Never Blonde Enough

Inspired by Sanda

 

Never Blonde Enough

 

          She looked down at the body lying wrapped in the bed sheets, his skin greyish and flecked in little red spots. He snored loudly, while his face was buried in the pillows.

          Her own body was pale, sharp edges where there should have been curves; her fingers absently traced the line of her ribcage. Big green eyes stared back at her from the mirror on the back of the bedroom door.

          Was her own reflection accusing her?

          She tried to ignore the look as she pulled and teased her hair; to her great annoyance it never looked quite right.

          With a sigh she pulled on her skinny jeans, breathing in to fasten them, even though she didn’t need to. She realised as she pulled on her favourite Ramones T-shirt that she’d messed up her hair again.

          She was pissed off. Her bones began to ache; she tried to ignore it, the craving creeping up on her.

He snored loudly, little piggy snorts. Was this what it had come to? The first man to look at her, God knows what she’d have done if he’d smiled.

          Over a chair his clothes were piled, clumsily placed without much care.

          His body rose and fell, a beached whale, just blubber and sperm.

          Her lip curled slightly as she rifled through his wallet, taking the cash and a small picture of a child, she stuffed them tightly in her back pocket, laced up her boots and left him to his dreams without a backwards glance.

          Her bones screamed at her as she staggered out into the morning light, aches and pains crippling her, dragging her down. The contents of her back pocket could offer a ticket to sanctuary, but she needed that for better things. She wanted that seat on the bus out of town with her name on it. Writ large, bought and paid for, new life here we come.

          A woman passed by, laden with groceries, her lip curled in disgust. Instantly judged and pigeonholed. She was used to the look, seen many times before, but still it hurt, causing anger to rise through the pain.

          “Getting a good look?” She snarled, bearing her snaggled teeth,

          The woman took fright and scuttled off.

          Was it guilt she felt?

          Her stomach cramped, she doubled up. Her breath fast escaping her body. The building started to sway, the ground swelled like the sea, the sky span faster and faster.

          She closed her eyes.

          A car horn blared.

          Colours swam in the darkness.

          “Get the f**k in.” A strong hand grabbed hold and bundled her into the back of a car.

          She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them tight, sweat soaking into the back of her T-shirt.

          “You look like s**t Honey.” The voice sounded far away as it was inside her head.

          She kept her eyes clamped shut, if she concentrated hard enough it would all go away.

          “F**k girl.” There was a sucking in of air.

          “My name’s Honey.” She said, as if to convince herself, her eyes still firmly clamped.

          Her stomach cramped, every cell in her body started to shout. She scratched at her arms, opened old wounds.

          “You need…”

          “I know what I need.” She interrupted through gritted teeth.

          “Thought you wanted out?” There was a snort of derision.

          She wanted a life, she wanted happiness, she wanted escape, she wanted security, she wanted to smile, but most of all she wanted the pain to go away, for things to be calm.

          She opened her eyes; a small baggie was dangling in front of her.

          “Consider it a favour.”

          Greedily she grabbed it, like a feral animal she started to rub the powder over her gums. Not her usual, but she could feel the edge recede. The screaming pain replaced with a tingle.

          “Better?”

          Thoughts of the bus out of town faded, she became fascinated with her fingernails, the badly applied chipped polish, the small grooves and lines, a small piece of dirt under one. She moved them slowly, watching the light change on them. How come some were longer than others? She made clawing motions, watching the bones move under her skin.

          “Honey?”

          “Mmmm.” Her hands still captivated her.

          “We’re here.”

          “Where?” Her green eyes looked glazed.

          “Your place.”

          Honey smiled at nothing in particular and stumbled out of the car. Her skin chilled, goosebumps all over, instinctively she hugged herself.

          As usual the door to the block was open, the hallway dark, broken beer bottles scattered at the bottom of the stairs. The handrail creaked and groaned as she put her weight on it. The McCann’s at number four were arguing again, a full blown war, neither side winning, neither side retreating. It happened so often that it just sounded like background noise, some sort of freakish soundtrack to her life.

          Her key rattled in the lock as she opened the door to her apartment, squeezing the key back into the pocket of her skinny jeans, she shuffled inside, kicking the door shut behind her. The McCann’s’ war was still raging. Unwashed clothes were strewn over the furniture, a takeaway meal from a few days ago sat on a rickety table. She didn’t even notice the musty smell.

          A murky shaft of light broke through the grimy window, Honey could feel its heat on her arm, warming the tattoo on her elbow, she traced its outline and tried to remember different times, blurry images drifted through her head, but no faces, there were never any faces.

          Her fingers stroked the scars on her arm; markings of pain and relief, those memories were a lot clearer, a lot more insistent. She fought them back, tried to imagine her future, the bus out of town.

          There was a loud crashing from downstairs, the war had escalated, Honey longed for the ceasefire, the make up, for a little bit of peace.

