12 years later - Los Angeles - 1986

Phoebe’s P.O.V.

I woke up to the sounds of sirens and loud stomping. I groaned and realised that I had a massive hangover, so I tried not to move around too suddenly, and I rolled over to look at my digital clock on my bedside table; it read 1:04pm. Great, another early start to the day again, Phoebe. I slowly slunk out of bed and walked to the door of my room to see what the hell was going on. As I opened the door that looked onto the rest of my mum’s and her boyfriend’s shitty apartment, I saw in the living area 2 paramedics and my mum’s boyfriend, Ray, surrounding something on the carpet.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked groggily.

“Are you the daughter of Joan Hayden?” asked one of the paramedics.

“Yeah...”

Ray cut him off and said “Your mom’s dead, Phoebe. She O.D.'d heroin.”

I just stared at the men blankly and waited for what felt like hours until I moved over to them. I saw my mum with her unwashed hair, holey shirt that was like a nighty, with a needle and a bottle of Jack Daniels next to her left arm.

“We’re sorry for your loss...” said the other paramedic while zipping up her body bag.

“It’s no loss. She was a slag anyway. And it’s all of your fault” I said jutting my pointer and Ray, “You got her onto that shit!”

“Don’t say that!” Ray sounded like he was about to ball his eyes out.

“You’re just upset your little “fuck buddy” is dead now.” I replied coolly. I saw the paramedics give each other startled looks and they quickly scuttled out of the apartment.

“Your mother will be at Metropolitan Medical Care and you can come around to plan the funeral,” one yelled as he closed the screen door.

After a few moments of silence between me and Ray, not looking at each other, he broke the silence. 

“Well you can get your shit and get the fuck out of here! Now that your mom’s dead I don’t have to give one single fuck about you!” Ray spat.

“Yeah, well good fucking riddance... to the both of you!” I spat back and him, which took him by surprise for some reason. I had just turned on my heel but Ray grabbed my arm and pulled me back towards him.

“Well, your mom is dead now, so it can be just us” he said looking down at me. Then he quickly grabbed my shoulders before I could get out of his grip and he tried to kiss me on the mouth.

“Get off me!” I tried to push him off me but he was too strong. He pushed me up against the wall closest to my room an he began kissing down my neck.

“Ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you? Your mom and I let you stay here with us. But you know... I’m glad I said yes because who wouldn’t want such a pretty thing in their life?” he managed to say in-between kisses.

I tried not to panic and I tried to think calmly how to get out of his grip. Since my arms were just hanging by my sides and my legs could easily move, I shot one of my knees into Ray’s groin and followed through with an uppercut to his chin. Thank god it worked and he fell to the floor clutching his nuts and he must have bitten his tongue because blood started to gush out of his mouth. I ran into my room trying to ignore my throbbing head and I stripped off my shirt and chucked one of my singlets, rolled into my skinny jeans and slipped on my sandals and I began to chuck all of my possessions into a box that usually sat on top of my shitty little cupboard. I new this box would come in handy one day. It was a good thing that I wasn’t much of a girly girl because I didn’t have many clothes; Just the essentials to get my through my shitty life. After a quick skim over my room that I would probably never live in or see ever again I saw that I had not missed anything. I couldn’t be bothered to run into the bathroom to get my hairbrush or toothbrush and I ran out of the apartment and strode straight onto Sunset Boulevard.

*

You might think I’m nuts living with my mum but there was some part of me that still cared about her. We had left our home country of Australia back in the early 70s from my abusive father and we came to America because my mum wanted to be in the film industry. Somehow she had saved up money and we flew over in under 24 hours after leaving our house. Ever since that night, life has been even rougher. We lived in a place above a bar that had a leaking roof and to use the toilet, we had to use the one in the bar downstairs. My mum had put me in school and she had tried her hardest to keep me safe. During a school day, she’d go for auditions, but she never got the part for any movie. Until she met Ray when I was in 8th grade (I don’t know how they met, I don’t even care) we moved in with him. Ever night I could hear them screw each other and they’d always have “friends” over and they’d drink and do drugs with and shit. You know, I’m really surprised child protection services never came and took me away.

I dropped out of school in the 10th grade, mainly because I was over school and I had trouble fitting in. I’d sit with the bitches but they just ignored me, and every day some kid’d ask me why I had a weird accent. Somehow, I’ve been living in America for 12 years now, and I still haven’t lost my Aussie accent. Kids didn’t like me because I was a bit tougher than the rest of them. I knew how to look after myself and I didn’t need shitty grown-ups telling me what to do; “Don’t leave the school grounds at lunch time”, “don’t smoke in the toilets” “why didn’t you do your homework?”... I was over it all.

I’ve recently got a job at the bar on the strip called the Whisky A Go Go and the pay is alright. I had enough saved for a place to live and everything but my boss would ask me everyday why I lived in that shit heap with Mum and Ray and he never understood that I still sort of loved her and I had to look after her. She’d go days without showering or eating because she’d be so drugged out or hung-over. I reckon it was for the best that she finally overdosed, but I wonder if she still cared about me towards the end of her life. I had turned 20 a few months ago, but I think she might not have given a fuck about me since I turned 11 or something.

*

After a while of walking along the strip with my box of belongings under my arm, I finally reached the Whisky and walked in. My boss, Bruce, was cleaning the bar.

“Hey Phoebe. You know you don’t have to come in till Friday night, right?”

I placed my box on one of the tables and suddenly collapsed in a fit of tears.

Hey guys, what do you think of my story so far?? I’ll be bringing in GN’R soon, don’t worry ;)

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