Confessions of a Teenage Caffeine Addict

21 // Handprints, Homework, & Home

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello!! Above is some artwork done by talisastark! It's a picture of Katie, so it's only fitting that to put this picture up in a Katie chapter(:

____________________________________

If you must choose between two evils,

pick the one you've never tried before.

—English Proverb

____________________________________

KATIE

FEBRUARY // WEEK 11

Lying in bed at night, listening to the sirens and fire trucks—like a record on repeat—reminded me that there were other people with bigger problems. But somehow, that still didn't make me feel any better. I was just about to drift off to sleep when I heard an all too familiar thud, followed by an even more familiar crash. Mum's home. On a scale from tipsy to blackout, I could only assume that she was white girl wasted with a side of slurred words, impaired vision, and irrational decisions. I waited to hear her stomp up the stairs, but that never happened.

I did, however, hear my door creak open. Usually my mother would just slump against my doorframe and whisper my name until I woke up. But tonight, she trudged into my room, lifted up my covers, that I didn't really have any intention of sharing, and climbed into bed with me. The smell of alcohol radiated off of her in violent waves, crashing down on me. It was suffocating, like drowning without water. I tried not to breathe or move, hoping that she would leave.

I almost screamed when I felt her put her arm around me, and pull me close, like a child's favorite teddy bear. And I suddenly wondered if Finn if had a favorite teddy bear. Or slept with a night light. Or was afraid of the dark like I was. I relaxed slightly at the thought of Finn, until I realized that my mother's arm had hair. A lot of hair.

"Hi, baby," a gruff voice that was most definitely not my mother's spoke to me. It was husky, deep; full of cigarette smoke and regrets.

Never in my life had I ever gotten out of bed so fast. Not on Christmas morning when I was five. Not my birthday eighth birthday. Not even that time when I was thirteen and my mother almost burnt the house down. Never. The man's hand gripped my wrist so tightly, I was sure he had cut off the circulation. But lack of circulation to my left hand was the least of my problems at the moment. I was almost surprised at how much strength he had for a very, very inebriated person.

"Baby, come back to bed." He murmured, tugging me towards him. "We had so much fun at the bar tonight." The guy gave a hard tug and I stumbled and landed on the bed, with his arm near my mouth.

I leaned closer to his sweaty, hair arm and bit down, hard. I tasted blood, metallic and warm as I broke the skin. "Ow! You little bitch!" he pulled his hand back and slapped me.

I was momentarily dazed that a person would ever even consider hitting me, but then I remembered the type of people my mother hung out with didn't exactly care about the well being of others. I bolted out of my room just as the burly guy, who had no shirt on, was attempting to get out of bed. I practically jumped down the stairs, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, expecting Hulk himself to land on top of me and drag me back upstairs.

"Katie, don't forget the coffee." I heard my mother whisper from the couch just as I was about to leave. She didn't even wait for me to respond, or open her eyes. "Caramel/mocha latte," she said to me before rolling over.

I didn't even bother to tell her that the strange man she brought home was snuggled up in my bed. I bent down, grabbed my schoolbag, a sweatshirt, put my shoes on, and left. And I didn't look back.