          Her T-shirt stuck to the bones of her back, she peeled it up over her head. In doing so she caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror that rested on the floor, it had fallen months ago, but she could never be bothered to put it right. Her fractured image looked back at her, was this the same little girl that had had so many dreams back in school? A million lifetimes ago, the girl that had fire in her eyes.

          Her scars itched.

          She tried not to think.

          His arms were strong.

          She’d screamed.

          But he was stronger.

          Forcing her.

          The image was bright.

          The fire went out.

          Honey turned from the mirror, she wiped at her eye with the back of her hand and reached for a torn black Placebo T-shirt. It was too big for her and hung loosely from her frame. It had belonged to someone, another forgotten face, a lost memory.

          She was going to do the only thing that distracted her, stopped things rattling round inside. She dug out all her things from the kitchen cupboards, preparation was everything, all bottles facing labels front within easy reach. She pulled on the plastic gloves and filled the sink. The torn T-shirt allowed her to pull it wide of her shoulders. With a small smile on her face she started with gusto, like mixing a magic potion she started to dye her hair.

          When she was finished most of the bottles were empty, a small explosion of activity having scattered them round the room. With mild excitement she stood in front of the cracked mirror, her hair was shining back at her, almost white, matching her skin, but in stark contrast to her dark green eyes.

          A low moan escaped her.

          Again not quite right.

          Perfection not achieved.

          She span away from the mirror, her nails digging deep into the palm of her hands. Oblivious to the trickle of blood on her hands Honey slumped onto the threadbare sofa, old food wrappers rustled and crumpled underneath her. She reached for the remote and the Tv sprang into life, an overmade glamourpuss was extolling the virtues of the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

          Aimlessly she flicked through the channels, not taking any of it in, but letting the noise wash over her.

          She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she peeled a sweet wrapper from her cheek. It was dark outside, the glow from a streetlight tried to wash through the window.

          Her head felt groggy as she sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. The Tv was still buzzing away, cars going round and round in circles, a commentator screaming inanely.

          She hauled herself upright, bones creaking and groaning. She found an old leather jacket, battered and faded, and pulled it on.

          The air was sharp outside, her cheeks nipped. She pulled the leather jacket close and headed to the bar.

          Lonnie’s was a dive, the sort of place that should have sawdust on the floor to soak up the blood, but it was close, within staggering distance.

          Must’ve been a game on, busier than usual, crowds huddled round the screen.

          Lonnie the old bartender, with a huge walrus moustache, caught her eye. Glances and nods exchanged a drink was on the bar before she sat down.

          This place was like a pair of comfy shoes, she probably spent more time here than she did in her apartment.

          She scanned the room, checking for easy money. Mistake. She made eye contact with Mr McCann, free of the shackles of Mrs McCann, he sauntered over. It was really more of a stagger, but he thought he impressed her.

          “You live upstairs.” His speech was slow, his eyes bleary. He scratched at his unshaven jaw.

          Honey nodded, not wanting to be drawn into his world.

          “Am sorry bout the arguments.” He carried on oblivious to her disinterest “She just doesn’t understand me. I have needs.”

          Honey had no desire to discover what those needs were. No matter how bad things got she vowed she would never get that desperate.

          As he warbled on Honey continued to scan the room looking for a saviour. She found him in the shape of Jed, a small time dealer, whom she reckoned had a bit of a thing for her.

          She beckoned him over and like an eager puppy dog he came. Mr McCann was still going on, something about his wife being frigid, Honey wasn’t listening.

          “Who’s your friend?” Jed looked him up and down.

          Honey shrugged.

          “Must be lowering your standards.”

          Honey didn’t know why she laughed.

          “Hey, I’m talking here!” Mr McCann’s bleary eyes tried to focus.

          “I don’t see anybody listening.” Jed sneered.

          Mr McCann looked as if he was two inches tall, his brain desperately tried to invent something scathing.

          “Let’s go somewhere more agreeable.” Jed put his arm round Honey and drew her away.

          Mr McCann watched in momentary envy, then something more attainable caught his eye.

          Honey felt reassured by Jed’s bony fingers on her shoulder. She knew how to play him, which buttons to press. Like a cheap child’s toy, allow it to satisfy her until something better came along.

          Jed didn’t want to let her go, his little prize, but he couldn’t let her know, had to be cool, be the man.

          “Nice tee.” He nodded at her Placebo T-shirt.

          “Favourite band.” Honey scanned the bar from the booth they now sat. Far corner, next to the backdoor, good view.

          “Same with Slippery Steve.” Jed nodded sagely.

          “Who?” Honey nearly spat, starting to howl with laughter.

          “Steve Weiskopf, y’know. You used to hang around with him.”

          “Since when was he called Slippery Steve?” Honey wiped spit away from her mouth with the back of her hand.

