It started when I was two. Mommy Dearest was a fucking stoner, a wannabe rockstar and a complete whore. Always was, always would be - till the day she died.
Shitty last words, right? I can say this like this because she told it to me two nights, word for word.
She was high that day- higher than I could ever dream to be - and drunk with her latest sex-buddy, she told me her life story.
She almost had a good shot at being a real rock 'n roller but she got fucked - in both senses of the word.
Her manager was a boyfriend of hers - THE first, actually. And he was an amateur. She soon realized this and wanted to sign with Rockin'roller Record Label but he refused. He slept with her for the last time and beat her into a bloody pulp. He left and nobody wanted to sign with her anymore.
In a depressed haze, she slept with everything that has a penis in the entire Milstein neighborhood, smoked, inhaled, injected and snorted every illegal drug you could get your hands on and drunk the taverns dry for six months straight.
She fell very sick. She had acute liver poisoning and me. I was okay miraculously.
She gave birth to me and was the worst mother on Earth for thirteen years.
Next, I was fourteen.
I became an addict, thanks to my buddy, Ramoné, and did everything, went to everybody's parties, drank every color of booze but I was never a hoe like my mom.
When I was fifteen, I met Cole Blander, my ex. We broke recently as you know.
Everyone knows. People can't keep their noses in their own shit. 'Cuz they know they shit ain't as juicy as mine.
I'm now twenty-there. A genius who's a junkie, a party girl and a virgin.
On the crappiest Tuesday morning, I had the worst hangover ever and went to look in Mom's prescription cupboard as usuals.
But she was laying on the floor, covered in blood. Her neck slashed, her mouth frothing with my coke. There's a bottle of booze and pills near her hands. There's also a gun on the floor.
Damn, I'd say that she'd pay my coke but she dead now.
It looks as if someone did this to cover up her suicide or she got killed and someone covered it up to make it look like a suicide.
I hate it all. I hate the fact that I don't know what the hell is going in my head, in my heart, in my life. I cannot deal. Not anymore.
Mom's life was so crap but even she found a reason to stay alive. I am pathetic that my reason to live has just died. I don't feel like living anymore.
Fuck my life.
Lemme play Lemon Fingerprints.
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YOU ARE READING
Fingerprints In Lemonade
Short StoryLemonade Cartier is a twenty-three year old going through lots of issues, she's pregnant and her only family has just died. Will she survive the odds or will she die trying?
