Don't Cry

She sank deeper within herself, plugging into the Lo-Fi that soothed her heartbreak via her new earbuds. -If I don't hear it it isn't real-. Constance, a name she hated from her girlhood was now someone she no longer knew. She could be anyone, "Maria", "Patricia", "Helen"; but she knew she would not be "Hope".

Does everyone sit down and stare at the family wall of photos from years of what was and watch through a filtered portrait of themselves their parents say, "We have something to tell ya."? Her cool, green eyes looked at her fingernails which she'd been nipping away and and dryly retorted to her parents -Is divorce, love lost and lying trendy now? Why bother with the small talk; let's all walk away, eh?-

On that night, in the two story flat she'd been raised in, Constance could care less. She lit a cigarette, (forbidden, screw them!) and thought only of her dreams. She had been planning to be a more diligent daughter, have better scores in school and shake the lowly crowd she'd been hanging with so her parents would stop fighting. She had heard the bickering in regards to money and accusations flying from her father's mouth in a fierce, scandalous tone insinuating that her mother was nothing more than a useless drunk. He had said, "Maybe I could pay the car loan on time if I wasn't paying off tabs from the pub for ya." Her mother had thrown something and on that particular night Constance took a piece of herself away. Using a sharp ink pen she jabbed her inner left thigh and watched the blood trickle onto her bed sheets. When her mother asked her about the blood she'd say -Christ, Mum; I started my period- and would walk away snidely with her new secret. Under her breath she would say in a arrogant whisper -I can have secrets, too dear Mother- Her heart was pounding and with each beat she felt a rise of superiority; she had mastered her pain, lassoed it into a holding place that no stupid adults could touch.

Myrtle and James. What idiots for parents. She hated their names as much as her own; in her room she christened them "Loser" and "Hater". She punished them for every gnarly word they slung across their thin walled home. The deeper she dug into her thighs the better she felt. She was only wearing bandages and baggy clothes to hide her thinning body, it's new shrapnel embedded in her sharpened emotions.

-Go to hell, the both of ya- is what she cried out in a sobbing mess from her room. They did not hear her; they never did. Constance needed money, fast cash to get out of this family of imposters. How could she get it? She opened her laptop and scrolled through the help wanted ads, but what could she do at sixteen? Childcare, dog walker, weekend cleaners? Her one confidant was on the loose, partying every night, his family fell apart years ago. Kyle. She texted him, "Myrtle and James are splitting up. Call me". She waited, staring at her semi-healing wounds desperately wanting to reopen them . -Come on Kyle, ring me!-, she belted out loud. Drunken slurs reverberated from midnight until three in the black, cold morning. She cracked her door and snuck down the stairwell and saw her mother passed out on the sofa, a bottle of vodka sat empty on the coffee table. On the counter near the toaster she found a note written to her from her father.

It read, "Constance, don't cry. Chin up; that's my girl". She took the note and sat it afire with her lighter, her cat scampered toward her as if he too, was traumatised. Benny. Benny the stray that no one wanted. Now she, too was a stray like Benny. Where could they go? She threw the note into the sink and watched as it curled into hues of crimson then crumpled into grey ashes just like Loser and Hater's marriage had. She checked her phone again and saw that Kyle had rang. She grabbed Benny and ran back up the stairwell to her room and retuned his call in desperation.

"Kyle at your service; what can I do for ya sugar pea"? -Kyle, what am I going to do? Dad's gone and Mom's out cold again. It's me and Benny now. I, mean we, got to get out of this shite hole now" - Her emphasis on now resulted in a laugh from Kyle. "Constance, where ya gonna go? My place is no haven either for broken angels, eh?"

Kyle told her the streets were full of run-aways, addicts, sex traffickers and gangs. A roof over her head was good luck. "Let them sort out their rotten marriage and eat their food, do what ya like and come out with me tomorrow night. Don't let it eat ya up, Constance. Okay?" Reluctantly Constance agreed.

