| View Blog
|
|
|
Cigarettes and Alcohol
Cigarette butts and broken glass line the deep mahogany floor, swimming in the scent of rose wine as she sits rhythmically tapping her foot, laughing sarcastically. The music is loud and blaring, methodical repetitive dance beats fill the three-hundred year-old walls, seeping out through a vague crack around the exterior door into the crisp night air. I observe the time and lower the volume, only for the remote to be instantly pulled from my hand and the awful music restored to a higher level than it had been previously. She starts to dance whilst sitting there, lost in the beats, over-exaggeratingly simulating sex with her actions still continuing with the sarcastic laughter, singing lines of songs at me as if I am meant to get some sort of meaning from them. I don’t, and she shoves the table half way across the room with her feet sending further empty cans and glasses crashing to the floor. Frustration gets the better of me and I collect a dustpan and brush from the kitchen, glaring at her, probably inappropriately (I should accept these things). I push the table back, asking her to leave it, which is met with a barely coherent string of swear words as she once again propels the table in the direction of the television. I put down my glass of wine and replace it with juice – I suddenly don’t feel like drinking any more. Looking at the clock I notice it’s only been half an hour since the last time, and being only half past ten, I know the end isn’t near.
I try to ignore her but the arguments start. She doesn’t shout as such, just slightly raises her voice and speaks in a tone that portrays deep and intended nastiness. “You know what, you’re just a fucking stupid little…little…girl. You’re a child. You arsehole”. I stare at her. I haven’t spoken yet. “Fucking arsehole. You don’t care about me! You just go off to uni and come home and don’t even care about my course. All you ever talk about is uni. Fucking student. Arsehole.” She sneers sarcastically at me and turns the volume on the hi-fi up even louder as a song she likes comes on as she starts dancing again with a distinct ‘fuck you’ expression on her face. When the song ends, she changes the CD. It’s slower, more emotional. I can always tell what stage of wasted she is at by the music she plays and her body language. The slower stuff tells me she’s too far gone to even try and reason with her, and she certainly won’t stop and go to bed. She starts crying, says she misses her dad, says she’ll never stop drinking because of her dad and the guilt, even though I tell her every time it wasn’t her fault and she couldn’t have done anything to help him. I tell her that again, but she stares intently at the hi-fi, listening to the words. Her train of thought turns to me, and once again, like I have heard every time she is like this for the past year, she tells me it’s over, she doesn’t want me, she doesn’t care about me. She brings up money, and the fact that I’m a student, and that quickly turns to the ‘industry I’m involved in’ through being a science student and how bad a person I am to think that it’s ok to test on animals in some cases of scientific research. I manage, surprisingly, to curb that conversation before it really blows up. I didn’t feel like I could handle that tonight.
Again I ignore her, and she ignores me. We sit at opposite ends of the couch, but the distance between us feels like miles, not metres. After a while, a song comes on, and she starts singing to it, almost crying, and reaches her hand towards mine. I grab it and she squeezes me, still looking away as the song plays and she sings:
Come home, come home,
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long, so long,
And right now there’s a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
So come home
She looks at me, finally, tears streaming down her face, and now mine. I make eye contact but I can’t keep it. I don’t want her to watch me cry. I just listen to her “You need to get away from me. You should want to” she says quietly. I reply, speaking for the first time in hours ‘I don’t want to’. She raises her voice ‘but you should!”. I can’t control the frustration any longer “It’s not about what I should do it’s about what I want to do and I want to stay with you because I want to be with you”. “Whatever” she says. Within seconds, she’s sleeping. I sit for a while unable to move. I wish I could get through to her when she’s like this but in all the time I’ve known her and all the ways I’ve tried, I just don’t know how.
I put a cover over her, turn off the music, and go through to bed, hoping she won’t wake up. It’s easier if she doesn’t wake up, that way I can relax and sleep without the light constantly being turned on and the covers pulled off me as she shouts some random abuse at me. When she wakes up, she gets angry about me going to bed. If I fall asleep on the couch she’ll throw things at me, kick me, or shout at me. It’s like me sleeping is offensive to her. It usually goes along the lines of ‘you’re so fucking selfish, how can you be tired you don’t do fuck all! Well I’m seeing someone else anyway, did you get that? I’m seeing another girl, are you listening? I want you out my house, you’re gone girl. Go and find someone else who can put up with you, cause I don’t want you’.
The sheets are tucked tightly around the frame of the bed, acting as a sort of barrier between me and the outside world. A safe place of reflection. I think to myself how nice it would be if she didn’t drink; no uncertainty of what I would be coming home to, no spontaneous drink-fuelled insinuations and accusations when all I want to do is relax, no spiteful comments. Of course, she says it’s all an excuse. That me blaming her drinking is ‘an excuse’, and I am the real problem. Sometimes I believe that maybe I am, but other times I just think life would be so much easier if it didn’t revolve around how much alcohol was in the fridge, if she could take it or leave it like I can. We never argue when she’s sober, I like those nights.
For now, all I can do is wait for the morning. Wait for her apology and some excuse as to why she acted that way. Usually stress at work, issues about money, or her ex having been in touch. She’ll ask me to forgive her in the morning, not by words, but in her own little way she makes it clear it wasn’t meant. Until the next time.
|
|
Posted by Louise2008 on 2008-06-14 07:20:52 | Rating: | Views: 74
|
| |
|
|
