Just...Jump (Open)

Lexi was laying in the middle of the bridge. Well, a street that went across the bridge but a street. Why? Because she was.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she had ended up here, if she was going to be entirely truthful. It happened a lot though. She knew it was dark out, which was the usual state of things anyway with the vampires ruling the world but at least that meant she hadn’t lost too much time. Or she had missed a whole of a lot if it had been over a day or something like that.

It was seriously normal for her to lose time though, with her habits. She was often high to the point that she had spaced in her memory, or drunk to the point that she was blackout drunk. A good chunk of Lexi’s life, she couldn’t tell you what she had done during it. She had been too far gone over the edge into whatever she had been lost to. But that was the way that she liked to function. Too spaced out to pay too much attention to anything at all.

It meant she didn’t have to think, she didn’t have to remember anything. She could forget about it all and simply live. If she was the suicidal type she would have already gone over that particular edge. But at this point in time, she liked living too much to end it all. She had decided she actually wanted to live, which was, you know, a basic human reaction especially in the time period that she was currently living in. Absently the girl reached up to tug at the collar that was sewn around her neck and the little metal disc that hung from it. Unclaimed, but that was nothing new. Who really wanted a little nutcase like her? Exactly.

But here she was, alive but usually high out of her mind, and she had absolutely no idea where she was. Not that that wasn’t normal, Lexi didn’t know the names of most of the people that she apparently kept in her life or the places that she was.

Absently she thought that her hair, electric blue as always, was likely getting dirty by her laying here on the street. And that she should move before she got hit by a car. And yet, she had no inclination to get up or move, she simply kept laying there with no sort of motivation. This could likely be mostly attributed to the fact that she was sober. That’s right, the habitually spaced out human druggie was actually high for once.

And fucking pissed off about it too if she was going to be honest.

However, she also did not give enough of a fuck to get up and go get herself something to remedy that, because that would involve moving and at this time, she was quite happy to lay in the middle of the goddamn street. Who knew why. She was the sort that got pissed off easily and did things just to fuck with the world when she was sober. She hated being fucking sober.

She reached over to fish around in her oversized green army jacket—she had been sober when she had dressed herself so she was in one of her normal outfits of baggy and torn up jeans and a lose teeshirt, along with converse and the jacket rather than a teeny tiny skirt and way huge heels—until she pulled out a battered box of cigs and grinned for the first time since she had woken up from what she thought was likely a drunken stupor being that she had entirely blacked out what had happened, rather than just finding it to be haze in the back of her mind.

She pulled out a cig and propped it in between her lips as she dug around once more to find her lighter. Please, she remembered she had stuffed the fucking thing in her pockets. Please let her have not lost it while she had been off getting drunk off her ass.

Absently her own behavior reminded her of her father and she winced. Well fuck. She scowled and pushed the thought down, instead resumed rummaging around in her pockets until she felt them close around a slick surface. A few clicks of her find had her suddenly with fire and then she was inhaling poison into her lungs.

It always took the edge off, to smoke. If she wasn’t going to go off and get herself lost again in the feeling of a high, then she had to at least have a drag from a cig or two. In the middle of the bridge. On a street. She yawned and then pushed herself to sit, and then to stand. She stretched and took another drag of her cig. The bridge was mostly abandoned. And she went over to the edge and saw, well, it was pretty damn high. Using one of the bars, she pulled herself up until she was standing on the baracade.

Looking down, it was a far drop. She dropped a stone and watched it keeping going down, and down, and down until it hit the water below. She took another drag and blew the smoke out of her nose. And nearly fell forward into the water but she caught herself.

It was such a long drop, but she knew all about long drops. She watched it with detatched green eyes. She had droped so far in her life, to the point that right now she was pissed she was sober. Because…

Smoking, just like yer Ma, ain’cha. Jeez, bitch you’re only 13, slow down you little slut The voice came, suddenly and she held her head, nearly teetering one way, to the water, and then to the other, the hard concrete. Her father. So long, she’d gone so long shutting out the memories. How long had it been since she was sober? Since she could think?

”Shut up, ye bastard” she muttered, taking another drag of the cig and blowing out the smoke, looking down at the water. ”I’m the one that survived”. And whose fault is that? You don’t even know where your cousin is. That was her own voice, her own thoughts, traitors. She couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand feeling. She needed a high! Or a drink. A drink sounded damn good. Wasn’t her cig supposed to de-stress her?

Feck.

Maybe she should just jump?

At least that'd be an adventure.

Words: 1096
Muse: Good
Comments: HAHAAAA she's sober. Poor bitch.