the kitchen to find Jones struggling to stand from the middle of my shattered coffee table. Bastard broke my damn coffee table. His bright blues meet my dull greens. We stare at one another, him shirtless from the countless times he vomited yesterday, and me in a long t-shirt Twon left over.

The heat rises dramatically as he steps away from the scene of broken furniture and closer to the steamy fantasy I know is about to come to life.

"Fuck, I've missed you, Kitten."

"Nothing to miss." I spin around, letting my dark hair graze his jaw. He follows me into the kitchen. Tomato soup heats in a pot and grilled cheese sandwiches toast in a pan. I twist my long hair into a messy bun, the cigarette behind my ear coming into view. The bourbon rests half empty on the counter besides the endless pile of junk mail.

"That's where you're wrong." His big hands grip my hips through the suddenly very, very thin t-shirt. "I walked away for no reason--."

"There's always a reason," I snarl, angrily stirring the soup. "Nothing is done without motive. You don't just leave!" The heartbreak floods back. Every feeling of desertion comes back simultaneously, no holding back. "You fucking left because you wanted to!"

"I loved you, Midnight."

I don't have the heart to correct him. "And you think I didn't love you! You don't think waiting for hours on our anniversary crushed me? You never missed an anniversary, a doctor's appointment, you never missed anything!"

"I was young!"

"I was young and pregnant!"