Baby, I Make the Corner Cry

I am part of a circle. The girls are all around me. I feel calm. I am filled with a sense of serenity for the first time in my life. I am smiling; the strain on my face nearly hurts. My memories are blurred. My pain is forgotten. My future is irrelevant for the time being. I feel a sense of danger from the small rolled cigarette being passed along the line. I am numbed.

The girls all surround me, Molly on my right, the rest on the other side of me. Sam’s eyes peering over from time to time, perhaps out of curiosity, or the idea that we share a secret. I have an epiphany that our shared secret destroys the secret which was to be shared in the first place. We are not alone anymore.

Molly is beside me, the warm soft skin of her arm brushing against mine. She is dangerously flirtatious. I watch her as she takes the small cigarette between her fingers and brings it between her smooth rosy lips, inhaling it leisurely before blowing smoke rings in my direction that swiftly move outwards from my face.

My heart beats a little faster as I feel the smooth warm paper of the cigarette in my own hand. I look down, lost for a moment. The unfamiliar, organic scent fills my nostrils. I debate not taking it, but that small, insignificant tear-stained face of yours fills my mind again, bringing the warmth to my lips as if it were instinct, and instantly, the image is gone. Smoke fills my lungs. It burns. It makes my eyes water and my head dizzy, but I don’t mind. The fire, that forgivable sting of the evening is easier to bear than the harsh cold of that prison you call a home. I keep the smoke inside as long as I can bear, holding it in to mix with the oxygen; to smother me before I try to smoothly exhale the same perfect circular smoke rings as the beauty before me.

“Pass it along, Dick! Some of us are waiting,” Marcy shouts anxiously from down the line. That is all she cares about- the numbing. That is all she will ever be is a reflection of her mindless, broken mental state. It is disgusting.

Shyly, with the coughing of smoke still clouding the air in front of my face, I pass it to the silent, ghostly red head sitting beside me with hands still as undisturbed water.

I look back to the distorted Madonna at my side again to see her smile, the small giggles emerging from within her. Your face flashes yet again, but I take another drink of the fiery alcohol and that memory is gone. It is just Molly and me. Her skin is silky, and I can see through those delicate chocolate eyes to the softness below. It is at this moment that her face collides with mine; her mouth harsh and unforgiving. Desperate. Scared. Yet I can’t help but give in. I can taste the fire on her breath. She pulls away and I’m afraid to see the fire move to her cheeks. She leans it and asks yet again for my name.

I look at her, into that soft vulnerability beneath the wreckage and feel the urge to tell her- To tell her everything. But then I remember. I mustn’t make this hard on others, I have already gotten too attached. Her lips press against mine, her fingers entangling themselves into my matted hair. The noise of the room is silenced once again, and once again I give in.

I suddenly become delusional again as memories come back to haunt me, dear mother. Freshly done manicures running through my hair, over my skin, down my spine. Nausea is nothing. Nausea is comfort compared to this ordeal. Corners. Hiding. Mommy loves you. Mommy loves you, don't hide. I shake the memory away as the shiver runs up my spine only to realize that my face is wet and my throat is swollen and sore once more. The look in those vulnerable sapphire eyes gets lost, and my gaze changes to the floor. Her hand caresses my face. It reminds me of you; hard, boney fingers twisting their way through my hair. I have to escape.