Just Prompts: What have I done?
coincides with this
What have I done? What had she done so wrong that made him leave? They'd fallen asleep on the couch together after him coming home from work and when she woke up to go order food for them, he was gone. She had frantically looked for his bag, his camera, knowing that would be a sure sign that he was coming back. That he hadn't just simply left. Only when she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser? She felt her heart break. It was empty save for the velvet she had laid down to keep it from scratching the lens.
Mike was gone, she was pregnant with two months to go. She didn't understand. Things were going so good, changing. She thought.....that you were going to get your happy ending? Come now Arlene, you knew better. She did know better. There never would be a happy ending. She remembered slipping to the ground with her back against the dresser crying, waking up the next morning curled up and clutching that piece of velvet. Pathetic.
She hadn't gone out the next day, or the day after that. She'd only drank water and maybe a few chips here and there. In between crying she destroyed the place, throwing everything around, breaking the mirror and looking at her shattered reflection in it. She was nothing, she'd gotten so used to him being there. Taking care of her, that she was scared to do this on her own. She couldn't do this on her own. She needed him and he left and it both enraged her and frightened her at the same time.
She didn't want to be alone.
And then she received the letter, her fingers tracing over the handwriting without her actually reading it at first. His handwriting. Slowly, she began reading it, knowing already it was bad by the use of her real first name. He wasn't coming back, he'd help take care of her and their daughter, but he'd never be coming back. He couldn't. Butterfly just balled the letter up and threw it, knocking the lamp off the bedside table before starting to cry again. The house was completely wrecked and she didn't care. She just didn't fucking care.
Her stomach started hurting that day, like the baby knew the pain her mama was feeling and was feeling it too. It was never going to be alright. Mike would never be there to hold his child, kiss her head, talk to her. None of it. The bastard left her high and fucking dry and she was MAD. Yes she understood what he was saying but she was still so pissed off that she was doing more harm then good to herself. Don't miss him. How could she not miss him?
When the paycheck arrived she stared at it for a few hours at least, holding her stomach because it was starting to get to the point she was doubled over in pain most of the time. Then she just took it between her hands and ripped it up, slipping off the couch and onto the floor. She kept tearing it into little pieces, blinded by her tears and Spanish passing through her cracked pale lips. Fuck him. Fuck him and fuck his stupid car. He fucking left her when she needed him most. Fuck his money, she didn't need it. She would take care of herself.
That was before she wound up passing out cold on the floor.
Butterfly/Arlene
Grindhouse
583 words
What have I done? What had she done so wrong that made him leave? They'd fallen asleep on the couch together after him coming home from work and when she woke up to go order food for them, he was gone. She had frantically looked for his bag, his camera, knowing that would be a sure sign that he was coming back. That he hadn't just simply left. Only when she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser? She felt her heart break. It was empty save for the velvet she had laid down to keep it from scratching the lens.
Mike was gone, she was pregnant with two months to go. She didn't understand. Things were going so good, changing. She thought.....that you were going to get your happy ending? Come now Arlene, you knew better. She did know better. There never would be a happy ending. She remembered slipping to the ground with her back against the dresser crying, waking up the next morning curled up and clutching that piece of velvet. Pathetic.
She hadn't gone out the next day, or the day after that. She'd only drank water and maybe a few chips here and there. In between crying she destroyed the place, throwing everything around, breaking the mirror and looking at her shattered reflection in it. She was nothing, she'd gotten so used to him being there. Taking care of her, that she was scared to do this on her own. She couldn't do this on her own. She needed him and he left and it both enraged her and frightened her at the same time.
She didn't want to be alone.
And then she received the letter, her fingers tracing over the handwriting without her actually reading it at first. His handwriting. Slowly, she began reading it, knowing already it was bad by the use of her real first name. He wasn't coming back, he'd help take care of her and their daughter, but he'd never be coming back. He couldn't. Butterfly just balled the letter up and threw it, knocking the lamp off the bedside table before starting to cry again. The house was completely wrecked and she didn't care. She just didn't fucking care.
Her stomach started hurting that day, like the baby knew the pain her mama was feeling and was feeling it too. It was never going to be alright. Mike would never be there to hold his child, kiss her head, talk to her. None of it. The bastard left her high and fucking dry and she was MAD. Yes she understood what he was saying but she was still so pissed off that she was doing more harm then good to herself. Don't miss him. How could she not miss him?
When the paycheck arrived she stared at it for a few hours at least, holding her stomach because it was starting to get to the point she was doubled over in pain most of the time. Then she just took it between her hands and ripped it up, slipping off the couch and onto the floor. She kept tearing it into little pieces, blinded by her tears and Spanish passing through her cracked pale lips. Fuck him. Fuck him and fuck his stupid car. He fucking left her when she needed him most. Fuck his money, she didn't need it. She would take care of herself.
That was before she wound up passing out cold on the floor.
Butterfly/Arlene
Grindhouse
583 words