sweetsalome | on_thecouch 5.3 Sex, Drugs, & Alcohol.

Salome tries to behave, she really does. It’s as if she’s sworn off all vices in order to make up for that one sin that she can’t really seem to get rid of. She doesn’t swear, doesn’t smoke, she doesn’t go out and destroy property or steal cars. There is the occasional day off of school, when it just seems too impossible to go and not hate herself. There are a lot of kids, high school kids, kids her age, that are horrible little shits compared to her, and she knows it. She uses it to her advantage, because over the years she’s learned very quickly that you can catch more flies with honey then with vinegar. No matter how bad ass you think you are.

So when she indulges in her few vices, she thinks that it’s justifiable. She could be doing some pretty horrible things, horrible things people might not even blame her for once they knew what was going on at home.

Drinking is one of the things she indulges in more then she should. Oh Lord, she tries not to, really, really tries not to, but there is just something so sweet about getting completely wasted and forgetting about what’s going on. When she can’t pretend any more, when it hurts to sit up, or lay on her back, the call of the bottle is impossible to resist. It’s not like it’s forbidden in the Collin house hold, on the contrary, her father wakes up with a drink in his hand. A glass of wine at dinner was acceptable when she was fourteen, and the only thing that got her through his string of take home girlfriends was Mickey the bartender slipping rum into her coke.

She hates herself for doing in through, she hates that she has a favorite drink, and that she knows how wonderful vodka and Xanax call feel if mixed correctly. Sometimes though, when she can’t put up the front any more, it’s really nice to let go.

Besides the occasional Xanax and the doctor prescribed pain relievers, Salome doesn’t do drugs. She distinctly remembers the one time someone was caught bringing drugs into the house.

Dad was dating a dancer named Joy, a professional dancer that was actually a stripper with wide green eyes that made her look like she was always just discovering things. Dark red hair and obviously fake tits, Salome could tell a fake boob job a mile away, you get to notice these things after awhile. She always walked around in a short little silk robe, as if she was perpetually getting out of the pool or the shower, despite her hair never being wet.

In spite of the robe, and the tits and the stripper thing, she really was very sweet. Salome liked her because Joy made the best pancakes, and in the morning they would sit together and have pancakes as they watched cartoons. As whores went, Joy was pretty nice.

Some people think that just because you are morally lax on some things, you are lax on all things. This would be incorrect. Dad hated drugs, Salome never figured out why, but she knew his policy on them. If she ever did them and he found out, he’d kill her. Not in the typical, teenage, ‘dude, my dad is going to kill me,’ type way. More like the, ‘I’m going to beat you to death and then drop your body in the ocean’ type way.

That night she was sitting in the living room, watching a movie when she heard her father call to her from the bathroom upstairs. He did not sound pleased. When she walked in to the massive, Italian marble bathroom, she stopped dead. Clothes and make up were thrown all over the room, the shower was running, even though no one was currently occupying it.

He had Joy by the hair, wet, dripping, blood red tendrils clutched between his fingers, falling down the sides of the woman’s face. She was on her knees, breathing, crying, it was hard to tell over the sound of pounding water. Whatever struggle had taken place, it was now over, and the man standing was victorious. Everyone knows that after every fight, the loser must be punished.

The crime was bringing in a baggie of coke after a trip back to the main land, the punishment was to be witnessed by all who could in order to serve as a reminder to those who dare disobey. Once the crowd was assembled (in this case, it was the tiny blond only) he set out the mirror with the lines of coke on them down on the floor. He told her to take it, hand still holding her by the hair, his voice hard, but calm. Joy’s brief refusal was ended when he forced her head down, inches away from the mirror.

“Addiction is a weakness, never, ever become weak.”

He smashed her face into the mirror, into the marble. The mirror cracked, and so did her face, but the marble stayed firm. Over, and over, he brought her head down on the floor, the crunch was giving way to more of a wet, mushing sound as cartilage and bone gave way to tissue and flesh.

Salome has never, ever done drugs, but sometimes, it’s hard not to drink.

Sex isn’t an addiction to her, but she needs it, she wants it, she craves it, and once it’s in her head, it’s nearly impossible to get out. It’s that closeness, the fake openness that it allows her to experience with other people. It’s how you show someone you love them; how you show them you care. That’s how she’s been taught. Of course you can’t love everyone, and according to her father, she can’t love anyone but him. Her kisses and her hugs are reserved for him, unless he states other wise, unless it benefits him, unless he can watch. Sometimes, it hurts to fake love people, but she does it, because that’s what a good girl does.

Dad loves everyone though; he has no problem showing his love or his hate toward anyone around him. He takes anyone he wants to bed, and he casts out anyone he despises at that moment. Sometimes, it is very hard to be loved by him, and sometimes it’s even worse to be hated.

Despite the way she has been taught to use her body, it’s not something she uses to get what she wants. Usually it’s her smile, or her innocence that she finds works the best. Any whore can throw around their body to get what they want; it’s something different to be able to use just your personality. Unfortunately, that’s not what interests her father, and so that’s why it’s sometimes hard not to drink.

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