missncthing - Tumblr blog

missncthing · 5 years ago

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Salome was a lot of things; a drug dealer by common knowledge, a drug user by common sense, and to those who knew her, a hurricane in human form. Wren had said once, when they were sixteen, after they’d smoked a bowl and had way too much to drink, that she’d always seen her as a cat. “Think of it, Salem,” she’d said sleepily, her head resting on her best friend’s shoulder, “you’re like a stray cat. You leave constantly, return with no warning for supplies and affection, and you leave again.” In truth, Salome had never thought of it like that. Benjamin had christened her with the nickname Salem, due to the fact she’d always yank out a smushed package of Salem Lites she’d nicked from her mother or older sister depending on the week, and she was more of a witch with a b, had often called her kitten, much to her disgruntlement. She suspected that, maybe, he, too, agreed with Wren’s assumption, but had never bothered to ask, promptly forgetting it entirely before falling asleep in Wren’s basement. Salome had never found anything wrong with not being tied down, and really, she never thought of it. She had people, but nothing really struck a nerve quite like Maddie had.

In long story short form, Maddie was Freddie’s daughter. Freddie, who had been Cassandra’s friend in a long line of friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, had become Hollis’s friend, due to the fact that somewhere along the line, Cassandra and Hollis became a packaged pair, no single piece purchase allowed, had involved Salome, because at one time, the Cauldwell sisters had been a packaged set, too. Salome, who always vowed she detested children, found out that that had been a lie, and not one she’d been willing to admit to. Mariella, she claimed, was the only exception. I mean, who in the hell could hate Mariella? But when Hollis all but forced Salome to watch Maddie, Salome understood the phrase ‘love at first sight’, because Maddie had become the apple of her eye just like that. Soon, somehow, life involved helping out Freddie and babysitting Maddie, and soon, Maddie was as much as a friend as any eighteen year old could have with a four year old. Maddie was smart enough, at least, smarter than most of the people Salome knew (which spoke volumes about modern America), and she always just said things that could strike a philosophical nerve, even if the four year old didn’t realize it.

When Maddie had asked her the question, Salome had been putting up the act of doing school work and had been alarmed and slightly perplexed. “Who do you belong to?” It was five simple words, all meaningless, really, yet somehow, Salome found her lip between her teeth, chewing on them in absentminded reflection. She could see Kate easily replying with her mother, or her and Wren, or maybe both, and maybe if the day was right, she’d throw in Jayden. She could see Wren, tiny and brash, haughtily turning her nose in the air and declaring, proudly, that she belonged to no one but herself; ever the independent, despite everyone knowing it was a lie. Wren, much to Salome’s envy, was the type of person who didn’t need to belong to anyone. She was the type who always seemingly had someone, or everyone, unlike her and Kate. Salome, however, had spent a lot of time trying not to belong to anyone, especially her parents - especially her father! She had driven herself for independence at a young age, sneaking out alone by the time she was eight, and illegally selling candy at exuberant prices on the playground by the time she could go to the corner mart and get them for the cheap. She had always tried to be someone who could walk alone, be alone and leave on a whim before they left her.

In truth, Salome belonged to a lot of people, but often found herself wondering if they belonged to her. Hollis had Cassandra, and Cassandra had Hollis and Mariella; Mariella would have Cassandra and Hollis, probably forgetting her as time passed beyond mere fluke flashes of blonde hair and sharp teeth, reminding Salome that eventually, everyone leaves. Kate had a loyal mother, Wren and a new budding relationship thanks to Wren; and as for Wren, she was independent as well as stubborn, and in times of distress, she always felt Kate had been the more sensitive option. No one really needed Salome; at least, not in the way she needed them.

She was always second; second born, second best, the third wheel of her best friendship and second option, and she was always forgotten. She was like a shadow, flashing in peoples’ lives, unnoticed and unacknowledged, as if she didn’t exist. And sometimes (most often, really) she wished she didn’t. Maybe that was the saddest of all her truths: she wished, with her whole heart, for as long as she could remember when the walls would shake and her father’s anger knew no bounds, that her mother had just been rid of her. If she didn’t exist, everything would be easier for Hollis, her friends - life without Salome just seemed so much better in her mind’s eye.

With that, she’d sighed, shrugging, “I don’t know.” Three words, as meaningless as Maddie’s five. They were the truth and Maddie had looked at her with wide eyed confusion and wonder, because for Maddie, she was her daddy’s, and didn’t Salome have a mommy and daddy? With that, the four year old’s shoulders seemed to square and she said, “Then you’re mine.” And with that, the little girl had handed Salome a doll, demanding in that four year old way, that her hair needed detangling, unaware of that squeeze in Salome’s heart or that she had felt the urge to cry and fought it by detangling the doll’s hair with care.

And that was the emotion she used for this art piece that day she sat in the art studio, a cigarette hanging from her lips - even though such things were strictly forbidden and could have her banned if caught - and spray paint few every which way. Normally, she’d be outside, but with the rain it was impossible, and when inspiration struck, Salome wasn’t one to exactly fight it. Most people (most being her sister and the police, but what was the difference besides a professional title?) saw graffiti as destructive. It wasn’t art! Art was an expensive Monet or sitting in Paris, sketching old building! But for Salome, destruction had always been expression - as had rule breaking. So when Harley Salgado, her enemy, as well as the friend of all her friends’, wandered in, Salome proceeded to pretend the girl didn’t exist. Dropping the cigarette into her water bottle, the room hung heavy with aerosol fumes and smoke, a nasty combination, as well as flammable, but Salome had never been one to think of safety or caution. Stepping back and inspecting her work, she shook her head, spraying more, the music she had loud and eardrum-shattering, that when she finally turned to Salgado she raised an eyebrow. “What?” Salome shouted back, not bothering to reach for the volume. “I can’t hear you!”

#p: 001;;

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