Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Instead of starting a sentence off with an “I” and a “Don’t”, maybe I’ll try to sound like an optimist. Ha. Damn, I screwed that one up too quickly. Waking up in a place you don’t quite know how you ended up in is a scary thought all on it’s own, but having it actually happen to you is another thing all together. I stepped out of a stiff comforter and onto a cool floor. I knew what this was, I could assume what took place here. It was just making the connections that took so much energy out of me. I was in a hotel room. Go figure. I’m not trying to come off like this happens to me often, it’s just I’ve been a destructive case sense day one. Acts like these don’t surprise me or others anymore. View table of contents...


1 2

Submitted:May 14, 2011    Reads: 78    Comments: 0    Likes: 2   

Chapter 1

Instead of starting a sentence off with a "I" and a "Don't", maybe I'll try to sound like an optimist. Ha. Damn, I screwed that one up too quickly. Waking up in a place you don't know quitehow you ended up in, is a scary thought all on it's own, but having it actually happen to you is another thing all together. I stepped out of a stiff comforter and onto a cool floor. I knew what this was, I could assume what took place here. It was just making the connections that took so much energy out of me. I was in a hotel room. Go figure. I'm not trying to come off like this happens to me often, it's just I've been a destructive case sense day one. Acts like these don't surprise me or others much anymore.

Attemptingto recall all that took placeherewould only make my head hurt worse. I decided I would go downstairs and go back three spaces and start at well…start. My mother always told me I never knew how to play the game. I'd always get so angry with her because she'd keep sending me back three spaces to start with her trust, her permission, and her acceptance. No wonder I split. I know life is suppose to be one big game, and others try their entire lives to make sense of it, or even attempt to beat it, but I've never had the energy. If anything, I like to make up my own games, rules that define my current purpose.

Even those games have their traps and detours. I can't recall ever winning one of my very own games, whether I was a child or a young adult. It was ether my mother controlling the pieces or authority. I never did well with ether. Stumbling into the hallway of this health hazard of a motel, I run into Antony. "Where have you been?" It was never a "Hey Cherrie," always a "Where have you been?" or "What the fuck?!" I met Antony onmy first day of my brand new game. The game of what was to become of me. He knew I was young, knew I was vulnerable. I'm not sure if he knew all that by being a good judge of character or just because my hair was a mess and my face was tear stained.

Anyhow, he took me into his ratty apartment and introduced me to the new game I created for myself. Level One. If I'd start the game off, it was totally up to me. If I'd loose….I always lost. He was standing there. He claimed he was five-eight, but his stance made me believe he was at least five-six. I was only five-four, but it truly felt sometimes like we were the exact same height. I don't know if it's because I was use to being intimate with taller men, that this makes me so aware of his height or what. I guess, and maybe this is my mother in me, but I like when men are much taller than me, it sets some form of security in my mentally damaged head.

He could tell I was in deep thought and was growing weary of it. "What are you thinking so intently about, that you can't even focus on what I'm asking you?" I was surprised he knew where to find me. What am I thinking? He always finds me. It's not like I hide well, he knows this city like the back of his hand. He grew up here, unlike me, and I'm no good with direction.

How I ended up in a place like this is beyond me. Fear drives people in random places, doing random acts just to survive, I suppose. "I don't know why you do this to yourself, Cherrie, I honestly don't." He looked so arrogant while he said this to me, like some pigheaded father that always knows best. "What are you talking about Antony?!" I was the one transforming into the angry hag now. "Well for starters, who the fuck is that?!" I followed his eyes and turned myself around to find a man of a six foot something inches, standing outside my open hotel door. It only occurred to me that my thoughts had only lead me so far away from my room and into the hallway.

