A distant memory, better yet— nothing more than a dream.
It was still dark out when Aria began her early morning trek into the first district. Well, as dark as the City could ever be, really.
The distant skyline tinged red from the haze across the districts, the flicker of a dying neon sign, and the shadows cast from dimmed window lights kept Aria company as she waited for the trolley this mundane Monday morning.
Her ride was among the longest of the students who attended the school, all the way from the 15th. This fact gave her plenty of time to get homework done or even read a book during her morning commute, though Aria never quite cared and instead savored all the extra sleep she could steal as the bus-turned-hovercar zipped along from the slums to the City proper.
She didn’t mind living in the outer districts, just her and her dad in the old tenement. He never bother her and she never bothered him, they coexisted in mutual hate for their family that left them behind, as well as themselves. Aria couldn’t blame him really, not for fettering away his government checks on alcohol and cigarettes, and she couldn’t be angry when there was no answer any time she called his phone. She convinced herself how she thrived in the psuedo-independence granted, following in his footsteps as she picked up one vice after another. It was a life she carved out for herself, and it was hers alone.
All the while Aria planned and plotted, waiting ever so patiently for the day she could escape the dreadful routine of a teenage addict.
Her gaze turned hollow, eyes glazed over, the outer districts blurring past the window pane as the past weekend replays itself in her mind’s eye.
How long had she been sitting there, so catatonically peaceful and slumped on the bed, it was anyone’s guess really.
Time meant nothing within the four walls that saw Aria through her whole childhood. Pieces and parts rearranged, a curio cabinet emptied, money in her pocket. Stolen sips as she passed the living room turned to hoarded bottles in her bedroom. There was comfort in crying, even if the tears brimming in her eyes felt like a thousand needles, like red hot fire— even in her memories it still fucking hurts.
She had fallen into a sick self fulfilling prophecy. The very thought made her head swoon, and the pang as her forehead hit against the window of the trolley brought her back to reality.
Aria wiped at her eyes, though she knew she wasn’t crying. Not here, not now.
She reached into her backpack, procuring a few loose pills from the bottom of the bag. Two blue, one pink. That should do it.
With her thoughts calmed, the pity party continued on.
A barely audible groan escaped her lips as the pain dispersed through her body. In her memories another swig from the bottle at her side was all she needed to make it stop. At least the window wasn’t as hard as the concrete wall of her bedroom.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing labored and heavy. There was a knot inside her chest and on nights like these it threatened to destroy her from the inside out.
Black tears spill down her cheeks as she collapsed back against the bed, cries muffled into the comforter. Eventually her gasps for breath would fade, her cries would soften and so it goes.
Another swig, a tap against the glass for the last drops. That should do it.
The sudden sound of her cell phone vibrating was so real, Aria couldn’t help but check.
Though there were no new notifications, no missed calls. The last message was from this weekend, her texted invite to an Inner City party— as per usual.
She tossed the phone back into her backpack, flexing her fingers as she lost touch with reality, with herself. Her body felt numb to the world around her, numb to anything but the beat of her heart— the beat of a song.
Aria wasn’t really one to make friends. In fact, she was certain there was a death pool happening in the pockets of the cool kids.
I’ll take overdose for two-fifty?
Nah, she’s definitely gonna be one of those that gets raped and murdered outside some dingy bar, put up three-hundred.
Somehow she was still invited to their parties each weekend as they rotated through their parents’ lavish apartments in the inner districts.
Maybe it was because they knew she would bring booze, or that she had an in with all the good dealers in the outer.
Or maybe just to see if this would be the day she died.
Whatever reasoning they had for adding her number to the mass text, this particular weekend Aria had found herself smoking a stolen Gauloise and dancing alone on a balcony in the 4th.
Her eyes flutter closed, her shoulders sway beneath her.
She’s rolling now, and spilling her soul with every move she makes.
A twirl, a dip— heartstrings rip.
The beat slows down and static fills the sound, that is until the waves take her again.
The more she tries to focus the more she loses, so she just let’s herself go.
The calming calamity, it was addicting.
However, the coming down?
Not nearly as poetic.
Hungover, head pounding and heart struggling to beat right out of her chest, Aria managed to survive another day.
The usual 5pm morning routine then goes as follows:
Throw Up
Shower
Throw Up IN the Shower
Get Yourself Out of the Shower Without Falling Over— or at least without bringing the whole curtain down with you.
Put the same black jeans on
Eat something for probably the first time all weekend?
Ramen and take-out were staples in the Sokolov household and the kitchen was a wreck, though it’s not like either Aria or her father cared to clean it.
This was enough of a life she managed to scrape together, Aria had to convince herself of that. Otherwise… what else was left? Distant fantasies of running away and coping skills that harmed more than they helped, no thanks.
It wasn’t until this fateful day that Aria ever felt she would break from the cycle.
“Uh, Miss Sokolov? Let me take a look at your wrist.”
How many times would it feel like her world was ending?
“Well, if her father won’t answer and her mother isn’t in the picture, I don’t know who else to call.”
Though, what was an end without a beginning?
“Try one more time, I don’t want to get the authorities involved just for some attention seeking behavior.”
Aria knew the words were no more than a repulsive pity for the poor girl they just wish wouldn’t have gotten caught.
“I promise you he’s not gonna answer. Can I just go back to class?”
Even as she asked the question, Aria knew she wouldn’t return regardless of the counselor’s answer.
No, she had to leave— to leave this place and never come back.
It’s better off that way, she realized it now.
At the very thought the ground seemed to fall out from under her feet, Aria is forced to find her footing as her hands crash against the lockers in an attempt to steady herself.
She grasped around the empty space of her locker, pushing aside broken pencils and unopened books until she felt the familiar comfort of cool metal in her palm. She unscrewed the cap and quickly downed what little was left in the flask.
Aria swallowed hard then tossed it to the floor, the echo of its clang against linoleum tile resounded through the empty hall.
She winced, frozen in panic that someone would find her there. Then again, what was the worst that could happen? Aria was amazed she managed to get away from the counselor, even as she counted down the minutes until she would be carted off somewhere she can’t hurt herself.
Aria kicked out at the lockers, an act of defiance— of desperation.
Though, the pain shooting up through her foot was nothing compared to the weight of dread sinking deeper within her chest.
This was it. She’s gotta get out of here.
The beginning of the end— an origin story of sorts.
This is her slip into stability...