I take a long drag of my cigarette, hacking and coughing at the poor-quality brand I can scarcely afford. My pale blue eyelids shut as my lungs try to wrench out of my body, slowly opening back up and revealing amber eyes that have seen too much pain for such a short lifetime.

“Fucking cheap ass smokes…but what else can I fucking hope for on a shit job that barely makes enough to cover this goddamn crap apartment?”

I tap the ash off the tip before turning around, observing the crap-hole I call home. Pizza Time boxes are strewn across every visible surface, dishes stacked up in the sink or shattered to pieces in piles near the walls—I wasn’t proud of it, but whenever I lost my shit or a terrible memory came back to haunt me, the dishes fell victim to my rage. Several dents mark the walls, imprints of my fist almost making a mural of misery with faint stains of long since dried blood in the cracks. There’s a hardly recognizable brown couch covered in claw marks with stuffing poking out of the holes and what can only generously be called a blanket and a flat pillow on top. The carpet, if you can call it one, is stained with alcohol with bottles strewn across the floor…cheap booze being the only other vice I can afford. The kitchen is a mess, with utensils and pizza crusts spread across the counters. The only thing not in ruin is my microwave, the one appliance I care to keep clean so I can have my dino nuggies, the last food that can calm me down and dull the ache in my chest.

I sigh with frustration as I draw the last bit of the cigarette’s life into my lungs before holding the butt in my fingers. With a scowl on my face, I drive the butt into my bicep, wincing as the searing pain of fire on flesh burns another wound into my arm. It hurts—a lot—but to be honest, I sometimes need to feel something other than apathy. Something more than the near-perpetual state of misery I find myself in, day in and day out. Playing shitty gigs at Pizza Time to an audience of nearly no one, and the few who do show up rarely ever look at us let alone care. But it pays the bills, it keeps me alive, and that’s all I can hope for these days.

As the now cool cigarette butt falls from my fingers and adds itself to the ever-growing pile on my floor, I think back to that day on the beach. The day where everything I’d ever hoped for died, where my dreams fell apart as cold reality smashed into me like a ton of bricks. The person I thought loved me more than anything tore into me, insulting my being and crushing my spirit, leaving me in ruin. I had no one to turn to—I had backed him up against my friends and broke off with them. My family? I can barely talk to them these days. Not since I left home one day with hardly a goodbye as they stood in the doorway confused and scared, my mother breaking apart and my father shouting at me to come back. My brother just stood there, unable to speak, him being the only one I talked to about that night. God, that night…why did it have to go so wrong?

****************

I slammed open the door to my house, tears streaking down my cheeks, orange eyeliner slicking into a horrendous mess smeared across my face from my vain attempts at stopping the flow as I had stomped my way home.

“Lucy? What’s wrong?” My petite mother called out to me as she stood from her seat.

I looked over at her, my lips trembling and my eyes full of tears before shouting, “I don’t want to talk about it, Mom! Just…just leave me alone!” I felt bad yelling at her, but everything inside hurt far worse than that. She said nothing as she covered her mouth with her hand before slowly seating herself back down as I started up the stairs.

“Don’t you yell at your mother like that! Show some respect!” My titanic beast of a father growled as he pointed at me in anger.

I flicked my eyes toward him, now full of fury capable of burning through his soul as I glared at him. “Shut the hell up, Dad!” I screeched as I stomped a boot into the stairs. “I don’t fucking have time for this. You can fucking yell at me later about how shit a daughter I am to you, but right now all I want is to be alone!” I punctuated the last word with a solid punch to the wall, blood trickling down the side of my palm.

He said nothing, only staring back at me in disbelief, disappointment in his eyes as he looked away. I said nothing else as I spun back around and continued up the steps, pushing open my door before slamming it shut, all of my anger and hate drying up as I staggered across the room to my bed before collapsing onto the sheets. Gripping my pillow tightly in my injured palm, I bawled my eyes out, the words Anon said coming back in full force as I’m pulled into the memory.

“You’re a girl with daddy issues and you use those fucking pronouns just to get attention.” He staggers in place, alcohol having fully taken control.

“How could you say that? This is who I am!” My fists clench tight as I stare in disbelief. How can he talk to me like this? I thought he loved me!

“I’m fucking surprised I was able to put up with this shit for as long as I did.” He belches, the thick scent of alcohol filling the air. “All the time trying not to offend you by dropping a ‘she’ on accident or fucking whatever. You’re definitely fucking mentally ill or some shit.” His words pour out in a slurred mess as he stumbles around, pointing at me.

“I’m not mentally ill, I’m fucking non-binary! I thought you accepted that about me! Was everything we had a fucking lie this whole time, while you tried to ‘fix’ me for Naomi?! What even was I to you?” I glare at him with all my hatred, but even now, my heart is breaking. No, please don’t let this be real, you are everything I have left….

“Are you supposed to be a boy, a girl, or what? Do you even fucking know what you are?! Or are you just a fucking schizo!?” He points directly at my chest as he says those last words.

