Bad Trips and Angel Dust

Bad Trips and Angel Dust

Lindsey

I hid under my bed as I shuddered helplessly. "Lindsey!" and "where is that bloody bastard?" were phrases that kept repeating over and over angrily on the other side of my door, outside of my almost-safe haven. It was my mother, violent and angry as usual. Infact, I can't seem to remember a time when she was ever calm and sober. It was said that I was the reason why she was always so angry. Because I was born, she had to work harder than ever before. Because of me, she had to give up on pursuing new love and happiness after my father, who was said to be the late Earl of Winchester, died.

"Where are you, you filthy wretch?" I heard her shouting voice bounce off the walls in the hall way. A loud slamming sound echoed in my room, and I knew she had probably kicked the door open. "Aha!" Then a disappointed moan followed by wild shrieks.

I heard my bedside lamp crash on the ground and the glass shards flew all over the place, some finding their way under the bed and cutting up my already wounded face. Mother's lost it again. I have to stay out of her way for now. I don't mean to complain, but the wounds from last night's beating still bleed. Sometimes I wish she wasn't my mother. Actually, I wish that most the times.

Every other kid seems to have the perfect life. Their families aren't all screwed up. Nobody's possible dad's in jail. Every one knows for sure who their father is, in the first place. None of them gets "punished" by their alcoholic mother. None of those kids even have liquor in their houses. All they have is their fancy champagne or something like that.

I wonder sometimes…what was she like before I was born? Was she ever happy? From where I lay every night, all I can sense from her is hatred and lust, hatred and lust all directed at me. I hate to admit it, but it really does hurt to know that I am an accident… For this accident, no mercy will be poured upon because I was never meant to exist in the first place.

It'd be bloody awesome if I could get away from her…but pathetic, helpless me is so scared I can barely move right now, let alone run from her. All I can do is drown away the pain with the drugs I can find. All a pathetic mess like myself could ever hope to do is be wrapped in a warm cocoon of white, but I could never afford that luxury.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked myself quietly after she left. I reluctantly crawled out from under the bed, as I am reluctant in most everything I do. I heard her footsteps coming back and I panicked. In the few seconds of panic, I stood there, helpless, defenseless…The door opened again, and naturally I braced myself. I knew that I was going to ache all over after she finally passes out. I only hope that I can walk back to this little place I call home after my treatment. Then later I will wash the pain away with some gin.