I was sitting at a bus stop, it had been a day since I've left the house. My mother's pearls were moved from my neck into one of the big pockets of my dad's coat for safe keeping. I had slept at that bus stop, I had not eaten for hours, I have not drank anything either, I had taken trains and trains and trains to somewhere as far away from whatever inhuman life I had; yet I could not feel more alive than I do now.
There are reasons why I have not been raped. First, there's my dad -I'm not going to address him anymore, I took the coat so it's mine- my coat, with is ten sizes too big for my boney body, which had suffered many years of "trying-to-fit-in anorexia". Then there's my hair, which I hacked off with my best friend's scissors and left her the strands of my depression as well as my hatred for her. In all technicality, my hair looks like a boy's, but I see it as worthless. There's also my eyes, which are so sunken in and red from my nights and nights of crying, of trying to convince myself to leave this world.
There's nothing special about this bus stop, but I do like the roof of it. The roof is cracked with triangular holes here and there, letting in vines of a dead plant to twist and turn through the holes. The rest of the bus stop is either rusting metal or faded advertisements overlapping each other, I recognize a few from my dad's hotel and one from my mom's lingerie company.
I'm staring into space -past the empty street in front of me at the furthest point my eyes could see- thinking about nothing. Just listening to the distant squawks of crows and the rustle of the dead leaves around me. Now that I'm alone, I realize there's really nothing in my life worth thinking about. I used to fill my head with useless plans for shopping and outfit planning classes with my friends. I used to tint my head with lies that I actually cared about that homecoming crown, Tavanya's daily new manicure, Kiesha's newest poodle-pup-pouchie and all the other useless shits in my past life.
*pop* I realize there's really nothing to think about worth thinking, why would I care about my parents?
*fizz* My dad buys whores off the streets of Beverly Hills daily. Occasionally he brings them home, and my mother just continues to sip her wine and sketch out whatever fit-for-only-rich-ass-whores lingerie she's designing.
*glug* My mother locks her office door in the middle of the day everyday and fucks her chosen employee of the fucking month!
I stand up, grab the guy's coke, down half of it in one take and scream at him,
"MY PARENTS DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER, THEY'VE NEVER CARED ABOUT ME EITHER!"
"Woah, woah. Hey, calm." He raises his hands to his chest in (I admit) very weak defense. I glare at him and continue to glare at him as I down the rest of his coke.
"Ok, have the coke. Just, oh god, that cost me half the money I have." He protested.
Guilt washed over me like a fresh shower that I hadn't had in hours, so I stopped and stared at him with what felt like a "I'm really sorry" face but must've looked like a "I really do pity you" sarcastic-face.
He's cute, with a head full of messy wavy hair and the very desired very-sharp-cheek-bones-jawline combination. The worn out tshirt he was wearing had a cheesy picture of Barney the Purple Dinosaur giving you a heart on it and he wore a pair of classic blue-striped pajama pants to complete his weird outfit. To relieve some of your confusement, I had not noticed this weird specimen take a seat beside me on the bench when I was so engrossed in my thoughts.
"You're lying." I protested, weakly.
"No, seriously. A week's worth of penny picking right there in your hands."
A whole entire chunk of me would love to smack his face and call BULLSHIT but with the experience of being homeless for almost a day, it seems like the most possible thing in the world.
I handed the coke back to him and plopped down on the hard bench beside him.