"Hey," the man said to both of us, my face immediately flushed. He was in boxer shorts and quite frankly we looked like hobbits next to him. "Antony….um, this is?" I couldn't even begin to recollect this man's name, but I didn't have to ponder for too long, he cut into my ramble, "It's Levitt." Levitt? He had to of given himself that name. It's just like Mac, Buddy,or Bart…okay maybe not Bart but still. "Well what the fuck, did you know she's sixteen?" God, I fucking loathed Antony whenever he said that. "Two months and I'll be seventeen, but does my age honestly matter? I don't even know who the fuck you are 'Levitt'." I liked how I said 'Levitt' as if it wasn't his name, but still that confident, satisfied, look did not leave his face, I guess sex does that to men.

I thought he was going to say some sort of cheesy line like, 'You remembered me last night,' but instead he just shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you both are disgusting." Those were Antony'sparting words as he stalked off. I analyzed Levitt once more, he had brownish, blonde, hair, green eyes, and did I mention he was very tall. It made sense I'd be tempted just a little to go back to a scummy motel with this dude. I'm almost certain drinking was involved, and maybe a little bit of weed. I must of drunk a lot or smoked a lot, or did something excessively enough to erase my memory of last night. I can't even recall where I started off.

I knew Antony would get over it. He always lets me back into his apartment…I'd probably have to have sex with him first, but who do you know nowadays that fucks the guy she lost it to? Still. Levitt began to get dressed, forgetting one small detail, shutting the door. "How did we meet exactly?" I walked in, the idea of fucking him now becoming accustomed to my mind. I never fucked anyone but Antony, but the idea of someone new kind of excited me, but also made me a little sad. "I think we were at Grieg's." Did I know a Grieg? He probably had weed. "Well…?" He looked dumbfounded, "Well, what?"

"Did we do it?" Wow, I didn't sound like an eighth grade girl right now or anything. "Sex?" he still looked stupefied. "Um no, at least I didn't, I remember you were laughing a lot and I knew I was fucking beat, you said you didn't have anywhere else to go, something about your mom kicking you out?"

Oh man, see this is why I hated drinking, I always did the whole 'Mom kicked me out' bid, even though I knew full well I fucking left that shithole town, the weed probably made me paranoid and I felt as if I didn't have a place to go, and I probably couldn't remember for the life of me where Antony's apartment was located. This entire time I thought I'd done it. Again, with someone else. How do I live in this trashed city and not fuck more than just Antony, I've been here for at least five months and as much as I get trashed myself, it wouldn't shock me if I let too loose or someone took advantage of me.

At least at this game, I was lucky with keeping my legs closed. "So, you just let me crash here?" He shrugged for the fifty-millionth time. "Why not? I'm crashing here, and it's not like I've never been as trashed as you were last night." I don't know why this occurred to me, and it could be the stupid teenage girl in me, but I felt an overwhelming wave of insecurity rush over me. Why didn't he take advantage of me? Am I not good enough? Am I only wanted by scruffy, short, twenty year old men?

I think he could see the self-doubt in my face because he immediately said, "Oh, it's not like I didn't want to, but, and I know this is going to sound a little cocky, but when I have sex, I like for girls to really remember." I couldn't help but laugh at this, 'Really remember?' Ha, each time I had sex it meshed into each other like some perverted montage. Nothing stuck out, just the awkward feeling I got every time I undressed and he entered me. Even the pain of the first time had vanished. Routine. Something I despised.

"Where are you from anyway?" Suddenly I had to know everything about Levitt. "Here, I don't know, everywhere. I don't like to stay in one place and my family never really did either." I liked the idea of this, being from a small town myself, the idea of staying there till the end of time frightened me, frightened me enough to leave the nest earlier and start out here. "You're like a gypsy then." Wow, I was really starting to sound a lot like Antony, saying everything matter-of-factly, like I knew why the earth turned and why fucking sixteen year old girls was okay.

