'What's your favourite flower, petal?'' his once rough voice, felt oddly soothing,
As we gazed up at the stars I feel as connected to him as they are. I know we aren't good people, we don't do good things, but now in this moment, we're normal.
I...
'But I promise you this, i'll always look out for you, that's what i'll do''
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I've felt pain before; once I had a knife dragged down my thigh during a fight, I couldn't tell you who did it, but whoever it was is dead now; I've had bullets scrape or go through my arms, again, I couldn't tell you who by, but they're dead now.
I've felt the most stupid kind of pains, like stubbing your toe, or bumping into a piece of furniture,
Yet I've never felt the kind of pain where you feel trapped, emotionally and physically, it's like someone's standing right in front of you, both hands around your neck against a wall, blocking your airways, and all you can do is stand there, as all control is quite literally in their hands. But it wasn't that, I could've done something to help myself, but I didn't.
It felt like I was out of my own body, watching down on the almost fatal scene being played out right before me, and I really hated it, I really fucking hate being helpless and vulnerable, but I feel like fire is my only weakness, well not only, but my greatest weakness.
When I was young my house burnt down, terrible accident it was.
When you're a child, a young child, your whole future is played out basically by the way you are raised, and who you're raised by.
When you were younger you probably played the game where you pick up sticks with your friends, whoever gets the shortest stick gets a dare or some sort of punishment, and it was fun. Yeah, I got the shit end of the stick, it was not fun.
My mother was a coke addict, total crackhead some may say, many say that to be fair,
She would go out almost every day, either selling herself to some rando man on the street for a fiver to buy some drugs with, or she would make me go beg on the streets, I remember it so clearly, how she would sit me down, ruffle up my hair and give me some dirty clothes,
I would sit in the cold for hours, tricking innocent people into giving me money for her, it was all for her.
And my father was a grade A asshole, he had a job atleast,
He worked at some supermarket down the road, minimum wage, but it got the job done I guess, he drank a lot, it was never one then stop, it was one then two then three until he was blackout drunk on the sofa by 5 o' clock.
He never really payed attention to me or my sister, but he did to my brother, which is probably why i'm such a men hating ass.
23rd of July 2010, 11 years ago today.
''Naomi, Holly come down please.'' I heard my mothers voice shouting from downstairs, her voice is rough and a long drained out cough followed her words, most likely from all the cigarettes.
