Fractured Youth- Part Three

A Story by Kenny Steele

Dillinger is awake now.

Pascalle padded across the cool cement floor to her wardrobe, quietly opening it and pulling out a pair of skin-tight black jeans. She hopped around, struggling to get them on without waking Dillinger, but she lost balance and fell against the wall with a painful “thunk”.

“Mph…” Oh, s**t. “Pascalle…” F**k, f**k, f**k.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you!” Ignoring her throbbing head, she walked over to the bed and sat next to Dillinger, stroking his forehead. “You can go back to sleep. I’m just about out the door.” This was a blatant lie, she was hoping to get some reading done, and she was planning on doing some cooking. Dillinger sat up, wincing as the mattress squealed under his muscular frame. The bed was used to having one feather-light occupant, and the sudden wear and tear of last night had taken a toll on the springs.

“I’m sure as s**t not going back to sleep now, am I?” Pascalle looked down at her knobby knees, digging her nails into her thighs.

She was used to his outbursts. She had to be used to it or he would dump her, and then she’d really be alone. She’d have nothing to stay up for, and if he broke up with her, she would have no one to keep her contained. “Dillinger, I’m sorry, it was-“

“An accident, right? It was an accident?” He snapped, climbing off the bed so he could tower over Pascalle. Despite the fact that she was unusually tall for a woman, but just as tall as Dillinger, he still made her feel tiny. He still talked down to her. Pascalle nodded and started picking at a hole in her jeans, counting down from 100 in her head. She was almost lost in her own head (as she tried to be, as often as possible) when her head was tilted up, and she was inches away from Dillinger’s face. “Look at me when I talk to you. Does it feel good to be ignored? Do you think I like it when you don’t even f*****g look at me?” Pascalle’s big grey eyes watered, and she just knew they looked bloodshot. The first teardrop fell when Dillinger’s demeanour completely changed. Now, instead of grabbing her hair, he was stroking it, running a finger down her cheek. “You’re so beautiful when you cry.” And with that, he was out the door, up the stairs, and back in the real world.

Pascalle was envious. She had forgotten what it was like to experience reality.