Page 2 of The Bones We Break
“You’re a terrible liar, Ana.” she chuckles lightly. “It’s this weekend and we’re going. You’ll love it, plus it’s a free bar and you know how much we love them.” I can already see her eyes gleaming at the idea of us being unleashed on free alcohol. I reach my blue Ford in the carpark, throw my jacket and bag on the back seat, then slide into the drivers side and start the ignition, connecting my phone to bluetooth so I can put my phone down.
“Girl you sold me on the free bar. You know I’ll be there to support Jake.” I say to the open air as I reverse out of the carpark and make my way to the main road home. Ellie’s voice comes through my car’s speaker. She squeals in excitement.
“Yes! It’s gonna be such a good time, and we can just leave the stress of work at work!” I try to reply, but she beats me toit. “Alrighty. I’m gonna let you go, but please message me once you’re home and we can discuss details.”
I appreciate her concern for me driving home everyday, it’s heartwarming.
“I’ll message you as soon as I’m home, I promise.”
We say our goodbyes, then I press the button on the steering wheel to end the call.Dayseeker - Without Mefloods through the speakers from my commute this morning, the song starting midway. Rocking my head back and forth, I tap my fingers on the wheel.
The drive only takes me about twenty minutes or so to reach my apartment and I manage to find a parking spot on the main road straight away, usually it’s a fight to the death to find a decent spot around here, so I’m feeling lucky. I turn the ignition off and shoot Ellie a quick text to let her know that I’ve made it home. Her reply is instant.
A smile spreads across my face, knowing she’d remember the black dress I purchased a few weeks ago, not really knowing when the best opportunity to wear it would be, but I guess the time is now.
Pocketing my phone, I grab my jacket and bag from the back seat, then make my way up to the steps of my apartment. It’s not the greatest looking building in the world. Okay, maybe it’s anabsolute eye sore but hear me out, it’s a place to live and the rent is pretty cheap too so I can’t complain.
Entering the passcode on the front door, I pull it open and let it shut behind me, then make my way to the second floor, walking along the dingy cream hallway that could definitely use an air freshener or two. Gathering my keys in my hand to get to my door key is a struggle in itself, every single time.
Why do I insist on having so many keyrings? After locating the key like it’s a sacred treasure, I push it into the lock and turn it. “Home sweet home.” I mutter to myself as I enter my apartment, then shut the door behind me. My jacket and bag fall to the floor with a dull thud as they hit the beige carpet, swiftly kicking my black heels off. I instantly feel the pleasure of my feet being flat instead of an awkward, bent position all day.
“You are my worst enemy, but I love you.” I mumble to the shoes as if they can hear me.
My apartment isn’t great, but it’s my little slice of heaven. Even if it does cause me issues on a monthly basis but still, we’ve got a love-hate relationship, right? The walls are painted a sage green with an open plan kitchen that leads into the living room. The walls are decorated with some sort of print on them. Whether it be book prints, my favourite music artists, or horror movie covers. A TV sits off to the left on a scratched, but well loved wooden unit with cupboards on the front, adorned with miss matched handles and a huge Monstera plant sits in the far left corner. She’s temperamental, but otherwise a nice addition. To the right is a grey hand-me-down couch that’s covered with my favourite blanket and cushions that I managed to grab second hand. There’s also a cute little coffee table with odd coasters and my current read sitting on top, the pages well loved.
Tiredly, I made my way over to the little kitchen and straightto the fridge, knowing there’s a bottle of wine with my name on it. It’s needed after today’s stress. Opening the fridge, I try not to notice the lack of food except for a random takeout box, a lonely red apple, and a half carton of milk. How am I a functioning adult if I can’t even shop for myself? I reach inside the fridge and grab the ice cold bottle of white wine.
“Come to mama.” I whisper with a smirk on my face. I’ve really gotta kick this habit of talking to inanimate objects. After popping the cork on the bottle, I scramble around the cupboards for a glass, hoping that my past self remembered to wash it. “Gotcha!” I say to myself as my fingers wrap around the thin stem of the glass, before bringing it to the kitchen worktop, and pouring a healthy amount of wine into the glass, only spilling a little bit over the side. I lift the drink to my lips and swallow down the crisp bubbling nectar, allowing the flavour to rest on my tongue. My phone makes a ting noise in the living room that knocks me out of my state of bliss. Lifting the device, the screen illuminates immediately with a notification from the girls book club group chat.
A laugh bursts free from my lips as I read through the messages. We’re currently reading a billionaire romance, it’s kind of like every reader’s dream isn’t it? To be swept away by a brooding billionaire, with washboard abs and a scent that has you foaming at the mouth. But alas, I continue to live in the real world with my cheap ass wine, threadbare carpet, and leftovers. I send a quick reply to the group and make my way into the bathroom.
Steam billows from the shower cubicle as it clouds up the mirror, leaving a wet residue on the white walls. I wipe my hand across the mirror, seeing a tired reflection looking back at me, then strip out of my work clothes. My fingers work the buttons on the blouse until I reach the final one, letting it fall to the floor, then shimmy my way out of the skirt and step out of it. There’s a small, brown wicker wash basket in the corner of the bathroom which I throw my clothes into, then the black lace underwear I chose this morning is the next thing to leave my body. I’m not your typical slim girl that I read about in my books. I carry a little extra weight around my hips and thighs, the odd stretch mark here and there, it’s no biggie. I’d like to think I have a bit of self confidence when it comes to my body, but I also live by the mindset of “fake it, till you make it”, and that seems to work for the time being.
