Woebegone
Nine
I call home but no one answers. It takes a moment to realise I don’t have a home. I put down the phone and call him instead. He doesn’t pick up either. I can’t find an ounce of happiness inside me, so I hunt for it around the house. First I check the kitchen, but all I come up with is orange juice and milk. The rest of the house is the same, nothing appears. I’m crying again and I fall to the ground because I need something, I need to feel alive. I call again and again but he doesn’t pick up. I leave the house in a lost state and run to the only person I can think of.
At the door he leans against the frame with a devil smug spawned across his face. He looks at my unbruised skin and laughs. He’s eager to make his mark.
“I need something, drugs” I say the words too desperately.
He laughs harder but pulls something out of his pocket. I’m staring at death right in its face.
“Fifty dollars” he says, for a few measly pills.
“I-I only have twenty” stuffed into jeans that don’t even fit.
I hand him the money and he hands me the pills. He smacks my face once to pay off the rest of the debt. It feel’s too familiar.
“Like old times, sweetheart”
It still doesn’t hurt.
At the door he leans against the frame with a devil smug spawned across his face. He looks at my unbruised skin and laughs. He’s eager to make his mark.
“I need something, drugs” I say the words too desperately.
He laughs harder but pulls something out of his pocket. I’m staring at death right in its face.
“Fifty dollars” he says, for a few measly pills.
“I-I only have twenty” stuffed into jeans that don’t even fit.
I hand him the money and he hands me the pills. He smacks my face once to pay off the rest of the debt. It feel’s too familiar.
“Like old times, sweetheart”
It still doesn’t hurt.
♠ ♠ ♠
Blah, I tried editing this because I wasn't happy with it but I'm just not in a word mood. It kind of sucks but I want to post something.