Jules

“You see, freedom has a way of destroying things.” - Scott Westerfeld

Jules

I've been sitting here in this dark, stinking room for over an hour now. Mum's left her f*g just smouldering on the lounge room floor and I can feel my throat constricting, trying to defend itself from the second-hand smoke. I hate being here alone with Brenny. I always think one of Mum's toy boys are going to pound down the door and flog all our gear.

It's been like this for so long that I just can't hack it anymore. As soon as Dad shot through, Mum had Brenny and lumped him in my care. She wanted to release herself from the burden of two illegitimate kids, I guess. I thought I'd be enough of a bugger-up but no, she had to shoot out another screaming morsel. I suppose contraception wasn't high on her list of priorities.

Brenny wasn't just a baby though. To Mum he was an object. A mere thing she could pick up and nest when she felt a little maternal and then toss in his crib when she wanted a break. Too bad I had to be born with something of a beating heart to care what happened to my kid brother. There was something wrong when I knew how to change nappies at thirteen years old, when I caressed his bald little head every night while my mother lay on the couch smashed to oblivion and when my voice stirred joy in his pathetic little body and Mum's voice only made him scream.

Three years on and I can't say things are better.

I still find myself sitting home alone at nights while some resemblance of my mother gallivants around the neighbourhood. I don't remember signing up to be my own carer, let alone the carer of my little brother. I still remember the look from my teacher when we had to discuss our parents' jobs in class. Problem child number one; father MIA and mother who works at a seedy bar. I always thought that was okay. Mr Tully pulled me aside after that class and asked me if things at home were all right. I'd nodded, 'Mum goes out to play at night but that's okay because I can tuck myself into bed. I'm a big girl.'

I was seven.

Things were never like this. Things used to be normal.

'Brenny, go to sleep!' I can hear him singing and it frustrates me.

'Go to sleep!' he mimics.

I can't be stuffed with his antics. So what if he doesn't sleep? No skin off my nose.

I pull out a dozen bottles of beer from the fridge before I can see the coke. The fridge stinks. There's a bunch of fruit in there that's black as death but I wouldn't touch it if my life depended on it. I'm feeling brutal so I smash some of the beer bottles in the mushy fruit and toss them messily back on the shelf. My blood boils when I realise Mum wouldn't give a tossed tuna if the bottles were smeared in cow pats. She'd drink it rancid if she had to.

I make sure the curtains are all pulled across tight. It's too often I see some old fart lurking around out on the streets, sticking his nose in our business, desperate to see the disgrace of a situation we live in. The people around this place are nosy as hell. They can't just keep to themselves. We had a lady from next door come over when Mum and I were screaming at each other. It was past midnight and she was in her dressing gown looking mighty annoyed. She threatened to call the cops if we didn't shut up.

We didn't shut up and the cops never came. All talk, these people.

I swipe my hand over the couch when I see how filthy it is. Bits of ash, biscuit crumbs, beer stains, dirty tissues, crusty toenail clippings. I dust it all onto the floor and sit. I hate the smell of this place. I hate the look of it.

Brenny's finally fallen silent and I wonder what to do. I'm not tired so there's no point trying to sleep. I flick the TV on but all that comes on is a snowy picture and white noise. I slam my shoe right into the side of the old box and the whole thing nearly crashes to the floor. The TV picture flickers for a minute and then coils away to black. I slam my fist down onto the top of it; not because I'm angry, but because sometimes a girl just needs to hit something. Sometimes she just needs to hit something so damn hard that her fist bleeds.

The front door crashes open but I don't even flinch. I'm too used to that happening so any reaction it once caused has slowly disappeared.

Mum's top is slipping down her shoulder and a man's arms are draped around her neck. She's laughing like a hyena, obviously from smoking something heavy. I watch them as they don't even notice me. I used to think Mum was beautiful; her smile sucked you in and her eyes danced when she enjoyed someone's presence. She could lighten your life with her melodic voice.

She's aged tenfold. Too much beer and too many smokes. The man she's with this time has greying hair and a sickly pale face. The smell of him almost makes me dry reach.

'Julesy, go to bed, babe.' Mum notices me and waves me toward the bedrooms.

'Not a chance,' I snap and push past them out the front door.

There's no way in hell I'm sticking around while they get up to God knows what. I think of Brenny; he'll be fine, he sleeps through anything.

The air is cool but I'm not about to go back to the house to get a jumper. I know I should be scared of being out this late and having a guy jump me, but I don't care. I'm not afraid of keeping my own. One touch and my shoe will be buried deep within his face.

I head towards the city. It's not really within walking distance but I know I can't exactly go home any time soon. I start to run. It sends me into a spin. I love the sound of my feet pounding on the pavement, the wind rippling through my hair, my eyes watering from the cold and my lungs filling to capacity with new energy. I pick up the pace and keep running until I can't feel my legs anymore; they're suddenly no longer a part of me and I revel in this feeling. I lose myself in it. I run and run until my feet begin to callous.

My body aches.

My heart pounds.

I reach the city and stop. I'm bloody boiling but I feel so alive I want to laugh.

My hair falls around my face in sweaty tendrils and I stand in the street gasping for air. It hurts so much trying to breathe and I realise this is what it must be like to approach death. I lie down on the pavement by a bus shelter and flatten myself into the cold ground. My body prickles as the chill rises within me and I squeeze my eyes. I can see stars. I must be drifting off. I can feel myself pulling away from my body and I soon feel like I'm floating. Am I going up? Or down?

My fingers curl and scrape on the pavement. My chest tightens with every painful breath and I feel numb. Is this it? Is that all?

I open my eyes.

I'm alive.

I'm still bloody alive.