A lot of resentment build up today, usually after a high, I'm a little less aggressive. "Not quite, I don't think we ever told people's fortunes or anything like that. No, my family just liked to move around and I sort of picked up that trait." Hm, I sort of wish I was Levitt, I can remember it took me years to build up enough courage to just leave my middleclass established house. Contemplating suicide was another distant memory of mine. I just knew I had to get out. I had this large urge to kiss Levitt, as if kissing him would give me ambition, motivation, or maybe just the means to look forward to something. But I've kissed boys before, and they have never cast thatspell over me. I pushed the thought in the back of my head and finally shut that door.

He sprawled out on to the bed and flipped on the dinky television set, as if I didn't exist in the first place. I sat at the end of the bed, my head blocking the minuscule television screen. "So," I started off, "Why were you at Grieg's last night?" I wasn't quite that sure why I asked this, it's not like I remembered why I went to Grieg's ether, or who Grieg was exactly. "I don't know, a buddy who lives around here told me about it. Why were you at Grieg's last night?"

"To be honest, I don't really know Grieg or how I really found out about the party, I just sort of ended up there without thinking." He began to laugh, "What's so funny?" I couldn't control the offensive tone in my voice. God, what is with me today, I'm much more chill and don't seem to bother with how people view me. "I'm not sure," He said after his short little outburst of dark chuckles. "Just the fact that you would show up at a party by yourself, and not even know the guy or anyone there, you know you can get raped or something, and if your sixteen like your little buddy says you are…I'd be careful, not everyone is as respectful to the female body as I am." Ha, I'm sure he's oh so respectful, we had to of made out just once that night. But then again, what if we didn't? I wasn't daring enough to ask.

"Where are you from?" he asked me, with a tinge of taunt in his voice. It was playful enough, so I answered, "A small town, that doesn't deserve a name." Besides this city, I've never really been anywhere else. I know my mother was worried, and I'm sure she put up missing flyers as if I was her precious chiwawa, but I made sure to go somewhere big, bigger than anything she could ever rap her head around. "Doesn't that sound nice," he smiled to himself. "Hardly, I would much rather switch lives with you." He got up from his lazy position on the bed and got close to me,

"Sometimes, it's better to just be content with what you have, running from what is you, gets you nowhere really."

Leaving Levitt's motel made me really unsettled. It's not like he was trying to scare me or anything, it's just I thought I would get more satisfaction by reentering the motel room. Crawling back to Antony was my very worse thing to do. It's not like I've ever cheated on him. He just hates when I get messed up. He doesn't do anything but become bitterly drunk on occasions. I walked into the apartment to be greeted by two half naked girls. Pinups, my very favorite. Antony was a photographer, not a famous one yet, but he got odd jobs with bands and was a favorite with girls.

They were laughing on the sofa about something stupid I'm sure. Their frilly little outfits might slip off if they don't stop shaking like that. I bet Antony left them with a flirtatious joke and went into his dark room, more like a closet really, but photography isn't a business meant for too much wealth at first. They stopped their laughter once they noticed me at the fridge, taking out a carton of orange juice. "Is it Cherrie?" the brunette out of the two asked. "Yeah? Girl number two or one is it?" I don't know how Brunette knew who I was, but I could hardly care, Antony sometimes talks about me but rarely to pinups he very well could be flirting with…possibly sleeping with. I pulled myself up on to the counter and waited for Antony to come out and notice my presence as well.

Antony called for the girls to come in the 'dark closet'. I began to make a sandwich with some peanut butter and bread that looked suspicious. The girls came out of the small space, giggling uncontrollably again, and Antony led them to the door. He gave me a glare after he shut them out. "What are you doing here?" I smiled sarcastically at him, "Oh, just waiting for you baby." He began to put away the mess I left on the counter and slammed a cabinet or two while doing so. "I don't fucking get you Cherrie! I let you stay here rent free, you don't have a job, you're a fucking runaway, I could easily be arrested for keeping you, but I do, and yet you still have the fucking nerve to do stupid shit all the time!" I began to feel very heated, "Oh, like you don't get anything in return Antony?! I put up with your stupid 'models' and 'your friends' and trust me no one is fucking after you, my mom probably gave up within a month, and I'm sure the police are around every damn corner!"