She plugged in her phone to charge, curled up with Benny and fell asleep. The sun rose too fast and it was a school day however no one beckoned her to come out, have breakfast and hurry off. She lay there with Benny and could see he needed to have his morning chow. He rubbed against her legs purring; she was soothed from her secret wounds. She hesitated before opening her door, then had a flush of mighty strength. -Come on Ben, it's me and you now, stick with me bugger.-

Down the stairs they went, she eyed Loser on the sofa snoring. Her white, bloated, belly rose up and sunk down in a worn, red tee-shirt that had shifted up around her bosom. Her feet were bare and her jeans unbuttoned, hung open at the waist. Her sandy hair fell into her own drool and Constance felt true fury. She looked at the ashes in the sink and turned on the faucet to ridden their remains. Benny made his morning pleas and she paused in her own flush of mental anguish to open a can of fishy mush and plopped it into his bowl. Her head spun as if she had somehow to clean this disaster of a family, this callous, filthy tale into something normal again. But how? She slid down next to Benny and cried. Was Kyle really sure she should just stay, eat them out of house and home and say "Fuck it"? Her mother began to stir and she quickly hid herself behind the dividing breakfast counter.

"Cooooonstaaaance?", her mother shouted for her in a pathetically concerning voice. Then, she fell back into her usual stupor. Constance stood and just stared at her mother, then popped open a can of beer. She laughed. -Cheers, Benny! It's me and you now, right?-

Later on, her mother would climb the stairs and knock on her door. "Constance, how was school today?" The door swung open and she looked toward her mother, the loser, Myrtle, Mum. - Great! How's you?- Myrtle smiled and said she was headed to freshen up and going down to the pub.

"Seen your father today?" Constance nodded her head side to side. -No, Mum.- The new routine was forming. Stay home from school, wait for her Mum to sleep off her hangover, usher her off to the pub, slice into her thigh calf or arm just enough to ooze out some tension, feed Benny, go out with Kyle and dance or snag some chips and drown out the inner noise.

Constance waited until she heard the shower running then lowered her sweatpants and stared at her thighs. Just as she was about to reach for the ink pen her phone ring, "Sugar Pea, let's grab a burger and head to a party; come on. I know you weren't in school today." -No one misses girls like me-. "I do" Kyle offered softly. -Let me get Myrtle off to the pub first; come by around half five?- "I'll be there my lady." So this was the plan for this day, the first day without James, Hater, Daddy. This was how a fresh start felt.

Myrtle emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the same jeans and an ugly pink nylon blouse. Around her neck she wore a strand of fake pearls and she covered her face in a thick layer of peachy powder, her lips in a startling red shouted at Constance. "Off to the pub luv, can ya feed Benny? Oh, and I left a couple a pounds so you can get to the market." She was at the foot of the stairwell; although Constance could hear Myrtle, she didn't reply.

Half-five Kyle arrived and let himself in and bounced up the stairs to Constance room. "Showtime, sweet pea!" He had on an old brown, leather jacket, a thick silver chain hung around his neck, his wild red hair flounced about as he jumped onto her bed. "Sleepin'? Come now, let's get the fuck outta here, Lady Gloom!" Constance moaned, got up and hugged Kyle. She pulled a huge black jumper over her tee-shirt, grabbed her Doc Martins and ran into the bathroom. -Feed Benny for me, Kyle.- she called from behind the locked door. "Yea, yea, he eats stinkin' shite!" Constance checked her bandages and put a few extras in her back-pack. She stared at her sunken eyes in the mirror and bit her bottom lip as hard as she could. Blood trickled down he chin and she grabbed some tissue, changed from her sweats to baggy black jeans and pulled on her boots.

"Whadya do Lady Gloom, cut yourself shaving?" Kyle chuckled as Constance grasped the money Myrtle left and shoved it deep into her pocket. She looked at Benny and felt overcome with sorrow; pitiful bugger.

Constance squatted down and rubbed Benny's fluffy back and looked deeply into his pouty looking eyes; sweetly she added -Remember what Daddy wrote, "Constance, don't cry. Chin up; that's my girl".-