Dead at 15

The world spun, there was a thudding noise in my head and I could hear the slosh of the bottle in my hands. I tripped over the curb and face planted onto a metal drain, receiving an instant bruise to the forehead. I laughed manically, as my head went numb and cold. I puked into the drain before hiccuping and giggling again.

I brushed a few stray, sticky brown hairs out of my eyes and attempted to stand up. My arms wouldn’t support me because my muscles had gone so slack. I wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to be putting much effort into anything so I lay there for a while until I had enough control to crawl onto the sidewalk. I then began rolling on my side until I collided with a letterbox, receiving more protests from my stomach.

The vomit was now smeared across my face and the foul taste in my mouth from earlier had gotten even stronger. I flung my arms out, spreading my fingers like spiders hoping to find one of the bottles I’d dropped earlier. I groaned, craving my vodka. After a few minutes of mindless feeling around, I found it. I then managed to remove the lid and down a quarter of the liquid. I then put my precious bottle down on some random’s lawn and attempted to make a snow angel in the grass before passing out.

***

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed at the chainsaw, clamping my hands around my ears. I slowly opened my eyes and cringed at the sunlight.
“Get off my lawn you little tramp!” I rolled my head, clicking my neck and squinted to see a furious old lady. I replied by emptying my stomach all over her shoes.

She shrieked and I grinned at her toothily, licking my lips before spitting at her feet. Old bitch. It served her right. “Get off my lawn you little harlot!” I belched loudly.
“Sure lady. Just give me my vodka and shut up. I’ve got a fucking hangover, you know,” I replied. She thrust the glass bottle at me.
“Don’t even come near this street again with your vile ways you filthy…girl.”
“Well fuck you too bitch.” I gave her the finger and stumbled off, my head pounding. “Fucking old folks,” I muttered.

***

“Out again June?” Asked an arrogant and 'superior' voice. I turned to see August in her black satin dressing gown on the stairs, arms folded and eyebrow raised.
“The rents out?” She nodded. “And what the hell does it matter to you anyway?”
“It doesn’t. But it should matter to you. I’m just curious to know why it doesn’t.”

“Look, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Really now? So that’s what you think. Even December can tell you’re seriously fucking yourself up.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll be dead in a few months.” Her haughty expression morphed into one of surprise.
“So you know too then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Even I’m not that stupid. I listened to March.”

She nodded, slowly.
“What’s happening to us June?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Why are we dying?” Her voice cracked. “Who’s killing us?!” I couldn’t answer her desperate cry. She started sobbing uncontrollably so I walked over and hugged her for a bit. I was rather shocked at August’s little emotional outburst. It wasn’t her, but in the circumstances I figured that it was acceptable. After a few moments, I sighed and dragged her up to her room where she curled up in a ball on her bed. Posters of English punk bands adorned the walls on her side of the room and her bass guitar was on its stand in the corner. October was still unconscious in her bed, looking completely at peace. Oh how simple it was for her. Must’ve been nice being a freak of nature.

***

I gazed at my reflection. I’d put on a fair bit of weight in the past year and a half and yet, my face looked hollow. My eyes were slightly bloodshot and sunken in. Remnants of vomit were streaked across my face and in my eyebrows, and my hair looked like a bird’s nest – quite literally. I disgusted myself to the point where I wanted to put my fingers down my throat just to purge myself of my ‘demons’ but I threw up too often anyway for it to make any psychological difference.

***

3rd of February 2003

I stole a six-pack from the fridge last night along with a bottle of vodka from the cupboard. And as per-fucking-usual, the rents pretended not to notice.
‘Oh look at that, June, our fuck-up just walked into the room! Let’s supply her with alcohol and then blame it all on her!’ Honestly, how the fuck do they expect my ‘problem’ to go away if they don’t try to help me? I feel like shit all the time. Even writing this now, I’m drinking from my flask. Pathetic.Fucking pathetic, really. But I need to quit now. I’m sick of being drunk, and I’m sick of not feeling anything anymore. And if I die, at least I can say I tried to change.

My name is June Lambert, and I’m an alcoholic.

I closed my new diary and pulled out my underwear drawer. I lifted up the false bottom and placed my new found sanity there. False bottoms, I was surprised so few people ever thought of using them. I had another three beers after putting my diary away, before climbing into bed. I was only a little tipsy. That was a good sign right?

***

19th of June 2003

Happy birthday to me right? Yes diary, thank you! Hell I sound like such a dork. I guess I am. Anyway I am proud to say that I’ve been totally sober for a month and fifteen days now! Without my parents or the AA. Haven’t written in here for…fuck, nearly two weeks.
So I’m going to visit Tom at the bar again tonight. Uncle Tom…why Mom and Dad hate him I do not know.
Just yesterday Mom yelled at me asking where I’d been the past week, when I’d been at Tom’s. I called her a stupid ignorant bitch. She had it coming. Oh and she fucking slapped me too and then ran off crying! Like she didn’t expect it. Fake fucking cow. I’ll show her though. I’m better than her and she knows it too. She failed her daughters.
Back on topic though, I’m going to have a beer. Just to celebrate. It’ll be a test I guess. I’ll make Tom keep an eye on me though. I actually feel really great about everything now. I’ve lost weight too. Been swimming a lot like I used to.
Anyways, I better head out while Mom’s out getting groceries. Stupid cow didn’t even get me a cake this year. Fuck! I need to shut up!

Good night diary.

June.

***

“One beer Tom,” I told him. My uncle raised his eyebrows.
“You sure?” I nodded.
“Hey, I’m allowed to celebrate a little.” He laughed.
“I’ve got my eye on you darling.”
“Never doubted it for a second.”
“Happy fifteenth June.”
“Thanks.” I said, taking my drink.

Tom was my Dad’s half brother. He knew my parents were no good with me. Plus, they hated him too, so we had that in common. I took a sip of my drink before putting it down on the bar.
“Hey Tom could you watch my drink? I’ve gotta go to the ladies’,” I asked him, getting off my stool.
“Sure thing.” I made my way to the restrooms and opened the door. That was when somebody grabbed my arm.

One long trip to the ladies’ room, that was for sure.

June Nicole Lambert
6/19/88-6/19/03