          “Since the cops couldn’t get any of the charges to stick.”

          Honey howled again, Jed could feel people start to look.

          “I guess…” She forced the words out between fits of laughter “…he called…himself that?”

          “I guess.” Jed shrugged. He had started to blush.

          “Slippery Steve.” She kept repeating between hysterics.

          “C’mon, it wasn’t that funny.” Jed had now turned bright red.

          Honey stamped her feet and thrashed, choking laughter caught in her throat.

          A big guy came over, face full of concern.

          Honey stared at him, tears streaking her face, fits of giggles still trying to escape. The big guy had sweat stains seeping out from his armpits, just been paid, wages half blown. Not a better option. She coughed loudly and brought her hysterics under control.

          “She has these fits.” Jed was crimson.

          “Fits?” Honey glared at him after the big guy had gone.

          “I had to tell him something.”

          “Now everyone will think I’m a retard.”

          “And that’s my fault how?”

          “Fits?”

          “What was I supposed to say? You just went off on one.”

          “I was laughing.”

          “Fucksake, remind me never to tell you a joke.”

          Honey sniffed and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and pulled it tight. She slouched down and scanned the bar again. The big guy was talking to two of his mates, probably telling them about the retard girl. Three men in suits were waiting to order at the bar, they weren’t expensive suits, but they were suits. Two butch women looked as if they were having a drinking contest; first one to pass out was the winner. Mr McCann was hitting on a fat girl, who amazingly looked quite keen, obviously didn’t know Mrs McCann. The rest were the usual wasters and drunkards crowded round the big screen.

          Honey decided to keep an eye on the suits.

          “You want a drink?” Jed interrupted her schemes.

          “Thought you’d never ask.” She decided to stay pissy.

          “Usual?”

          “Surprise me.”

          Jed’s brain tried to act quickly, not an easy task for him “Surprise me? What did that mean?”

          He sidled over to the bar; hoping Honey was watching, and tried to be cool. One of the crowd watching the game was in front of him at the bar, draped in his team colours. He turned quickly, knocking his tray of drinks into Jed.

          “What the f**k!”

          Beer went all over the place.

          “A*****e!”

          Glares and sneers exchanged.

          “Who you calling…?”

          “You owe me for the drinks.”
          “Like hell.”

          Testosterone levels rose, the usual pissing contest was just getting started.

          Honey saw the scuffle out of the corner of her eye, she was more interested in the suits, she’d seen the size of one of their wallets.

          She deftly manoeuvred her way past world war three, or maybe it was just a playground fight, and glided up to the suits.

          “I know somewhere a bit more choosey about who they let in.” She used her big green eyes and smile to devastating effect.

          It was that easy and she had them eating out of her hand. The four of them headed to the exit.

          The pissing contest carried on in full flow, Jed never even saw her go.

          Their eyes looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to deliver. She pulled her jacket tight, smiled and allowed them to follow.

          Was this power?

          She didn’t know, she’d never had any, but if it was, then she was going to milk it for all it was worth. That bus ticket could come faster than she’d ever dreamed.

          “What you guys doing round here? Bit off the beaten track is it not?”

          “Like to see a bit more of the places we visit.” One of them chirped, his accent was bland, possibly southern.

          “Off the beaten track is good.” Another spoke, his voice was fuller, west coast.

          Out of towners, Honey’s heart jumped at the possibilities, the dreams that could be achieved. Sunlit beaches, warmth and smiles, she could see it all, her future changing.

          The cold hard unforgiving wall dug into her back, the light was dim, the alley was damp.

          “You going to show us the local customs?” She felt a hand on her throat, another clawing at her skinny jeans.

          Her voice was lost in her throat as she tried to struggle.

          She could feel spittle splatter her face.

          She tried to close her eyes, but her big green eyes got bigger as she felt something inside.

          Tear, bite, scream, hit, kick, wail, punch, thump.

          All these things she couldn’t do.

          Not one.

          A single tear was all that came.

          Hot breath washed over her, stale beer. She wanted to gag.

          The moon was almost full, peering over the top of the alley. In other circumstances she may have considered it beautiful, but the grunting, heaving masses had destroyed anything remotely beautiful.

          After they’d gone the alley was quiet, she curled up into a ball, feeling the warmth of her body against the coldness of the ground. The sobs came slowly at first, little spasms, no sound. Nobody could hear, nobody could know.

          Honey pulled herself upright, wiped her eyes clear and fixed her clothes.

          Her jaw clenched tightly as she got to her feet and brushed herself down. Emotions started flooding in; the world became real, bombarding her, overloading her. She needed to shut them out, reality wasn’t what she wanted. Reality was scary. Reality hurt.

          Honey didn’t know where she was, or how she’d got there. She didn’t care.

