Beautifully Broken

- 1 -

"Ahh, shit."

I groan, slowly moving from my lowered bed. I woke up with a nagging pain in my chest, and a tender side.

When I finally move to my feet, I quietly shuffle to the bathroom across the hall. Making sure to close the doors without a sound. Looking in the mirror, I almost scare myself.

Because I'm freaking ugly

But also because the black eye I had received a few nights before, had reached its full bruising. I wince a little trying to lift up my shirt. By the looks of my side, it was a small bruise. The dark colors would get more prominent as the days went on. I, unfortunately, know this routine all too well.

With a sigh, I get started with my morning routine: Brushing my teeth, washing my face, covering the wounds and bruises. All with cold water because my mother would be up soon and 'knows when I've used it' as she says.

It won't always be like this

I'll move out soon

I just have to save enough money

Just one more year

Walking back to my room, I get changed in my first work uniform. Packing the other in a small bag for my second job. Gently moving down the stairs, one foot at a time, making sure to miss the creeks in them. I hear the snoring,

That fucking snoring

Too many times have I wanted to just push a pillow over the opened mouthed sleeper. Counting the pros and cons of ending the main cause of my suffering, the cause of my late-night break downs.

I have been far to close to doing so then I'd like to admit

Looking over at her while I approach the front door, I can't help the scowl that grows on my face. Her hair is a mess, I've noticed it's starting to thin.

Liquor bottles litter the once lively living room floor. The smell of alcohol was suffocating, I'm sure it had been stained into the walls by now. They could bulldoze this house and I'm almost certain it would still smell of booze. Lines of a white substance laid in patterns on the coffee table. A half-empty syringe right next to it.

The women's once beautiful body was now littered in tiny scars and bugling dark veins.

It didn't have to be like this, there were different ways to handle the grief that she let overcome her. She just decided to take on the ultimately worst one.

A familiar burning sensation creeps its way to my eyes.

I shake it off.

Crying won't solve shit

I slam the door shut, knowing what will happen when I get home. She doesn't care, so why should I?

I throw my bag in the passenger's seat and drive out of the driveway. The radio's broken so I sit in silence. Which, sucks, silence sucks. I can hear myself think in silence. 

It's true what they say about grief, it really can change someone if not dealt with accordingly. I think it's fair to say most people don't go to the lengths she does, but I'm fully aware of why she does it.

My mother was beautiful, one of the many reasons my father fell in love with her. They were the perfect depiction of love, late-night kitchen dances, I love you's after fights, love-filled looks.

You name it, they had it.

I wish I could say I don't remember the accident. I wish I could say the blow to my head erased the complete event.