Wouldn't You Care?

My fingers trembled as I light a cigarette. My back to the bathroom door. Inhaling deeply, all I could think about was how I wanted to go home. My nose ran, and my throat hoarse from crying.

My mouth began to water, and once again I regurgitated my insides into the toilet. Pray to God that I can pull myself together. I inhale deeper. Clumsily I pull myself up, using the counter as support.
I look into the mirror and my black hair is a mess. What's usually pin straight, is now matted to the back of my head. Eyeliner staining my pail complexion. My pretty black dress didn't look so well anymore. I only thought I was beautiful.

Mom. She was all I needed. Everything in me wanted to pick up the phone, but she would worry sick. Stress only makes her diabetes worse and she's states away. I don't have a father. Last time I seen him, he was in handcuffs. I was fourteen and he attempted to shoot us. I had him arrested. But that's a long story. In a sick way I still feel guilty. He is schizophrenic and when Doug would go into fits, he would forget shortly after. It left me traumatized.

Everything came flooding back in. Pulling me deeper into the dark. I inhaled, and flushed the butt. Shaking off those memories. Grabbing a hand towel I wiped off my face and threw the dress on the floor. I just need to go to bed.

"Liz?" my roommate Amanda called out to me as I shut the bathroom door. Time to put on a smile. I walked down the hall into the living room where she was.

"What's going on?" The tall blonde looked up from her MacBook.

"Remember Matt Kean ? I meet him at that house party in Rolling Hills?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"You meet a lot of guys, Amanda. I'm trying to go to bed." She raised her eyebrows.

"Fine. Have it your way, bitch."

"Goodnight whore."

God she was oblivious to anything I was going through. Really, she goes through men like panties. I need a fucking break.