He got very close to my face, before I knew it, he was kissing me violently, surprisingly enough, I was into it. I was barely off the counter and we were doing it. I always space out while having sex, especially kitchenette sex. It just doesn't feel like how it should. So I pretend it's not happening and let my body take over. My mind is off somewhere far, while everything is leftfor my body to determine. I'm not sure why Antony keeps me around and to know would probably make me want to leave.

I woke up in his bed, he was gone, like always, taking classes or pictures. Whichever. I still haven't persuaded him into buying me a phone, and even if I had one, who would I call? God, more and more, he feels like a freaking' father figure. Daddy, can I please have a phone? Maybe, it's because I never had a father, but I do tend to drift towards men that are more controlling. I'll be the very first to say it, men are the worst substitute for structure in one's life. Yet, Antony lets me stay here, gets pissed when he finds me strung out, but still. I don't think he really truly cares if I got caught and sent to a juvenile center, or if my mother sporadically appeared to take me away. He has his own agenda, and I know women are very dispensable to him.

He has his own crazy mother too. Someone who is constantly calling the apartment, I answered once, and fucked with her for an hour. I think she's bipolar, properly diagnosed, and being old doesn't help her case. I don't know, but she really is a fuck up. Antony even had to get taken from her and put in full custody with his father anddear ol'step mommy. I guess, I could have had that childhood. My mother was good to me in the sense of nourishing, but understanding, she couldn't comprehend what was me. I know every adolescent deals with this and handles it in his or her own way, my way was running from it all.

My sister and brother were better off, Mom could function again. I was just something to get rid of. Mom and her boyfriend are getting married this summer, I didn't want to be there for the wedding anyhow. Thinking about all this made me want to cry or throw something hard at something soft. So, I got up and headed into the shower and used some of Antony's man shampoo, a product I knew would poof up my hair eventually. I threw on one of Antony's tight shirts he uses to go clubbing in. It totally screams, "I'm not a tool."

If Antony wasn't hungry for sex all the time, him being a homosexual would cross my mind once or twice. My flat chest actually looked large in this. Iput on his sweatpants as well. What a sight I was. I looked like a rapper. Days like these were the worst. Finding something to do in the city was easy, but having the want to do it was another thing entirely. I would like to say smoking weed made me less energetic, but I can remember being an unmotivated child as well. I could pretend to be a homeless girl for the day and see how much cash I couldbum off people, then again I did just shower. Nothing ever comes out of days like these.

When three o' clock rolls around, I sometimes get sad when I pass the high school and watch kids file out. Talking about geometry, or something pointless like that, or maybe, who is taking who to Formal. Both sound incoherent to me. I was never much for school, I could never quite calculate…well anything, and the only grade I really got that was fridge worthy was English. I didn't like dances, and I always had crushes on my teachers. I knew I'd be nothing of college worth. I think that's why I lost it to Antony, he was, and was going to college.

If my mother had it her way, she'd have me go to a trade school, become a secretary, and live in one of the new apartment complexes that were being built near in town. I would automatically shoot myself before I'd do something like that. It was something practical. Something safe. I'm not too much of a risk taker, besides the big move up north, because if I was, I'd be more like that Levitt, and probably leave Antony for good. I don't know what I'd be though, maybe a gypsy. Sensible society never satisfied me, but I did want to be safe, somehow.

When I first made it up to the city, I began to panic. The thought of being alone finally set in. The streets were crowded with every hue of person. Everyone had an agenda. My hair was in a braid and I was a drop out, runaway, pothead. Too many labels, especially for someone who doesn't like to believe in them. I met Antony in a café downtown. He must of saw those doe eyes that screamed virgin, caught his intrigue, I guess. I don't think I was ever the same after I lost it to him in his apartment, the second day I arrived. It felt wrong and I barely knew him. He tried to pretend like we were something, to soak the guilt out, but I knew he was full of shit.

