look me in the face
her smoke stains my throat and lungs as if they were her own. i try to tell her to stop, that this won't help her and it'll only hurt her more. she says to me in reply
"at least i'm not a fatass like you, tucker"
her eyes are sometimes the prettiest green you could ever have in an iris. other times they're the scariest color that seems to crumble me.
when she's high, she's the sweetest thing. when she's not, she gets angry. an unusual angry, one where she is silent and doesn't want me to touch her or even sit next to her. she calls me disgusting. it doesn't faze me than. it's no point of saying i actually showered and tried my best not to binge that day, she will stick with her mind.
she only scares me when she's drunk.
her voice goes from the usual soft yet harsh tone that she carries to the loudest, raspiest thing her lungs could muster up. her eyes become the scariest during this, they become wet and wide, her breathing rapid and face conjured up into expressions of a demon.
she throws. she pushes me here, she breaks her vodka bottles and threatens to kill me. she throws me out of the house and doesn't let me back in until 3AM
i don't even want to go back inside. but she yanks me back in and tells me if i don't i'll never be allowed back in. her nails dig into my skin and the next morning i will see a deep blue-purple color in it's place. they're hard to hide, but easy to explain.
no one would believe me if i said anything, anyway. she's told me would put the blame on me if i even attempted to call 911.
i'm scared. but again, when am i not?
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