It’s that time again. The fourth chapter, for better or worse, in all its glory. If you would like a refresher, here’s a link to chapter three. Otherwise, without further bullshit, here’s what you came for:::
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Chapter Four
Sleep did not come to Allyson that night.
Under normal circumstances, it did not bother her in the least. There was plenty to do at night. She’d balance checkbooks, wash floors, spend time touching the holes in the wood from events that seemed to happen ages ago or just yesterday, depending on her mood.
But not this time. No, all she could manage was tossing and turning in her twin size bed. She stared out in the blackness imagining different colors and shapes dancing before her eyes. Nonsense and random.
Sometimes, she’d squint until she swore she saw her again. It was a her. She was sure of it. Breasts, though shriveled, were still present. Skin like powdered latex. Some of her bones protruded in sections around her shoulders, her hips, the skin stretching almost beyond its means—it looked as though it could split at any given moment. It resembled spiked armor. Beautiful. Deadly.
At night when the tossing and turning wouldn’t give way to rest, she would let her mind wander. No matter where her thoughts started, they would most often lead to that night. The moment everything changed. She thought it was for the better. Most days it seemed for the better. But sometimes the act got tiresome.
She tried not to think about it too much. She didn’t want to obsess.
“Not that you haven’t already.”
The act consisted of two main scenes. First was the matter of the liquid courage her dead deadbeat relied on so heavily. There was a wall of beer cases in the living room, still full. She’d empty it in the next couple months at the end of the year. It was easier to keep track of when it was present and ready to count. By the end of December, there should be fifty-two. It was easier to buy beer than make up stories about sobering up. She’d bought for her old man often enough for the clerk to be okay with her purchasing alone. Everyone knew who the Alexander girl was buying for.
The second scene was a little tougher than buying underage. Keeping her father under wraps only came by keeping up appearances. Periodically she stood in front of the mirror. With an open palm, she’d strike herself on the cheek, the mouth, near her eye, her ear. It was by far the least enjoyable part of the ruse, but a necessary evil. It was easier to create self-inflicted cuts and bruises than make up stories of happy family dinners and game nights.
It was hard pretending to live in a broken home when in reality things couldn’t be better.
Maybe better.
A little better.
The night was long, and she was tired.
Allyson reached under her pillow, fingers searching for either cloth or drawstring. From practice, she was able to find the opening and grasp the tooth without removing the bag from its home. It was bumpy along both sides from years of plaque eating away at the bone. Had he been alive, this tooth wouldn’t be in one piece.
“It’s funny how life works out sometimes.”
Her words bounced off the empty walls of the room. Deafening.
If it hadn’t been for her, there wouldn’t be any teeth left in his mouth. In a way, she saved its life. The tooth rolled around in her palm over and over again while her mind jumped from one thought to the next in rapid succession until it landed on something worth pondering.
Zaquerie Aimes.
Zaquerie Aimes tomorrow.
It wasn’t as if he were inviting her to another party. He’d tried that a couple times before. She never kidded herself before; thus, she hadn’t accepted. The invite wasn’t special then. She’d been sitting in a classroom full of people then, and everyone got an invite. Even Allyson. He hadn’t cared then; he’d just wanted to be polite.
She could see though the bad-boy persona he held onto like his life depended on it. The clothes, the hair, the booze, the cigarette smile, all of it screamed villainy and violence. It was his eyes that gave him away, though. His eyes weren’t dead. Far from it. They reflected the gold in his soul. That boy didn’t have one mean bone in his body.
“We’re the same, you and me.”
The words didn’t feel like her own, but the buzzing in her throat said otherwise. Uncomfortably aware of her own pulse, she shoved the tooth back in its place and rolled to her side. Blood rushed to her cheeks, making her face burn. Yes, she liked him well enough. He was kind to her, and while no one was outwardly mean, no one was particularly pleasant.
Yes, she liked him well enough. He had a nice personality and he was nice to look at. It was nothing serious. Nothing life-changing.
“So then why the butterflies?” she asked the darkness.
The darkness did not answer.
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And that’s it, folks. If you want to read more, you can catch chapters five and six in Voices from the Plains, which should be coming out very soon. You’ll know when exactly as soon as I do.
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Have a good one, void. Scream at ya later. xx
Manda Kay Writes 