I don't know if I could ever fall in love. Walking around this city I'm growing so quickly accustomed to, reminds me of the town I left behind. The buildings begin to close in on me. I start to feel the ground move upward and the sky close down. A box. A box made out of clouds, cement, and building sides. The panic starts to rise and I feel as if I'm going to hyperventilate. I am hyperventilating. I'm hyperventilating! Some people are passing, others are starting to stare. Someone I know sees me, someone who knows me. Levitt. How cliché. I would be hyperventilating, he would see me, and he'd have a bag with a sandwich he tosses out and hands the empty bag to me. Cliché.

Being able to be dark while hyperventilating, truly is a talent of mine, I'm surprised I didn't pass out sooner from all the thinking and intense breathing. We are sitting on a bench now, in a park. It's nice though, I see couples walking, old ones, the young ones would be having sex with their clothes still on.

Birds, children, grass, I suddenly feel better. He asks me if I'm okay, and I quietly confirm my stability again. Being alone with my thoughts makes my voice soft. "I can't believe that was you," he says, astonished to come across me again. "I can't believe I saw you again." I say, a little too breathy, it almost sounds flirtatious, Christ. He laughs and puts his hand on my knee, but in a friendly, non-pervert kind of way. As if he's gesturing me to laugh with him. The pure contentment that radiates through him amazes me. Kissing him sounds magnificent again, right now. How can I be so seventh grade? If I wanted to kiss him, I would. If I'm not going to, I might as well shut the hell up.

He begins to talk about the job he got in a office with suits and ties and how he's going to not show up for the first day and the next, just wanting to know that he could get it was enough for him. "Have you gone to college?" I ask, the college worthiness still on my mind. "I did, quit the last year though, it got too routine after awhile." I want to be able to be him, I want to be apart of him in some small way already. We leave the park and I follow him home. He tells me that he left the motel and is now crashing with the buddy that told him about Grieg's party a couple nights back. I still would like to re-meet this Grieg fellow again. We go up the rickety steps of the apartment complex that is his friend Matt's.

Matt is a typical looking guy, looks like a college fraternity brother. He greets Levitt with a nod of association. Lame. Anyway, him and a couple other guys are sprawled out in the television area, playing something they refer to as 'COD,' Levitt shows me into his room he's staying in for now. It has posters, I assume are Matt's, only because it fits his personality I pre-made for him seconds ago. Half-naked girls. Levitt goes to a drawer and pulls out a bag full of my favorite thing. He rolls it up in the proper papers and we smoke something chiller than I've ever experienced. Everything feels right. Nothing feels wrong. And I'm finally at peace with my game. In fact I think my piece moved up ten spaces.

I'm laying on his bed and he turns on something good, like Marcy Playground. He crawls onto the bed with me, and I grab his face and mesh it into my mine. Anyone who says weed is a drug is totally bonkers, because drugs are bad, this is good. I want to go farther with him but he shrugs me off of him and heads for the door. I'm suddenly pissed, but my high won't let me genuinely be pissed. So I lay there. It feels like decades, but he finally returns with food, food that reminds me that I am so fucking hungry. We eat and it is pure bliss.

I end up falling asleep, like all good highs make me want to do, after a good, good meal. Levitt looks as if he's about to crash too. I scoot closer to him, not too afraid of being rejected and he welcomes me. We sleep.

I wake up to lame-ass Matt and a few of his COD-fish. They start spraying Levitt with silly string, and Levitt throws a pillow at them and I stick out my tongue, even though I'm too lazy to really do anything to back my tongue face up. After they leave and we have a good couple hours to get back into dream state, Levitt wakes me up and pulls me out of bed. I look outside and see that it's dark out already. I wonder if Antony will give two shits? Levitt walks me out of the apartment complex and onto the busy streets, which I think is painfully sweet, seeing how it's dark and I'm sixteen and could very well get raped, like he referred to on our first visit.