          The needle in her arm brought relief, pushed reality far away. The sky was bright, faces were smiling, she felt warm. Her heart was light, there was no pain, there was no feeling at all. She was flying high above the city, the grime and dirt below, everything up here was clear, bright and sharp.

         She soared and swooped, nothing was in her way, anything seemed possible. The wind in her hair, freedom, escape. She headed for the sun.

          This was faster than the bus.

          Beep beep beep.

          All pain was left behind.

          Beep beep beep.

          No more baggage.

          Beep beep.

          Just head for the sun.

          Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

          “Clear.” The voice was sharp.

          Something grabbed her leg, pulled her back, stopped her flight.

          The sun.

          She wanted the warmth of the sun.

          She was pulled again, harder, the sun drifted away.

          Beep beep.

          She tried to fly, to soar, but she was no longer light.

          Beep beep beep.

          Things were coming fast, the city, the grime, the smell, the pain.

          Beep beep beep.

          Luck had nothing to do with it.

          “We nearly lost you.” A smile she didn’t know looked down on her.

          Her body shivered, she pulled the bedsheets tight around her, but she felt no different, her bones felt chilled to the core.

          “Things were touch and go.” The unknown smile still hovered over her “It’s a good job you’re a fighter.”

          Honey wanted to laugh, she wanted to bring everything down around her, rip it, tear it, destroy it all just with her laugh. But she couldn’t get it out. All she could do was shiver, her joints, her tendons, her bones everything screamed at her, protested vigorously. And all she could do was pull the bedsheet tight.

          “Keep fighting.” Was that a laugh from the unknown smile? Were they in on the joke?

          Was that what she was now?

          A joke?

          Smile after smile laughed at her, leered at her. Poked and prodded, smirked and sniggered. And all she could do was pull the bedsheet tight.

          Dreams were no better, faces and smiles all too real. Memories and reality pushing their way back in, no matter how hard she tried to force them away.

          It was almost easier to be awake, shivering, vomiting, cursing. Still smiles and smirks watched over her.

          It felt an age before they trusted her to be let out of bed. Short walks, always a smile nearby.

          The smiles became safety, a reassurance as slowly she grew stronger. The walks became longer, the smiles fewer.

          Old ways and habits were hard to break, a craving inside made her brave, made her break the rules.

          Old ways and habits were hard to break.

          A kind smile made her examine the mirror. The chemicals and potions, powders and gels had failed again, as she looked in the mirror it was different, but was it blonde enough?

          Honey was scared when the final day came, when the smiles were no longer there. She reached into the back pocket of her skinny jeans, her fingers lingered on a crumpled bundle of notes, might not be enough to buy the dream, but it was a start. Her fingers also found a hard edge, something different.

          She found herself looking at a photograph, a young girl stared back at her, wide smile, sparkling eyes. Somehow it reminded Honey of herself, before things had gone wrong and the world had turned bad.

          The girl’s smile was full of hope, the promise of different things; it almost lightened Honey’s heart. She stuffed the picture back in her pocket, her stride felt full, her step light. She caught sight of her reflection in the window, something she’d thought she’d forgotten how to do, spread wide across her face, a smile for all the world to see.

 

          The waves broke gently against the beach, the sky a perfect shade of blue, only broken by a flock of birds flying by in formation.

          A bus pulled up, its air brakes hissed, the sun reflected off its silver paintwork.

          People full of chatter piled off, red faces, fans and wide brimmed sun hats of indescribable shapes and sizes.

          Then last of all she came, large sunglasses, powerful confidence and the most perfect blonde hair. She strode from the bus and looked out at the sea. A flicker of a smile as she lowered the large sunglasses revealing those unmistakable big green eyes.

Author's Note

Brand new story, hope you like it

Reviews

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

I love it and have missed reading your stories.. i also remember the stage play i read and loved.. the guy who was cross dressing .. comical..
This is more like your dark tales..very sad tale of Honey.. drugs and todays society there are so many like her.. you made her real .. very good and enjoyable reading ..

Chloe
xoxo

[J. Hampton]

Alistair...

This has absolutely fab segue, drawing us directly into this dark tale.
It may be new but somehow seems so familiar...? Get together that screenplay you keep promising....you are at that level with your dialog and scene setting.Right there !!!!!

I've said before but you are the Toulouse Le'trec of short story.

Great write...seedy drama Loved it !

Blessssssssssssss

[Gary H]

Brilliant....somehow I lost reading your work and honestly I remember recommending so may to your site leaving them to revel but not returning often enough myself. The way you are able to work with a dark story and add snippets of very clever imagery or dialogue is something I'm insanely jealous of.
From the beginning 'Was her own reflection accusing her?' was the start of some great sentences. I think I would have to re-read this a couple of times to get the sense of what you have written about as I come across a line and am taken away by that to another place.
So, in answer to your question -yes, I do like it!