Bad People Were Babies Too

Good day everyone,

Bad People Were Babies Too is on a free kindle promotion today. It is part one of the story about a girl overcome by abuse and is pushed too far.

If you are interested in reading, here is the link

Bad People Were Babies Too: A tale of the cracking

Link: http://a.co/2NlxwvS

Here is an excerpt:

 

Bad People Were Babies Too

A tale of the cracking


 

 

Chapter 1

My eyes set upon an ashtray growing its own mountain of cigarette butts. From my horizontal position on the couch I could stick my tongue out and lick one of the butts if I was so inclined. Why I would be inclined to lick said butts is a thought to mull over for another day

I turned over and stuck my nose into the dusty seat cushions to try and avoid the shining sun. The silly, stupid shining sun, as if there was something to shine about. Interesting fact: the scent of dusty seat cushion is infinitely better than that of cigarette butts and a wasted life.

I tossed and turned in the dust for another few hours, but the sun was shooting its rays directly into the back of my head. The heat was seeping through my cranium out of my forehead and making the couch cushions awfully hot. In essence, the shiny sun had made its mind up to destroy my plans to marinate in cool, dark, depression in peace. Damn you sun, damn you I say.

I heard the sound of another human, my stomach churned. He was in the bathroom, surprisingly up early for someone who had spent the better part of the night fashioning a crack pipe, smoking crack, losing can crack pipe, searching apartment dumpster for cans to fashion new crack pipe, smoking crack, losing pipe – you get the picture.

I heard the bathroom door open and then a voice quietly said, “Hey shithead, get up, I need $20.”

My beloved was awake. I tried to ostrich my head into the couch, but what is one to do when the sun and one’s beloved join together to suck thine soul through thine brain.

He threw a couch cushion at me, then a second, then a third.

“I don’t have any money,” I muttered.

“What?”

I knew he heard me, the stupid wadnut. God, I want to kill myself sometimes. Or kill him. Just leave me alone, why can I just not be left alone. I rolled off the couch, one of the cushions that had been sitting on my back rolled off of me and into the ashtray providing us with ashy fireworks.

“Do you want coffee?” I asked him.

I find avoidance at times is the best route, if I refuse to acknowledge his statement he may also refuse to acknowledge it and together we can do our best to not acknowledge the stupidity of the situation

“Ok.”

OK? Oh my helluvajesusmaryallahsaints, he said yes, oh angels were singing somewhere I do believe. I saved the old coffee grinds to use as a scrub for my dry skin and got a new pot of coffee a-brewing.

A buzz and flick said the TV was on and the booming voice of a man sounding really excited about some other man having thrown a ball really far entered the apartment. “Hey, what’s for breakfast,” he yelled from the living room.

I leapt into the TV room and told him I would whip up some lovely eggs and toast, he gave me a thumbs up. We only had three slices of bread left – two whole ones and the loaf butt, but it would do. I kind of like the ends of the loaf anyways – when toasted they morph themselves into the perfect balance of crunchy outside and chewy inside.

I buttered the slices of bread and placed them in the toaster oven. Toast smells delicious, like home. The bell pepper, tomato, onion omelet turned out beautifully. I carefully divided the omelet in two and plated the two halves along with tomatoes, potatoes and toast. This wasn’t going to be a bad day after all.

“Hurry there’s a good movie about to start,” he shouted from the living room.”

The table had been cleared off all though little ash particles had managed to cling to the edges. I set down our plates and went to grab the coffee. Half of my cup ended up on my arm and floor as I tripped over a slipper left in the hallway. I set his cup on the side table beside the couch, and went and grabbed the desk chair and set it beside the side table.

“Go sit over there,” he told me.

I kind of wanted to say fuck off. I also kind of wanted to have one normal people’s Saturday morning, so I picked up the chair and moved it to the other side of the couch. About halfway through the movie he said it sure would be good if we could get some real coffee and a real sweet treat. I thought about it, maybe if I made this gesture and he saw how great life could be without the drugs then he would understand he doesn’t need them.

So I told him that I just remembered that in fact I did have some cash. He smiled, got up quickly and said he’d go to the little cafe around the corner and grab us our coffees and dessert. Given that I had spilled half my coffee, a cup full of deliciousness brewed by someone else sounded great.

Chapter 2

“Where are you?”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

I hung up the phone. It was 3 o’clock, the movie had finished and the coffee had still not arrived. Neither had he. Maybe he went to that cute coffee shop we had been to a few years ago.

It had been a sunny day and he had borrowed his mom’s car, the top came down.

I had curled my hair, pinned it to the sides and slicked on some red lipstick. He picked me up and we gloriously rode along the lake until we got to that quaint little coffee shop that overlooked the water.

“This is going to be really good, it is going to be amazing actually, you are going to love it,” he said with a smile as he set down a big frothy cup of coffee in front of me.

And it indeed was a memorable cup as though the night stars above the Sahara Desert had been stirred right into it. It was a deep, rich flavor, kind of like our love. He leaned over and wiped the corner of my mouth, I knew there wasn’t anything there but I said thank you anyway. It was one of his cute things.

Today had been a good day and so maybe he wanted to be nice and maybe he would go there and buy us that coffee and we would sit together and it would be like old times and we would figure it out. I would help him get better, we would never have to talk about the past six year and we could be happy. Maybe.

It was time to get a head start on dinner, after an exploration of the fridge and cupboards I decided to prepare dough for eggoodle pasta. There is something about cooking that makes me feel like everything is going to be alright, I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

I cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them along with melted butter and then slowly whisked in the dry ingredients until it became thick enough to form dough. I would let it sit as I got the pesto ready. Basil, garlic, olive oil, pine nuts, Parmesan cheese, salt, and black pepper went into the food processor, it smelled wonderful.

As I started rolling out the dough for the pasta, I heard the jingling of the keys. A few hours late, but he was back. He walked past the kitchen and into the bathroom. Then I heard the sound I had come to dread. The door shut, then he pulled it open slightly, then he shut it again, open, shut, open, shut, open, shut, open, shut.

I am losing my mind,

This opening and shutting of doors meant he had smoked some crack before coming home. I stuck my head out of the kitchen and saw one of his eyes and a part of his head sticking out of the bathroom. He ducked his head back into the bathroom, shut the door, pulled it open slightly, then shut it again, opened it again, shut it again.

 

Ping, that was the top of a pop can. He was making a crack pipe. No pasta tonight,

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