Antony isn't home still, and he could very well be gone for longer. He's done it before. I don't know why I let this bother me. I don't know why I let the thought of other girls come into my mind. Especially, when I've flirted, kissed, other boys while in this 'relationship'. But the difference is, Antony is a man. He can just go all the way and not feel one bit of attachment. Then there's always the fear of him falling in love first. I know I'm not in love with Antony, and I know he's not in love with me, but the thought of him feeling it first scares me. Mostly, if that means giving me the boot.

I turn on the television and fix myself some ramen noodles. Maybe, if I don't think about it, he'll return faster, or call the apartment at least. I fall asleep by the television set, regretting this decision immediately, remembering how uncomfortable this cheap-ass sofa feels if you lay on it for too long. The phone rings and I quickly rush for the receiver, only to find that it's Antony's mother. She's in an assistant living home and you would think that they would revoke her phone privileges. "Is Antony there?" she asks in a squeaky tone. "No this is his mistress, may I ask who's calling?" I say un-entertained. "His mistress? Ooh! Slut, slut, slut, slut," she chants into the phone, I finally hang up, out of pure boredom and in no mood to say something awful to his mother incase he does ever return to talk to her.

Miraculously, I'm able to fall asleep after the call, but this time I'm in Antony's bed, in Antony's clothes, drenched in Antony's cologne. Pathetic. I wake up and begin to cry about my dead dad, and my estranged family, the fact that I'm never going graduate high school, I'm sixteen, I'm not a virgin, I'm lonely, I miss having at least someone's arms to crawl into if I get this beaten down and mangled. I start to stare at a portrait of a previous pinup girl across from Antony's bed. I get out of the covers and stampede towards it. I pull it off it's nail and slam the glass to the floor. It shatters and I make sure to crinkle up the printout that was in it's casing. Then I begin to break other things aimlessly. Things that have no meaning to me but I'm sure have a little bit of remembrance to Antony. I start screaming at him, at myself. I was stupid to come here, I was stupid to fuck up my average life and transform it into something irregular and misshaped.

I don't just stay in Antony's room and self-destruct, I go everywhere, fucking up the uncomfortable sofa, pulling everything out of the fridge and eating some and throwing out the rest. I think I'm going crazy, but I can't be for certain if I am or not. I don't even think about what the repercussions of this action will be, nor do I care. I just know I'm pissed at Antony and his probable mistresses, I'm pissed at myself for being a born this way fuck up.

I fall asleep on the floor in the middle of the entryway of Antony's apartment. A bag of pretzels spilled out in front of me. Glass stuck in my feet, a pain that for some reason feels good inside my skin. It's four in the morning and Antony returns. He screams. Screams louder than I've ever heard him scream before. Several times I thought for sure he was going to hit me and maybe he should. It might make us both feel better.

He goes into all three rooms of his apartment to find the same outcome. "Why did you do this Cherrie?!" I want to give him a reason I really do, but I have none besides pure frustration, and I know that excuse won't do. He walks back in forth in pure disgust. It reminds me of my mother. She never understood why I did some of the things I did. I never really did either. She couldn't make accurate sense for why I felt the way I did, and when she discovered the slashes on my stomach and wrists, she didn't know what do with that either. She did attempt to commit me once and I couldn't discover if this was put on for show or not. If I was the mother… I don't know if Icould handle myself either. It must have been a trial to be my mother. I can't imagine what hardships she must of gone through just to keep me in one piece. As simple as she is, I'm shocked it didn't kill her.

Yet, I know she drilled some holes in my head herself. The slaps and the tackles to the floor to keep my insanity maintained. The boyfriend helping her in these acts. The screams, the rage, the names. Locking myself in my bathroom was never a good defense mechanism. I always wondered how I lost my siblings trust, my mother's approval and my friends by the dozen. It never occurred to me that it was me until this year. The year I turned sixteen. I want to take the pain away, but I've always been too cowardly to get rid of the problem at hand. Myself. I tried to avoid this feeling of rejection by throwing myself into guys. Flirting, kissing, talking, touching, but none of it worked. I want to throw the entire blame on my father but that would be silly because he was perfect.

