Tales From Another Broken Home

I drifted fitfully in and out of sleep, a pounding headache becoming more prominent the more times I woke from my rest. I felt like my empty stomach was eating itself alive, and I needed to just throw it all up before it could stop being so disagreeable. The steady beating in my head got louder with each tiny movement I made trying to get myself more comfortable, but I never could settle. I felt like I was on the equivalent of a rocking boat with a case of bad seasickness. Through my restless sleep, I eventually saw daylight start to shine red through my eyelids and with a groan of effort flipped myself over one more time onto my back and opened my eyes.

I was greeted with a dingy, off-white ceiling; from the natural color or wear and tear I didn’t know. I blinked hard, trying to get the sleep out of my eyes, and looked around to see a thick, black scrawl painted in the corners of the room. It trailed off onto the walls, creating a sharp contrast with the deep red paint that adorned everything but one black one wall. I stared at the ceiling again, feeling the vertigo grab ahold of me again, trying to fixate on one spot to hopefully hang onto. I closed my eyes for a few moments, but that just made it worse, and when I opened them again, I noticed a grey haze in my vision.

I blinked my eyes furiously, trying to get rid of the haze, but it wouldn’t go away. I started becoming more stable, and realized that my mind wasn’t the thing that was swirling, it was the smoke. I sighed, and smelled that telltale musty, but pungent smell in the air – cigarettes. I turned my head to the left, trying to lift it up, and of course, a certain boy was next propped up against a pillow, a cigarette hanging off his two fingers, lazily trailing smoke off the cherry-red tip. I groaned, and flopped my head back onto the pillow.

I heard a soft, condescending chuckle. “Happy to see me, babe?”

I groaned again.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he laughed, the sarcasm eminent in his voice.

“Piss off,” I managed to get out, bracing my palms against whatever I was lying on – a mattress it felt like. I was in Jimmy’s bedroom.

“What in the hell..?” I breathed, shoving myself back to prop myself up against the wall behind me that I could see Jimmy leaning against.

“Don’t get too excited, it’s not like anything happened,” Jimmy drawled, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I know it must be like a dream come true for someone like you to wake up next to me; sorry to get your hopes up.”

I made a retching sound, half from the absurdity of his statement, half from the fact that I felt like I was gonna actually puke. Jimmy laughed.

“Here,” he said, shoving a bucket in front of my face.

“Uuuungh,” I groaned, the bucket landing sharply on my stomach. I heaved myself up fully, leaning my head over the opening. Just in case. “Jimmy, you do realize that if you’re giving me a bucket in case I might puke, shoving it onto my stomach is going to make me want to puke more? It’s a bit counterproductive.”

He shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Not like it hasn’t happened to me before.”

“Wonderful,” I said sarcastically, glaring at the bucket. “Can I at least have the dignity of puking in a toilet?”

“First door on the left,” he said, gesturing his head to the door on his own left.

“Thanks,” I said, leaning my head down to rest on the edge of the bucket. I closed my eyes, hoping that relaxing would get rid of the churning sensation in my stomach. Instead, I felt the storm inside my head become increasingly more violent; my head started spinning faster and faster. I groaned as my stomach gurgled and lurched, and I starting that sweaty panicked feeling. I shoved forward onto my knees and crawled literally over Jimmy to run out into the hallway.

“What the hell!” he cried, although I knew that he had a perfectly good reason of “why the hell” I was darting out of his bedroom. I came down hard on my way to the bathroom floor, and felt the disgusting feeling of my stomach squeezing out everything that it possibly could. I broke into a cold sweat and collapsed face up on the bathroom floor. The morning sunlight burned through even my closed eyelids and I draped my arm across my face to cover my eyes. I heard soft, deliberately slow footsteps come nearer to the bathroom and stop in the doorway. I peeked through the bottom of my arm and saw Jimmy leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, an infuriating half smile on his face.

“So attractive,” he drawled, chuckling.

“Shut up,” I croaked, rubbing my aching head slowly with my palms. I sort of helped, but the more I moved, the more I felt like I was going to puke again. I settled for my arm on my face again. I heard Jimmy leave for a couple minutes and then come back again, the floor squeaking occasionally when he walked. I heard shuffling, and peeked out to look at him again. He crouched down on the floor next to me, holding a water bottle and a piece of toast.

“Here,” he sighed, holding them out for me.

I squinted at him, confused.

“It’s just annoying to see you being so pathetic,” he growled, turning his head away from me. “Now take the damn water before I change my mind.

I used my palms to push myself up against the back wall of the bathroom, and tentatively took the water and toast. I took a couple sips of the water, and found that it at least alleviated my dry throat. I tried nibbling on the corner of the slice of toast and tried to swallow, but it felt and tasted like sawdust in my mouth. I sipped the water to wash it down.

“I still feel like shit,” I croaked, trying to make a joke. Jimmy put his head in his hand in an exasperated fashion and slid down the wall, sprawling his legs out in front of him.

“Of course you do,” he said. “That’s what happens when bitches like you drink like that.”

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound offended. My angry stomach told me that in the moment, I didn’t actually care that much, though.

“It’s true,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Notice how I’m feeling fine.”

I paused, and gave him a slow once-over and chuckled.

“Yeah, that bruise on your jaw really says that you’re feeling fine.”

His face lit up with anger and he jumped to his feet.

“You should be fucking grateful,” he spat, “I was doing that so you wouldn’t get fucked over by some asshole. Jesus Christ, bitch.”

He stomped out of the bathroom and I heard the bed squeak, and the sharp sparking of a lighter. I tried sipping the water a couple more times, finding the toast too dry to chew, and eventually, Jimmy came stalking out of his bedroom again, plopping down on the floor with a huff.

“Welcome back,” I drawled teasingly. He glared at me, and I laughed.

“Okay okay,” I said. “I know you were trying to help me. Thank you, Jimmy.” He gave me another glare, softer this time, and scooched over to sit next to me.

“Eat that toast you dumb bitch, or else you’ll never feel better,” he said, leaning his head against the wall. I nibbled on the corner of the toast.

“I feel like I’m gonna puke again if I keep eating this,” I sighed, leaning my head against the wall as well.

“Yeah well you’re gonna make me puke if you keep doing this for long, so just eat the damn toast.”

We sat in silence for a while, and I tried eating the rest of the slice of bread. It probably took me the better half of an hour, while I tried staying still to not rock the contents of my stomach back up. I glanced over at Jimmy a couple of times as I ate, and never saw his gaze leave a spot on the white ceiling that he was attentively staring at. His arms draped over his raised knees, and I wondered what I was focused so intently on. After finally finishing my bottle of water, and almost the entire piece of toast, I felt my eyelids start to get heavy, and I drifted off into sleep.