»part 40 » waiting and wanting

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"Don't give up on me yet..."

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Cocaine.

White powder fogged my brain with daunting thoughts while I held baby Franny in my arms and lightly bounced her up and down. The nervous bounce was primarily to calm my nerves, but it benefited the tiny red-head who was fast asleep. I was hoping that by holding the baby, my mind would be purified from cocaine-want, almost like I would be struck down by lightning for thinking such a thing. But I was wrong. If anything, it made me feel even more dirty.

I let my eyes drift across Franny's small features in wonderment. She was only a day old, but she already had light freckles that cascaded across the apples of her cheeks, just like her mother. Pacing in the living room with her soft breathing filling my earbuds, I let myself wonder what it would be like to be a mother. I never thought about having kids – ever. I always imagined that if I had one, it would be a nightmare. Ruining myself, along with the kid's, I would fall into my mother's habits and seek acceptance through money instead of love.

But as my thoughts drifted too deep, an unwanted image flooded my brain with white lines spread across a small mirror. Waiting and wanting, it's only purpose to please me.

After coming home from my long shift last night, I couldn't find the courage to muster up sleep. I knew what was sitting in my backpack across my room, and it was almost like I could feel it watching me. It felt like a magnetic pull – like there was a string wrapped around me. The white dust wanted to pull me in and make me hers again.

And I wanted to run a marathon with those lines.

Franny nestled deeper into my arms and sighed heavily which snapped me back from my gross thoughts. I shook my head and felt guilty. Something so pure in the arms of something so wrecked.

Debbie sat on the couch half-asleep with heavy eyes. When dawn cracked, Franny wouldn't stop crying, but no one else went running. So to escape my room that felt like the devils den, I went to Debbie's room and helped her get Franny ready for the day.

It was a nice distraction from the bomb waiting for me upstairs.

"I think I only slept two hours last night," Debbie mumbled in a sleep-deprived voice.

I continued to pace back and forth behind the couch with Franny in my arms. A small laugh slipped from my lips, "Better get used to it, kid."

"I love her but how can she cry so much?"

"Maybe it's hereditary." I smirked, trying to lighten the air.

"Hey," Debbie turned around to face me, "Be lucky I'm letting you hold her. I'm not even letting Fiona hold her."

"Why thank you, your highness. I'm ever so grateful." My voice reeked of sarcasm followed by an eye roll.

It was hard to forget that Debbie was still a teenager, especially when she opened her mouth. Raging hormones on top of a newborn baby does not create a humble teenager. It only creates a bratty monster.

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