This is what its like [Joey], chapter 1
A fan buzzed, dim light shined through my blinds. I knew I should get up, before my mom did. I tried desperately to crack open my eyes and peeled myself out of bed, sauntering into my bathroom and peering into the mirror.
I thought to myself, "Joey, Joey, Joey. What to do with yourself." My chin length black hair swept across my eyes, still messy in the back. I was so pale, fragile looking. I thought I looked so fucked up, so un-perfect. Which is exactly what made me perfect, to myself and random girls, anyway. If only they could see what was underneath.. I was bare aside from the underwear I wore to bed last night, and the scars were so visible that way. Smooth, bright razor marks glided their way across my wrists, flat stomach and hips. If my dad were here to see me like this, well, I probably wouldn't BE like this. But, as the story goes, he wasn't. He was out on tour, like pretty much fucking always. Sometimes I actually take the time to sit down and wonder to myself exactly why my father's band, Green Day, had to get so big any way, then maybe we'd be together more. But you don't always get what you want, I guess.
So I'm usually stuck here with my mom, who always has to bitch about something when dad's gone. Joey do this, Joey get me that, Joey why can't you be good like the rest of the kids? Pshhh, I'm pretty much doing good not to kill the bitch, let alone not to tell her to go fuck herself.
And so basically. That would be how my life usually goes. Or you could say went, because for once in my life one day, I got what I wanted.
I thought to myself, "Joey, Joey, Joey. What to do with yourself." My chin length black hair swept across my eyes, still messy in the back. I was so pale, fragile looking. I thought I looked so fucked up, so un-perfect. Which is exactly what made me perfect, to myself and random girls, anyway. If only they could see what was underneath.. I was bare aside from the underwear I wore to bed last night, and the scars were so visible that way. Smooth, bright razor marks glided their way across my wrists, flat stomach and hips. If my dad were here to see me like this, well, I probably wouldn't BE like this. But, as the story goes, he wasn't. He was out on tour, like pretty much fucking always. Sometimes I actually take the time to sit down and wonder to myself exactly why my father's band, Green Day, had to get so big any way, then maybe we'd be together more. But you don't always get what you want, I guess.
So I'm usually stuck here with my mom, who always has to bitch about something when dad's gone. Joey do this, Joey get me that, Joey why can't you be good like the rest of the kids? Pshhh, I'm pretty much doing good not to kill the bitch, let alone not to tell her to go fuck herself.
And so basically. That would be how my life usually goes. Or you could say went, because for once in my life one day, I got what I wanted.
