Bad Habits
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Jasmine Spork, Grade 12
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Short Story
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2016
The sound of gushing water from the bathroom behind my head wakes me from a deep slumber. I roughly rub my index knuckle into my right eye, removing accumulated sleep from my tear duct. He coughs violently as he enters the room, and I take the cue to prop myself up on my elbows. My head feels hollow but heavy, a feeling I’ve become accustomed to, and so I keep my eyes shut. Cramps threaten to tear my belly open. I imagine the inside of my flesh being contorted so that it slowly splits, and empties my internal organs on the navy sheets I lay on. He grunts in my direction, and I pry my eyelids open to find his outstretched hand offering me a cigarette. I take the cylinder of poison with a shaking hand, my body has become dependent on nicotine and the cravings have stronger side effects every day. I recline backward after lighting my death stick, nestling in-between empty glass bottles and food packets. I observe how the smoke streams and dissipates, as rapidly as I emit it into the air. I inhale one last hit and snub out the orange tip, as my gut makes an audible gurgle. Peeling myself from the sweaty cotton bedding, I set out to find something I can feed the angry beast that is my body.
The piece of toast reappears in the bathroom sink almost as quickly as I consume it. I dry-retch long after the pitiful contents of my stomach is emptied. I can ?t recall the last actual meal I’ve swallowed, a thought which makes me aware of how brittle my bones feel, pressed against the basin. Wiping my mouth on the back of my stained sleeve, I stand slowly, in order for my vision to remain intact. As I drag my heels through the dimly lit hall and back to his den, I pass a clock which tells me it ?s 3:27pm. I have no idea what day of the week it is. It might be July, but I’m not totally sure. I ponder when my life turned into disregarding time, money, routine, ambition… things which once brought me comfort.
I resume my position on his bed, squishing a pillow under my head, before he lowers himself onto the mattress edge. A sigh escapes my mouth as he twists his spine so we are facing each other. I listen to his breath deepen as his hand clasps my throat, pulling me towards him. I remember when his intensity scared me, but it ?s familiar now. I endure it in the same way one endures a blood-test; eyes closed, fists clamped, mind wandering. I have many bad habits. Slowly they’ve accumulated and begun to consume the person I once was. I know the lifestyle I lead is killing my body. But it is he, who has murdered my mind. He is by far my worst compulsion, my biggest enemy, an addiction that has me doomed.