As Messed Up As It Gets - Chapter Three

Mishom

As I continued my drunken walk down Main Street, I thought about the girl I had just met. Amidst my hazy thoughts about her, one word stuck out further than the others: Beautiful.

She was so extravagantly beautiful. She had sweet brown eyes that reminded me of a lost puppy. She had fresh bruises everywhere, some yellowed ones too. I wanted to know who would do that to her. I wanted to swoop in and save her from this monster.

But I knew I’d only hurt her worse, because I was the monster.

I threw up right outside the gas station. I felt a little better, but my thoughts were still fuzzy, the world still slow.

I wiped my mouth and walked into the Speedway. No one was there except the cashier - an annoying 16 year old named Christopher. He was sitting on the stool behind the counter, playing a game on his phone. When the door closed behind me, he looked up.

“You’re late.”

“get out of my seat Chris,” I growled, getting closer to him.

His pale nose crinkled up. “You got drunk again, didn’t you? You know, alcohol ruins your liv-”

He was cut off when my fist met his face.

“I said get out, you read-headed freak!” I yelled.

Honestly, I love redheads. They’re sexy. All except Christopher, he thinks he’s some kind of ‘hot stuff’ because his daddy got money. But his dad actually doesn’t, and he gives most his money away for whores and prostitutes.

He nodded and dashed out the door. I swear I heard him say “You need rehab,” but I wasn’t entirely sure.

I sat down on the stool and put my name tag on. I turned the radio on to my favorite station and sat back, looking at the security screens. The radio hostess’s voice sounded slurred and somewhat croaky.

“Someone’s been drinking,” I said with a snort, sitting back against the wall.

“...and I met this guy tonight. And he saved me from these stupid guys. He was simply beautiful,” She slurred out.

I laughed. “Girl, you are so drunk,” I told her, though she couldn’t hear me. I loved this radio station. The nightshift hostess’s voice was sweet, and she was so funny.

“I think he was drunk, his breath was smelly, just like my mom’s when she comes home. God, this vodka tastes terrible…”

I shook my head. I almost feel bad for the girl, too drunk to realize what she was telling the whole city.

And then the door opened.

“Talking to the radio again, Mish?” A familiar woman’s voice filled the gas station.

I exhaled. It was them.

“Don’t call me ‘Mish’.” I growled as I turned the radio off.

“Well, you need a nickname,” Jaz said, leaning on the counter in a way that made her cleavage show. I rolled my eyes in disgust as her wolf pack of friends went and frenzied on the shelves.

“No, I don’t. I’m not apart of your...cult.” I answered.

“Oh, of course you are!” You just don’t like to admit it.” She kissed me roughly, but I refused to kiss back. She thinks we have something going on.

We really don’t.

“You’re only here for one reason, and I have two guesses.” I said, pulling away.

“What’s number one?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Sex.”

She smirked. “And two?”

“Cigarettes.”

“Bingo! How much they sellin’ for these days?” She asked, getting her money out of her pocket.

“For you? $8.50 a pack.” I said.

She frowned. “That’s freaking expensive!”

I gave her a sarcastic smile. “They’re less when you’re not a minor.”

She exhaled. “We can’t help it Mishom, time won’t go any freaking faster.”

“But you can quit your smoking habits!” I said with mock happiness.

“No, we can’t.” she growled, getting mad.

“Yes, you all can. It isn’t healthy.” I said, although I grabbed the packs anyways.

“Says the alcohol addict,” she muttered.

I didn’t want this life, selling drugs to minors, sleeping around with teenangers, getting drunk every other night -- no. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to draw and paint beautiful people and beautiful things.

My surroundings were never beautiful anymore.

So I sold the group of minors some cigarettes, then kept some of the money for myself. I had a rough job, after all.

My shift soon ended, no one ever coming through the door after Jaz and her cult left, and I walked home.

**********************

“Mishom, stop this! I know you don’t mean it, you’re drunk!”

“Shut up, you bitch!” I yelled.

Her endearing and teary green eyes pleaded up at me, but I ignored them yet again.

“Mishom, stop, I love you! You can’t start this all again. I-”

And then the all-too-familiar happened. My hands reached out and pushed her down the stairs. She screamed until her head was hit hard and she was silenced.

I walked down the stairs, not to see if she was alive or how the baby was. No, I bent down by her crumpled body and laughed.

“You whore.”

******************

The sound of my evil drunken laugh rang in my ears as I woke with a start. I sat up from my sleep, trying to see where I was. I wasn’t in my old house, rather in my dark, dirty apartment.

Thank God.

I got up, slipped my shoes on, and walked to town. Maybe that’d help me forget my past.