The Story of Kate

Chapter One

I watch his guts spill over the floor as I slam my boot against the concrete. At least, I assume it's a him. For whatever reason, I've always had that assumption with bugs. Especially cockroaches and whatever other insects there are that sporadically scatter across the countertop when you turn a light on, or make that "crunch" noise when you kill them. They just seem to strike me as males. Probably because both men and bugs are mainly just a nuisance. I don't mean that in a negative way either, it's more so just a "matter of fact" sort of thing. Both are annoying to deal with, take over too much of your space, and they're way too hard to get rid of.

Plus, they both make me really uncomfortable.

I slide my shoe back and forth across the ground, trying to get rid of the leftover remnants of the dead roach that are stuck in the ridges of my boot. You can hear the grit of the concrete in my poorly executed shoe cleaning efforts and as I bring my shoe up to check, you can see that it has left a white chalky film on the underneath of it. I sigh to myself, but at least there are no guts. I walk over to one of the black windows on the building and take a look at myself in the reflection.

I want to be content with what's there, but all I see is my blank, dead stare looking back at me. I study my reflection and one of the first things I notice is that the bags under my eyes have only grown deeper and darker than the last time I paid attention to them, even with makeup on. My lips look almost colorless and are definitely chapped. I bite down on my lower lip and chew off some of the dry bits that I can see. It's a little uncomfortable and leaves them bright red and feeling almost raw.

The only thing I can say I like about myself are my eyes. I've always gotten compliments on the "blue-ness" of them, and I guess that's made it the one thing I feel confident about.

I take one last look at my silhouette and then close my eyes. I'm trying to calm my nerves but all I can focus on is how the wind feels when it hits my body. My sweatshirt and old, black leggings aren't doing anything for me when it comes to warmth. The cold air is coming from more than one direction and cuts me right through my clothing. The chill sends goosebumps down my back and makes me shiver.
You can do this, Kate. It's going to be okay. You are going to be okay. I turn away from the window and pull my phone out of my tote.

Yesterday, November 10, 2017
12 outgoing calls to — Heather

Today, November 11, 2017
7 outgoing calls to — Heather

Absolutely useless. At least she can't say I didn't try. I haven't spoken to my joke of a "mother" in years and I think this a good example to show just one of the many reasons why. It's almost ironic in a way how the tables can turn. How much life can change before you even realize that it's happening. It used to be her calling me everyday - countless times a day, even, and no matter how many times I heard my stupid phone ring, I would never answer. I didn't want to hear her repetitive apologies. I didn't want to hear her crying and pleading. I didn't want to hear how she's clean and how this is the last time.

Because every single time it was just bullshit.

Every single time she would just spew anything she could think of out of her mouth to try to get me to trust her again.

I was young and easily manipulated once, not too long ago either, and would answer her calls on the first ring. I needed her. I wanted her to need me too.
I craved having a mother who would protect me and my sister. I craved having a mother like the girls at my school had.

A mom who would take the time to get up early in the mornings and drop us off at school. One who'd pack our lunches, take us to the mall, or even just spend time with us. A mom who would pretend to be Santa and surprise us with presents on Christmas morning. A mom who smelled of vanilla and who's hug could heal any wound we got. A mom who was around.