I hate it when you stop being friends with someone or you break up with someone and now you have all this information about them in the back of your mind like there birthday or there favorite color and it never really goes away. Years pass and small things happen that still remind you of them and you just half to remind yourself that there gone. And there not coming back.
Tequila. The drink of the lonely. The drink of the damned. It lines my breath along with the cigarette smoke that sticks to my clothes. I cant remember the last time I was sober let alone the last time I was sane. I already know Luke will be mad when I come home drunk. He had to watch my mom slowly die of cancer while I went out and partied my sorrows away. I know its not fair to him but she wasn't our mom anymore. She was just the shell of a woman who once loved us, now only kept with us by tubes and machine. Someone accidently unplugged her machine and she passed without a sound. Or maybe someone did it on purpose. Maybe someone else saw the pain that I did and took it away. Maybe someone helped her pass on to something better. Maybe someone did what I didn't have the courage to do.
"Ale, Where have you been." My brother begins to interrogate me before I'm even in the door. "You know I hate when you call me that." I give him the same look my mom used to give me. "Are you drunk?" He scoffs. I ignore his question and go into the kitchen to find something to eat. My stomach is practically tarring me apart from the inside out.
"Answer me!" He shouts. I grab the pickle jar from the top shelf and chuck it at the wall letting it shatter. "What Luke! Do you want me to act like dad. Do you want to get in a fight just like dad used to with you?" His face shows absolute disgust as I bring up our father. He went missing on Luke's 15th birthday. I was 12 at the time, But I remember all the fights, the broken bottles that lay across the floor. The marks that suddenly began showing up on my moms arms. And Luke saw it to. I was to young to do anything and so was Luke. But he still tried to defend our mother. He would have done anything for her. Suddenly the bruises were on him to. My mother cried every night for her child who had to grow up to fast.
"Don't you ever call him dad, he is not our dad, he never was." Oh look. I hurt his feelings. well to fucking bad. I had to grow up fast to. I had to watch him do that to. Do you think that was easy for me? Because it wasn't. I was in that fucked up house just as much as he was. And if he thinks just because he tried to do the impossible that he Is some how better then me then he can piss on that.
"Oh come on Luke lets play house. I can be the abusive alcoholic father and you can be the helpless mom who stood by as her kids got beat. Itll be like the good old days." He's breathing heavily now. Either he's having an asthma attack or hes about to loose his shit. "Don't you ever talk about our mother like that! She tried. She was beat just as much as I was. But you wouldn't know that. You were daddy's little girl. He would never harm a hair on your little head. Maybe you guys still talk. Maybe you were the one who unplugged moms machine. Why did you do it allis. Did you want her money or did you just want her dead. No one to compete with for his love then."
"Get out." I breath. His eyes lock on mine as he picks up his already packed bag. "Gladly." He whispers. The blood all seems to go to my head as I begin to scream, "Get out, Get out, Get out!" I grab everything in sight and begin to throw it. Pictures glasses mirrors, all shattered. The hole apartment ruined.
I look around at my broken home. I collapse on the ground in my empty house. Just like the old days.