The empty bottle of wine sat amidst the botch of paperwork, one in particular caught her eye as she tugged it towards her. The death certificate. The letters glared off the stark page, Helen Phillips. She pushed it away and touched her heart, she swore sometimes she could feel it ache. The wine felt sour in her throat, it was cheap and old.
As she moved out of the kitchen, the wall mirror presented a harsh reality,Oh well this is a good look.. she smoothed her tangled strands and smudged away the streaked mascara. She felt judged by her own red-rimmed blue hues, Count to 10...deep breaths..1..2...3..10. It amused her that therapists were always telling her "little tricks" to ward off an anxiety attack, when all it really took was a tiny bottle that worked miracles. She slouched down into her oversized sofa fingering the Prozac, sucking on the pill until the medicinal flavor flooded her tongue. Her attention shifted to her cell phone, sitting blank. Text messageless. Could you blame him? She picked up the phone and pushed in I miss you but quickly deleted it and tossed the phone into the abyss of papers, He's the one who chose to leave. She peeled herself off the sofa and snagged her coat off the counter.
The cold air bit her cheeks as the door clicked behind her, she stumbled out the small gate, latching it clumsily. Her legs moved faster than her eyes, absorbing the darkness, it felt better than the fluorescent cage of her apartment. The silence of the city was interrupted occasionally by passing cars, and the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement.
The blackness enveloped her, the overhead streetlights becoming far and few between as she stumbled over the rotting asphalt. She quickened her pace as she saw the neon lights of the liquor store, becoming more aware of her poor decision. Solitude always made her think of her mother, her kind eyes and warm hugs that made you feel untouchable. Stop it, don't think about it. Wrestling with her memories, his indistinct voice cut through her thoughts "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Her eyes raced over the area, spotting him leaning against the graffitied wall, covered by shadows. Typical. She averted her eyes and attempted to not look startled. She pulled her coat tighter around her, moving farther to the other side of the walkway. ""You know it's late, you should be careful walking around at night..Hey! I'm talking to you" She continued ignoring him, until his catcalls echoed in the alleyway, muttering fucking freak.
The bell of the convenience store rang in her ears, it was completely empty except for the bum outside nursing his paper bag treasure. She dropped her purse on the counter and waited for Martin to escape the clutches of the soap opera marathon on in back. The older man finally meandered out "Top of the morning Keira, having a date with Jack again?" his cheesy smile causing his cheeks to bulge over his eyes. Apparently everyone's a comedian at this hour, she pursed her lips and nodded "What can I say, he keeps me coming back for more." Not knowing what was worse, being on a first name basis with a convenience store clerk or feeling bad enough to humor him, she continued the banter for a minute more before inquiring "Would you mind calling me a cab? It's pretty sketch out there." He nodded, extending a Discount cab card over the counter, "Oh sorry, could you call? I didn't bring my phone." He grunted, dialing in the number disapprovingly, eyeing the television in back anxiously, "Alright Miss Keira, have fun with Jack, be gentle with him tonight. Cabs on its way." with that he waddled back at a relatively fast pace for someone his size before the squeak of the chair indicated he had landed.
The lights of the dingy cab cut across the parking lot, illuminating the front door of the store. She waved and swooped in just before the alley admirer started calling after her again as he teetered from the wall, "Thank god you are here, bunch of weirdoes out tonight" her eyes stared at the back of his head before spouting off her address, "You don't mind if I celebrate a little do you?" --the alcoholism had made her great at superficial cab-ride banter, motioning to her bottle. But this guy didn't laugh as she had expected and instead muttered "By all means". The car sped out of the parking lot, causing her to fall back in her seat and spit up some of the Jack, "Whoa! Could you slow down? I'm not in any hurry" He released an empty, easy laugh as the car lurched forward again at the green light, before suddenly pulling a sharp right and slamming on the brakes. She flew forward into the back of the front seat and then down on her side, gripping the ripped leather she pushed herself up again "What the hell?!" as her eyes levelled to the windshield, her temple absorbed the blows from the gun. It felt like her skin was splintering off; the pain causing her to slowly slip into unconsciousness, This isn't real, this isn't real..
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