It wasn’t yet six in the morning when I awoke suddenly from a deep sleep.
Usually I’d attempt to go back to sleep because I saw no reason to get up or even to breathe this early, but not this time. I didn’t want to go back to sleep, I couldn't bring myself to; because I knew I’d see him again; and I was too anxious.
My angel in hell, Mitchell. The one person on this planet that actually understands me and likes me for me, or seems to at least. He sees past all of my insecurities and bad qualities and focuses on me, the real Marissa Thomas.
In a way, he’s just like me. He's an outcast, likes good music, and is very athletic. But the best thing about him is he makes me feel so amazing. He calls me pretty, beautiful, and gorgeous. True that I've never believed him on that, it's nice to hear it every now and then.
He thinks I’m perfect and the best thing anybody could ever have. There are literally no bad things about him... Except he has a girlfriend. That fact seemed to awaken an inferiority complex I've had since age six.
Never the less he is the only reason I get up in the morning and go to school. Apparently I’m his reason to go to school, too. It can be horrible, but we endure together.
As I do every morning, I opened my closet door and chose an outfit. Something appropriate for mid-March Buffalo weather; and the approval of a certain someone. I picked out a Black Veil Brides T-shirt, red skin-tight jeans, and a pair of black Converse sneakers.
Also I put on two bracelets to conceal my wrists. I studied the blank poster board paper on the inside of my closet door.
“What am I gonna do with you?” I wondered to myself.
Another ritual I had was darts. I had a dart board with some pictures on it. I picked up a dart and aimed carefully at the center picture of Rick Martinez. “Bulls eye!” I exclaimed and laughed ironically at the dart stuck right between his eyes.
I sat down at my vanity and pulled my copper-brown hair up. Well technically it’s a small table with a full-length mirror behind it but I call it a vanity. Then I put on a thick layer of coal-black eyeliner.
I started tracing the waterline on my eye when suddenly “MARISSA ANNABELLE!” rang through the house like a bullet. I knew immediately it was my mother because she had a habit of screaming my middle name when she called me. Even though I’ve told her on many occasions how much I hate it. She really doesn’t care much for my opinion. And I don’t care for hers.
I ran down the stairs as fast as I could at risk of being attacked by my alcoholic self-destructive single mother. My dad died in a plane crash nine years ago when I was seven. Mom told me he moved in with the angels. That’s when my mom lost it completely. She was drunk at his funeral and every day since. I’ve pretty much had to raise myself. I have a big family so money was never really an issue.
“Yes? What do you want?” I asked her. Not surprisingly she was in the same clothes she was in the day before with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in hand.
“Aren’t you old enough to move out yet?”
“No mom I’m sixteen.”
“Well I want you out of my house, now.”
“Wait why? What did I do?”
“Don’t question me, I’m your mother, dammit!” She slurred.
“Well you’re sure as hell not acting like it! You’re drunk 24/7 and abuse me non-stop! How the hell can you even still call yourself a mom?”
“Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are?!” She shouted as she shattered the glass bottle on the floor in anger.
“You heard me.” I whispered, trying my best to hold my ground and not cry.
“Get out of my house right now! You disgust me you ungrateful little whore! I never want to see you set foot in this house again!” She yelled with a slur.
“FINE! I’m going but don’t be surprised if I never come back!” And I left without another word.
YOU ARE READING
Bloody Mary
RomanceMarissa has been through enough. She's done. Her pent up anger and pain has grown too strong. Everyone has a breaking point, and she's definitely met hers.