My mind is sent spinning—everything I thought we had together shattered in an instant of drunken rage. I shove him as hard as I can, sending him spiraling out into the water. He barely even tries to get up as I walk away before I turn back one last time.

“Anon. Trish was right about you…” With that, I cover myself with my wings and run back home.

Fresh tears streamed down my face as I sobbed into my pillow, tearing small holes into it with my claws as I broke down. Everything hurt so much, and I couldn’t stop the pain. My wings were shaking uncontrollably, a few feathers falling loose and drifting to the floor. My heart was in pieces—my life and my dreams in ruin. What did I even have left? No friends, I just screamed at my parents, and the one person I loved just shit all over my entire being.

“What the fuck am I going to do? What is even left?” I asked no one…I was alone, so very alone. As I continued to sob, curling up into a ball as my body shakes with every racking cry, I heard a knock at my door.

“What do you want!? Can’t you hear me in here?! Why would you try to talk to me right now?!” I shouted toward the door, glaring at whichever one of my family decided that was a good idea. But my words did not deter them, and the door slowly opened, revealing Naser. He was still in his prom outfit, his wings poking out the back as he turned his orange eyes to mine, a crown lazily hanging off of his orange crest which he took off as he entered the room, setting it on my dresser.

“What do you want, Naser? Come to fuck something else up for me?” I scowled at him through my tears, teeth feeling like they would crack from the pressure of gritting them so hard.

He shook his head calmly before approaching me, sitting beside me on the bed just staring into my eyes. I wanted to be angry at him, but as he looked at me wordlessly, every wall I had built fell apart as I embraced him, sobbing into his shoulder. He gently put his arms around me just under my wings saying nothing and just letting me cry, swaying me softly side to side. For a few minutes that’s all we did. I cried my heart out and he held me, never once trying to get a word out, only being there for me. Eventually I am able stop, sniffling as I pull back from him.

“I’m sorry, Naser. Everything is fucked. I broke up with Anon. He…he…oh god, Naser, he fucking destroyed me! The things he said, all of it fucking cruel. I thought he loved me!” A fresh wave of tears started to push from me as I rubbed my eyes. I felt Naser’s hand touch my shoulder.

“Tell me everything, Fang. I’ve fucked up a lot but right now, I am here for you and no one else.” He gazed into my eyes with palpable sympathy, waiting for me to speak.

Taking a deep breath, I told him everything that happened on the beach. The drinking and the fireworks that were fun at first but when Anon got drunk enough, he told me everything he was thinking. I left not a single word out and with every sentence, I saw Naser’s face contort into anger before quietly shifting back to sympathy. I could tell he was pissed but at that moment it didn’t seem to matter. He was here for me and me alone.

“I’m so sorry, Fang. You don’t deserve to be talked to like that, especially by someone you cared about so much.” He pulled me into a hug as I put my arms around his back.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Naser. It was supposed to be me and him against the world, with us doing whatever and now…now I’m alone. All my friends hate me, I fucking cut them off from me thinking Anon was all I needed but look how that fucking turned out!” I pulled out of the hug while my wings flared out behind me, bristling at the edges. “I now have no friends, our parents probably fucking hate me, and I have nothing to look forward to! My music plans? Fucking dead. My band? It’s fucking over. My love? Gone!” I slapped my hands down on my legs before my arms went limp. “Everything is in ruins.”

Naser sighed and shook his head. “Our parents don’t hate you, Fang, and I don’t either. You just had possibly the shittiest breakup nearly anyone has ever had. I’ll explain it to them. You take some time to yourself, you need it.”

I nodded slowly while crossing my arms across my chest. “Thank you, Naser, but…for now, please I just want to be alone. Please…”

He nods solemnly. “Alright, Fang, I’ll talk to you later.” He patted me on the shoulder before getting up and walking away, gently shutting my door.

 After he left, I curled back up into a ball, sobbing quietly to myself. I didn’t know what to do with my life. What exactly did I have left to push for? All my dreams had been broken in one night on a beach in anger and the pieces were slipping through my fingers. I’d have to start over completely. There was nothing left for me in the life I had dreamt of. All that remained was a gaping hole where my heart used to be. As the hours sped by, I made up my mind. I would finish high school but after that, I’d be on my own. I’d make a new life for myself.

After that night I had settled on a plan, moving out and being on my own. Not giving a single fuck about anything and just living. It was only a few weeks after graduation that I packed a suitcase with my clothes, my guitar in hand and my bass on my shoulder. I stood in front of my parents and said that I was leaving while offering no explanation. My mom had pleaded with me to say more, but even as she tugged on my arm all I did was look at her with empty eyes. I think that hurt her the most. I must have looked dead to her—inside, I certainly was. She let me go and my dad kept asking questions and yelling while I ignored him completely. Naser looked at me, knowingly, but still with sadness in his eyes. I glanced at him with a mournful frown. I didn’t want to hurt any of them, but I couldn’t stay. I needed a new start.

