Unfortunate events
Chapter 1 - Struggle
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your perspective
His lips moved harshly against hers, his hand squeezing her ass, her hand pulling his hair. Earlier
I brush my fingers through my hair, my reflection staring back at me, the gold rim peeling, covered by photos of tiny skirts and blonde hair. My hands fumble for my phone on the carpeted floor, the ringing pulling me to my senses. Choso. My eyes fix on the red button, my finger hovers over the green one.
We'd been together for about 6 months, and he's helping with this whole charade more than I realise, but I've never felt about a guy like I have for him. He lives up in the valley where all the big houses are, and he looks like he belongs in one of those Vogue magazines. When he asked me for my number that day at the opening of that new science museum, I thought I'd hit the jackpot; he didn't seem to pick up on the fact that I worked there, but that seemed to work in my favour.
The phone buzzes in my hand again."Hello?" I say, fidgeting with the charm of my necklace."Can you come to this party?" "Choso, it's late and uh..you know daddy won't let me". My eyes dart around the ragged room to land on a white Ralph Lauren sweater he gifted me with a foundation stain on the collar. "(Name), you do it all the time, just sneak out". I could feel his annoyance through the phone. "Baby, you know I can't, daddy won't give me my allowance if he catches me again". I silently pray he'll give up. What will I even wear with it, dirty? "I'll just give you the money then, come on, come, you love me, don't you?". Money? I'm sold.
I say my goodbyes to Choso, standing up of the floor reaching for sweater. How am I supposed to clean this..?
Its been over 15 minutes of scrubbing this fucking sweater with almost anything relatively soapy. I groan. "Finally clean", I pull it on my hands blindly reaching for that denim skirt on mom's sewing machine.
I pull on the clothes carefully, before settling on my raggedy carpet as I do my makeup in the mirror. My legs crossed over each other, like a toddler. Brushes and beauty blenders drag across my face; my reflection staring back at me seeming unfamiliar.
Ringing shrills through my ears.
"Choso?".I bite my inner cheek. "Where are you? You're taking too long." I swallow. "Sorry baby, daddy's been nagging me recently and won't give me my allowance because I'm coming, make sure you pay me, yeah? My throat bobs as I chuckle, trying to dismiss the desperate comment.
Beep beep beep beep.
He hung up. He must just be in a mood, I tell myself..Boy was I wrong
I roll my bike into a large hedge, hoping it stays hidden, by the house exploding with colour and the muffled yelling of drunk young adults. I walk to the door to find it already wide open, trying to keep my jaw attached to my mouth as I admire the interior..now slightly trashed, the smell of alcohol and bitter aftertaste of heroin wafting through the muggy air.
My fingers interweave with people's conversations as I push through the crowds, trying to find Choso, and I feel slightly giddy from the thought of earning more than usual today. I spot him.
His lips moved harshly against hers, his hand squeezing her ass, her hand pulling his hair.
Flashes of blonde hair and hands moving quicker than my own eyes can move, the sight horrifying to a loving girlfriend, except I was only the latter.
