Free Shattered Soul by Jennifer Snyder

coming from the
living room. I was still completely dressed—all except for my
shoes, which I must have kicked off at some point. My assed bowl
still sat in my hand, its ashes sprinkled across my comforter.
    “Damn it, Calvin! I’ve told you not to bring that
shit into my house!” Mom shouted.
    My eyes popped open completely at the sound of her
tone; she was pissed. I glanced at the alarm clock, it was 6:17
a.m.
    “Mom, chill! I didn’t, there isn’t anything here!”
Calvin blubbered in response.
    “You mean, there isn’t any left! There’s a
difference,” she corrected.
    I smiled, imagining the look on Calvin’s face. I sat
up in bed, waiting for any response he might give to that or for
anything else my mother might add, but the next thing I heard
wasn’t words. It was the slamming of the refrigerator door and
stomping feet headed towards the hall.
    Mom’s angry footsteps. I knew this the same way I
knew it hadn’t been orange juice she’d grabbed from the fridge, but
rum. This argument happened every few weeks now. Maybe it was my
mother’s way of showing she did care about what happened to Calvin
and me, or else it was her way of showing us she hated the way
things were.
    Whichever reason was true didn’t matter, because just
like all the others before, this little spat wouldn’t change a
thing. Mom would still go to her room and down half a bottle of rum
for breakfast while Calvin snorted his last few lines so Mom
wouldn’t find them.
    God, my life was fucked up.
    I grabbed some clean clothes and headed to the
bathroom for a shower. I made the water as hot as I could stand and
let it pound me in the back until it ran cold. When I stepped out,
I toweled myself off gently and stood staring at my reflection in
the mirror above the sink.
    The swelling in my left eye had gone down, leaving
behind one hell of a shiner. My lip was still fat with a split on
one side and a nasty bruise now lined my jaw. As for my rib, it was
bruised and sore to the touch, but I was positive it wasn’t broken
or fractured because it didn’t hurt to breathe.
    I pulled on my clothes and grabbed up my dirty ones
from the floor.
    “About damn time!” Calvin shouted, rushing past me
and into the bathroom the second I opened the door.
    I didn’t respond. It would be a while before I spoke
to him again, if I could help it.
    I tossed my dirty clothes in the corner of my room
and sat at the edge of my bed to pull my shoes on. I snatched my
books off my dresser and walked to the living room in search of my
morning cigarette.
    “Damn, you still look tore up!” Brent half laughed at
me from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, as I walked into the
living room.
    “Yeah, thanks, hadn’t noticed,” I replied
sarcastically.
    Jade sat on the couch, Indian style, bouncing her
knees up and down. Her skin glistened with sweat, dark circles
ringed her eyes, and her lips were chapped and blood red from
licking them too much. Telling her she looked like shit would be
giving her a compliment.
    “Hey, you got a cigarette?” I asked her, hoping she
had at least one left.
    Her eyes shifted to mine quickly. They were solid
black with only the tiniest hint of honey brown around the edges.
In a quick jerking motion she fumbled to grab a pack sitting on the
end table.
    “H-h-here, here’s a few,” she stuttered through
grinding teeth and handed me four.
    I hesitated in taking them from her, wondering how
long she’d been up for. Obviously awhile, because when someone
stutters like she did, it’s because their brain is too tired to
keep up with what’s going on anymore.
    At least that’s what I always thought.
    I took them from her fingers and put one to my lips.
“Since when do you smoke menthols?” I asked, realizing what she’d
handed me.
    She grinned sheepishly. “I don’t, they’re Calvin’s. I
figured he owed you.”
    “Oh, well in that case,” I said, taking the whole
pack from her and sliding the ones she’d given me back