**************

I scoff as I kick a pizza box across the room. Fat lot of good that new start did me. In the end, I’m living in this shit apartment with barely enough money to keep me fed and every weeknight the same thing. I go down to Pizza Time and play all night to a crowd that doesn’t care and then come home, punch my wall, and go to sleep. My weekends aren’t any better, mostly just me trying to feel less like shit through whatever drink I scored that week. Sighing as I rub my temples, trying to ease the headache the memories bring, I pick up a half-empty beer off my dingy coffee table and drink the rest down in one swig before smashing it in the trash can and slumping off to my bathroom.

Clicking on the dim light, I examine myself in the mirror. I am a mess. My wings are tattered remnants of their once former beauty, half full of the feathers they should be if I could just stop plucking them off when I’m bored. My pale blue body is gaunt and ragged; my poor diet has done a number on me. My once long hair is shaved down to the scalp, stubble the only reminder of the flowing silver strands that once graced my shoulders. There are permanent bags under my eyes, with my dark heavy eyeshadow dimming irises normally a brilliant amber color. Tattoos cover my arms, the top of both hands, and shoulders—accompanied by cigarette burns. At the end of my beak, my lips are covered in black lipstick, and a necklace hangs from my neck: multicolored gems with one purple one in the center. My clothes are a ragged black tank top and loose jeans that I wash maybe once every couple of days when I have a few quarters to spare. All in all, a pitiful sight.

I grimace as I take in the sight of myself. I could care about my health, but why the fuck would I? Not like there is anything out there worth my time. My band is the only thing I slightly take seriously, and the reason at least for that being that I don’t want to be homeless in Skin Row. That is basically a death sentence out here. If you are on the streets for more than a week, they’ll find you with a knife in your back and your clothes on…if you are lucky. It’s been four long years since shit fell apart and not a fucking thing has fallen into place since. I am surviving and that was it.

The only person from my past who kept in contact with me is my brother. My parents call, sure, but that is mostly to make sure I’m not dead. I give them that little, at least—to answer and let them know that yeah, I’m still breathing today if only just. But Naser, he calls every week to check up on me. To ask me how my life is going and if any prospects are panning out. Not that any ever are, but he is one of the few people I enjoy talking to. Funny that we have a better relationship now than we had at the end of school…not that I ever see him since he’s in college and I never go home. But it’s better than being completely alone.

Alone. The word stuck in my brain. Every now and then, I’d wonder what hole Anon fell into. As much as I want to completely forget him, I don’t think I ever can. It never made any sense what happened that night. What the fuck caused him to say all that shit? Nothing we had done showed any of that before. Still, he was a prick for saying all that shit to me. The thought of him causes bile to rise in my throat but even then, there is a glimmer in my heart of what we had been together. It was the only time I had really been happy. To have it all pointlessly destroyed in one night was more than I could take.

“Fuck him,” I say with spite as I shove myself back from the counter. “He never once came back to apologize, never once tried to make things right. He just disappeared afterward and dropped out of school. Who knows where he fucking is now? If he’s even alive. Not that I fucking care.”

I turn away but stop in my tracks. Looking down at the floor, I feel a flutter in my chest. How can there even be a piece of me that still gives a shit? Though I suppose I still feel bad about the concert to this day. He got knocked the hell out and I didn’t lift a finger till after the show to drag him out of there. Maybe we are both pieces of shit, but that still doesn’t excuse what he said to me.

Growling, I stroll back into the living room and stare at the guitar case that has been gathering dust in the corner. I haven’t picked it up since I moved, but I couldn’t find it in myself to leave it behind. I stare at it as the thoughts of us in my bedroom drift into my mind. Him listening to my song and telling me it was beautiful, teaching him how to play, and how he had stood up for me to play guitar in my band. Now it’s just a sour memory of time lost, back when I believed he fucking cared. I give it one last look before reaching for my bass and slinging it over my shoulder.

Taking a seat on my ragged couch while plugging in a small amp, I check the tuning before playing. It probably pisses off my neighbors to no end but not that I care. The landlord doesn’t give two shits about noise complaints and rarely bothers to ever fix anything that breaks so there is no chance my ass is going to get kicked out for jamming out in my home. I strum the strings with my pick, heavy notes shaking my body as I push the stress out into song. My voice is tired and hoarse but still has a glimmer of beauty to it as I play to an audience of myself. Another weekend ending, nothing new for me, and tomorrow I’d be playing yet again for a place that scarcely has a couple dozen customers to its name. It didn’t matter, though, as a paycheck is a paycheck and I have bills to pay.

I play for a little over an hour before setting my bass back in its case. Cracking my neck and stretching my tattered wings, I kick off my boots and pull the ratty blanket over my body. I don’t have much hope for my life beyond this, day-after-day until the day I die, but I can’t help but hope anyway. For something to change, anything to get better, and my life to not be just one apathetic day after another. Who knows? Maybe life still has something left in it for me…whatever the fuck it might be. Turning my head to the side, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. Another day done, a million more to go.