//abandonment, abuse, bad end

You smile and wave, soaking wet, as you watch the SUV pull out of the event venue. You’re not going to cry, it won’t help. You try to look casual, ignoring your shaking hands and chattering teeth as you take the second to last smoke from its pack. You’re not going to cry again.

Its not until after the dull twinkle of the taillights fade from view that you let yourself collapse to the wet pavement like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Goosebumps crawl across your chilled skin as you carefully cradle your cigarette to get it lit in the wind.

The night is cold, and desolate. The only illumination comes from the halogen glow of the warehouses across the street. You take a long drag of your smoke, letting the rush of nicotine momentarily banish the world. You hug your legs to your chest and scream into your knees.

Once you start sobbing, it’s impossible to stop, and reality collapses into a point of pure despair. You beat your head against the asphalt, tears blurring your vision as your scream yourself hoarse. A voice in your mind begs for death. The world spins with the nicotine headrush.

“So you really thought you could be like them?” The words startle you out of your episode, nearly making you drop your cigarette. Blinking back tears, scuffed black boots swim into view. You don’t look up, you already know who the voice belongs to, you’ll always recognize her.

Ash from her cigarette gentle snows down on you. She’s drunk. You can smell the whiskey on her. You hate that it’s comforting. You want to tell her to leave you alone, but you can’t, not now. “Or were you stupid enough to believe they would actually accept you for what you are?”

You say nothing, tasting filter as you take another drag of your smoke. She’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. She kicks you. You don’t have any fight left in you. She kicks you again, forcing you to look at her, “Don’t ignore me whore.”

You see the loathing and disdain in her eyes as she looks down at you. It shouldn’t be comfortable, you hate that it is. You hate that she can see it. She smiles lecherously at you, she knows she won. You’re too tired to care anymore.

“What do you want?” You finally ask her, the words escaping your lips like a deflating tire.

“I just want to take you home out of the rain,” she says, feigning innocence, “isn’t that what you wanted your little friends to do for you?”

Your mouth opens and closes, the words catch in your throat as your cheeks grow hot. “Don’t feel bad,” she says, “it’s pretty funny. Did you actually think you could just offer yourself to them like a slab of meat and not make them uncomfortable?” She laughs, it’s a nice sound.

She plucks the filter you’d been sucking from your fingertips. “No offense, but you just don’t have the charisma to get a good deal for your body,” she says, handing you a fresh cigarette, “You’re a used condom with dried cum for brains, all anyone sees in you is desperation.”

She’s right, she’s always right of course, you hate that about her, but you don’t have the energy to talk back. You nod mutely and take a drag of your smoke. “Good hoes make themselves fun to sleep with. You’re not fun, you’re just needy. Desperation is a huge turn off you know.”

“But you’re different, right?” You say finally, knowing where the conversation is going.

She smiles toothily, “Oh, I’m still going to ditch you once I’m bored, but that won’t deter you right? Maybe you can change my mind before I kick you out again.”

She holds out an immaculately manicured hand to you. You don’t want to take it. You know she’s going to hurt you again. You know she’s trying to break you. You don’t want to go back to her. You don’t want to. You don’t want to. You have nowhere else to go.

You take her hand.

Leave a Reply