Status: I would love feedback!
Battle Scars
Assumptions
His car was so clean, she wondered if she had ever been in something as nice as this. She probably smelled terrible, like sweat and adrenaline, and she wondered how he was able to tolerate it.
“Where can I bring you?” he asked, looking over at her. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, before replying, “Uh, you can, uh, bring me to my place. I’ll show you where to go, but it’s near that kid’s park on Seventh Street.”
He nodded and started to drive. “So, Alli, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s going on? No offense, but you look terrible.”
She choked down a wince, knowing that he was probably being nice when he said that, she probably looked absolutely horrible. She quickly tried to think of something to say, but he’d knew she was lying.
He probably thinks you’re high as a kite, might as well tell the truth, he’ll probably think you’re just lying.
She gulped, wishing that she was off somewhere with a bottle of booze in her hand, so far off that she forgot that Bryce even existed.
“Well, um, I’m sure you know..about me.” She said, looking out of the corner of his eye to see him nod. She continued, “Well, I had to quit everything I did cold turkey about four months ago, somewhere along there, to tell you truth I don’t even remember when the hell it was, but I haven’t had anything since then, and it’s driving me crazy. I was craving a cigarette really badly, and I was trying to find someone to bum one off of. I don’t know why I’m so dizzy all of the sudden, I just feel like part of me isn’t here, and the bit that is here is barely holding on.” Finally, she looked up from her hands and at him. His hands were clenched on the wheel tightly, and his eyes were locked on the road.
Told you he thought you were lying.
“Look, I know you probably think I’m high-” she began, but he cut her off.
“Alli, I barely know you, but-“ She cut him off, irritated.
“But what? But I know that you’re lying, that you’re a pathetic drug addict? I’ve made mistakes, but who the fuck hasn’t? You don’t know what my story is, so before you assume I do this because it’s fun, maybe you should think for a minute about how you don’t know me. If you don’t mind, I’ll walk the rest, thanks for the help.” She wrenched the door open and staggered out, walking as briskly as she could.
What the fuck possessed you to talk to him like that? You don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, all he knows is that you’re the trailer trash drug addict, the girl who would rather throw her life away with coke, booze, razors, and vomit then create a future for herself. No matter what you tell him, that’s what he’s always going to think of you.
Her head pounded and she tried to swallow; her mouth was too dry. She managed to drag herself back home, Grandparent’s car in the driveway. So they didn't go looking for her, big surprise.
She opened the door and saw them sitting at the kitchen table. She muttered an excuse that she ran into a friend, and they ate it like candy. She dragged herself up the stairs and collapsed into bed. Her last thought was I never got my fucking cigarette.
BRYCE
Alli. He didn’t know what to think of her, let alone how to talk to her. She was a friend of a friend, he’d seen her around, but he still didn’t know what to think of her. He’d heard about her, of course; the girl who had been arrested for possession, the girl that tried to kill herself, the girl that drank herself into oblivion at every party, the girl that lost twenty pounds in three weeks.
He’d only ever thought that she was an addict, an addict of nearly everything. He’d heard the mean things at school, laughed at some of them. Some people had a gambling pool open, betting on what drug she would overdose on and die. People would talk of getting her drunk enough to fuck her, and so many other things. She was the joke of their school, and he laughed about her just as much as anyone else.
Why did he try to help her, then?
“Where can I bring you?” he asked, looking over at her. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, before replying, “Uh, you can, uh, bring me to my place. I’ll show you where to go, but it’s near that kid’s park on Seventh Street.”
He nodded and started to drive. “So, Alli, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s going on? No offense, but you look terrible.”
She choked down a wince, knowing that he was probably being nice when he said that, she probably looked absolutely horrible. She quickly tried to think of something to say, but he’d knew she was lying.
He probably thinks you’re high as a kite, might as well tell the truth, he’ll probably think you’re just lying.
She gulped, wishing that she was off somewhere with a bottle of booze in her hand, so far off that she forgot that Bryce even existed.
“Well, um, I’m sure you know..about me.” She said, looking out of the corner of his eye to see him nod. She continued, “Well, I had to quit everything I did cold turkey about four months ago, somewhere along there, to tell you truth I don’t even remember when the hell it was, but I haven’t had anything since then, and it’s driving me crazy. I was craving a cigarette really badly, and I was trying to find someone to bum one off of. I don’t know why I’m so dizzy all of the sudden, I just feel like part of me isn’t here, and the bit that is here is barely holding on.” Finally, she looked up from her hands and at him. His hands were clenched on the wheel tightly, and his eyes were locked on the road.
Told you he thought you were lying.
“Look, I know you probably think I’m high-” she began, but he cut her off.
“Alli, I barely know you, but-“ She cut him off, irritated.
“But what? But I know that you’re lying, that you’re a pathetic drug addict? I’ve made mistakes, but who the fuck hasn’t? You don’t know what my story is, so before you assume I do this because it’s fun, maybe you should think for a minute about how you don’t know me. If you don’t mind, I’ll walk the rest, thanks for the help.” She wrenched the door open and staggered out, walking as briskly as she could.
What the fuck possessed you to talk to him like that? You don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, all he knows is that you’re the trailer trash drug addict, the girl who would rather throw her life away with coke, booze, razors, and vomit then create a future for herself. No matter what you tell him, that’s what he’s always going to think of you.
Her head pounded and she tried to swallow; her mouth was too dry. She managed to drag herself back home, Grandparent’s car in the driveway. So they didn't go looking for her, big surprise.
She opened the door and saw them sitting at the kitchen table. She muttered an excuse that she ran into a friend, and they ate it like candy. She dragged herself up the stairs and collapsed into bed. Her last thought was I never got my fucking cigarette.
BRYCE
Alli. He didn’t know what to think of her, let alone how to talk to her. She was a friend of a friend, he’d seen her around, but he still didn’t know what to think of her. He’d heard about her, of course; the girl who had been arrested for possession, the girl that tried to kill herself, the girl that drank herself into oblivion at every party, the girl that lost twenty pounds in three weeks.
He’d only ever thought that she was an addict, an addict of nearly everything. He’d heard the mean things at school, laughed at some of them. Some people had a gambling pool open, betting on what drug she would overdose on and die. People would talk of getting her drunk enough to fuck her, and so many other things. She was the joke of their school, and he laughed about her just as much as anyone else.
Why did he try to help her, then?