He died as most fathers do prematurely. But I was always a troubled soul from the start. I can't remember how I felt seeing him like that. I know it felt like agony, but it also felt like denial, it almost felt as if I was putting on an act for people. My young eleven self, the star of the funeral. It could have been turned into a play, "The Funeral," the plot, a young girl looses her father, but it would be okay for that young girl in the end, because he is really alive. It is a trick played on the girl. His ghostly white face is only makeup, his stiff body is only acting. His suit for dress up. If you cry enough, he'll wake up, if you scream enough, he'll hear you. If you touch his smooth suit, his eyes will flutter open. I do believe that was the beginning of my pure depression, the unhappiness was a tutorial, a test, to see how I would handle the big final.

I started to rot, I started to decay, I started to wither away. I know that's why this sickness has been spreading quickly, quicker than it would have at the normal, proper, pace. Antony began to enter my thoughts, loudly and abrupt. "CHERRIE! Don't you fucking have anything to say about this shit!" I suddenly felt weak, helpless almost. I wanted to say I was sorry, that I would fix everything, but instead I just stared at him, doe eyed. His voice became softer, but still a harsh tinge followed his words. "Cherrie, don't you fucking look at me like that." The tears began to flow. A pretzel fell from my hair and I looked worse than a sad clown portrait.

Even though, the feeling of a sad clown matched perfectly. "I'm sorry Antony. I-I-I don't know why I did this. I just did." He picked me up off my knees and whispered in my ear softly, "I did this to you." but I knew it wasn't all him. I knew it couldn't be, it was just too impossible and inevitable for it to just be him. I wanted to say that we fell in love right then, I want to say that we made love instead of just fucking blandly. But it didn't happen like that, in fact we didn't have sex at all. I crawled back to bed, and Antony fell asleep on the torn sofa. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay here. I knew deep down inside me too that Antony was seeing other women. We both knew it. Finding a place to go to was a different matter all together. I had nowhere and I mean absolutely nowhere. I knew living here was killing me slowly and destructively. I just didn't know what to do. Before Antony left to do whatever Antony does, he told me that I could stay here and look for job and a place for as long as I needed, he was going to stay with his friend, and I use friend loosely in contrast to this friend's vagina, Brittney's place. He packed up everything before he left, everything that wasn't smashed to bits.

I do feel bad about trashing all of his stuff, especially since he's being so generous to me right now. I just wish I had a direction to go in, a path to follow. I haven't ran into Levitt, in fact I'm not sure if he's still in the city. Walking around downtown aimlessly is really starting to get under my skin. I applied in a few diners and other places. Lying about your age is easier than I thought it would be, I know I'm legal to work in most places, but you need a parent's signature and a work permit from the school, quite frankly, I don't have that option anymore. In a year and a few months, I'll be eighteen, having legal freedom will feel so different from having fugitive freedom.

Spring should make me feel rejuvenated, I loath winter, but I can't find the want to feel content. I should have had Levitt give me some tips. I could go by his apartment and see if he's in. Ugh, but attempting to smile right now, just seems too hard, too soon. I sat down and leaned against a brick wall, next to a lady in grimy clothing and began to talk to her. She talked about how she had grandchildren and a house once. She jingled her cup this way and that, I glanced at her hand-made cardboard sign that said, "God Bless." Honestly, I'd like to ask someone why God does not bless the elderly with at least a nice retirement home.

Some of the people that passed her and I, gave us looks of disgust, as if we were trash waiting to be swept up by the local janitor. Other faces portrayed a much more sympathetic image, an image I'd share too, if I saw two women, one my age and the other my grandmother's age, sitting on a corner, waiting for someone to deposit change in this tattered up soul's hand. Not particularly the physical nickel or penny, not the physical tin jar itself, but mental change provided by a mentor, and that could be deposited directly into someone's heart.


| Email this story Email this Novel | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.