Stepping into the shower, I turn my face towards the stream of volcanic water. The heat strips away any tension and stress I have locked in my body. I use my prime shower time to have a little therapy session with myself, my thoughts drifting backto my parents. Maybe this is a strange time to think about that situation. But nevertheless, my brain wanders back to the time I last spoke to my family.
I hear my mother and father screaming at each other from the kitchen, the tension thick and heavy in the air, the decibels of their voices getting louder by the second, like a sick game of who can be the loudest.
“Sienna, listen to me honey, please. I’ll get the money back, I promise!” My fathers strained voice echoes from the kitchen, then throughout the hallway to where I’m sitting, perched on the stairs in the dark.
“How could you? How could you screw us over like this?” My mother rarely curses, but it’s clear from her choice of words that she’s heartbroken. My father has a terrible gambling habit that he just can’t seem to kick and I have a sinking feeling that he will always choose the poker table. I wish my mother could see how much of a lost cause he is. I know I shouldn’t say that about my own father, but I’ve spent enough years in this home to know he can’t, and will not change. Not even for his family. He will continue to gamble away any money that we have. Drinking till the early hours of the morning, coming home with forbidden lipstick stains on the collar of his shirt, and my mother.. God, my mother. She takes it. She sits there, crying every night in the dark. She thinks I don’t hear it, but I do. I hear her soft sobs in the kitchen, waiting for my father to come home, only to have excuses thrown at her. My father isn’t physically abusive, but the mental abuse causes just the same amount of damage.
I turn seventeen next week and I’m planning to leave. I have enough cash saved up from my evening job at the local gas station. It isn’t much but it’s mine, and it’s enough to get me in my beat up car and leave. A pang of hurt splits through myheart when I think about leaving my mother in this mess with my father but, I’m their child, not the other way around. It’s not my responsibility to make sure the bills are paid on time, that we have enough food on the table for the three of us.
I’m thrown back into the present when the water starts to run cold, causing goosebumps to pebble across my skin. I’ve spent the last seven years on my own two feet, and that’s how it will stay. Independence is ingrained into my bones. I quickly squeeze some of my vanilla and coconut body wash onto my sponge and rinse the soapy suds all over my body, relishing in the feeling of being clean after a long day, then step out of the shower. Wrapping myself in the grey towel that’s hung up on a hook on the wall, the soft fibres soaking up the excess water on my pale skin, I quickly towel dry my hair and run a brush through the damp strands, leaving it to air dry. I make my way out of the bathroom, then down the short hallway towards my bedroom. Pushing the wooden door open, I’m met with my safe haven.
The beige carpet continues from the hallway into the bedroom. A double bed sits dead centre in the middle of the room with two matching, dark, wooden bedside tables, both adorned with small lamps that give off a warm glow that illuminates the room. My wardrobe sits to the right of the room, then my bookshelf on the opposite wall that’s filled with hundreds of stories and characters. Tossing the towel onto the floor, I stand in front of my full length mirror, trying my best not to pick apart the image I see before me.
“Fake it till you make it, girl.” I speak softly to the woman in the mirror.
Stepping away from my reflection, I haphazardly slap some vanilla body lotion over the entirety of my body, slip into my favourite pyjamas, and practically dive head first into my bed.
I should probably catch up with the girls, but sleep invades my senses before I’ve even had the chance to locate my phone.
“Fuck, that’s good. Just like that baby, suck me dry.”
The whore who has no name or face to me, sucks me into her sloppy mouth like a vacuum. I feel the tip of my cock hit the back of her throat and groan, my fingers tangled in her fake, dull, brunette hair, pushing her face further down onto my cock until she gags around the length. Her heavy, plastered-on makeup starts to crumble around the ridges of her mouth and black begins to streak and run down her face, the inky tears welling in her eyes before they break the dam of her lower eyelids. I don’t bother to wipe away her tears, in fact, I want to see them. I like it when they cry. I like to be the one in control. My whole life runs on fear and control, so why should my sex life be any different?
The faceless whore begins to pick up speed, using both her hands to jerk me off into her mouth. Saliva and snot begin to mingle with each other as the substances turn into a slimy, sopping mess across her hands. Untangling my hands from her matted hair, I lean over to the mahogany desk, and grab the small bag of cocaine, tipping some of the white powder onto the back of my tanned hand. The woman keeps up with her fucking job of sucking me dry whilst I lift my index finger to my nostril and snort the cocaine off my hand, then pull my finger throughthe residue that’s left and run it across my fleshy gums. The buzz and adrenaline hit me ten fold, sending my mind on an instant high. Gathering up my white dress shirt, I grit the fabric between my teeth, grinding the expensive material between my molars until my jaw begins to ache. My stomach muscles tense as I feel the impending release of my orgasm firing through my bloodstream. My dirty blond hair starts to stick to the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Gripping the back of this bitch’s head, I grasped onto her hair then pulled her mouth off my cock with an audiblepop!Before dropping the material from in between my teeth.
