I stare at my phone with the blank look that I've been wearing since who knows how long. Emotions have been so mushed together lately that I have no idea what I'm feeling or thinking anymore. I've been on autopilot for so long that I can't even remember the most simple tasks. A sigh escaped my pale red lips as my brown eyes closed, and I thought today would be a good day! I laugh to myself, I haven't had a good day in months, well, let me change that, probably in years. I open my eyes back open as my tan fingers wrapped around my phone, pick it off the white kitchen counter, and lock it so I don't have to look at the stupid messages anymore.

I slid it back into my leather jacket pocket, and stood up from the wooden bar stool; I glanced towards the clock on the kitchen counter, then snort to myself. It's four in the evening, and I'm already done with this day, would it be bad if I already went to bed? As if tomorrow would bring anything else but headaches. My heels clicked against the gray tiles as I head to the fridge, I rip the door open, as my eyes scan the items on the shelves. Fuck. I need to go grocery shopping. I think to myself while I stare at the bottles of whiskey, and white containers of leftover take out.

I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and slammed the door shut. I headed to the living room, while I start to tear the tab around the neck of the bottle; I threw it on the coffee table that was covered in garbage, as well as junk mail. I threw myself on the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned the television on, though I don't know why I even bother because the only shows that they air is stupid reality shows, along with bullshit news. I leaned forward, grabbed a whiskey glass off the table, and poured myself a drink; I set the bottle down, held the crystal glass up in front of me, and smirked to myself.

These belonged to my father, as a child, he always told me that these were passed down each generation but I knew that was a complete lie. His temper flared up anytime he drank, which included throwing anything in his reach, he would have a new set almost every month.
How did I get my hands on these then? He hadn't smashed them against a wall before his damn heart gave up on him. I shook my head and take a drink, and set the glass on the table, as my eyes glanced at the colors on the screen. I ran my hands through my thick black hair, it still takes me by surprise to not feel my long hair anymore. I still remember when I angrily chop it off in the bathroom with some scissors, well at least now I have a cute pixie cut, or at least that's what people tell me.

My thoughts changed in direction when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, I took it out and rolled my eyes as I read who the text belonged to. I don't even bother to read it because I know all the fucker wants to do is play his stupid mind games. I'm done with them, I'm done with him, and I'm fucking done being the victim. I place it on the table, gulp down some more of the drink before the tears try to slip out. I don't want to be the fucking cry baby anymore, the little girl that everyone falls in love with anymore because they think she's cute and sweet. I'm sick of it!

I stood up, took my jacket off, threw it on one of the chairs that hold other clothing pieces of mine. I unbuttoned my silk blouse, shut the television off, grabbed my glass, including the bottle of Whiskey before I head off to my bedroom. I'm done with today, all I need is the dreamless sleep that I honestly deserve, and tomorrow I'll deal with more headaches that are waiting for me.