Tate & Low's story.
I'm loud, I'm proud, and I like to bust balls in my spare time. At least, that's what
Low Parker would do. But, she is just a mask, one that I have perfected over years of
running. I am Willow Knoxx. Master of deception, secrets, and lies. I am the girl your
mother told you to stay away from, and the girl your father fantasized about. I have
been running for years, always looking over my shoulder. Now, the mask that I have
perfected is about to disappear, and everything I have done to keep myself hidden is
about to be revealed.
The minute the door slammed, I was on my feet. Taking three more large gulps of
the poison in a bottle, I held back the gag before gripping the neck of the bottle tight
and throwing it against the nearest hard surface. Fragments of glass splintered and
shattered across the carpeted floor like a blanket of glittering confetti. I laughed
sarcastically. Welcome to the real world: where girls drank malt whiskey, where
liars and cheaters were rife, and where your life is held in the hands of a single text
message.
Welcome to my hell.
I stared at the glass fragments on the floor, watching as they glistened with moisture
from the remaining whiskey. I looked around the quiet house, the one my mother
and I had never really turned into a home, knowing full well that we’d eventually
have to leave.
There were no picture frames housing family photos, there were no handmade
ornaments from her little girl. There was nothing, nothing to say we had been here
for six years. There were no memories here, only the ones that haunted us in the
darkness of the night.
With the thought weighing heavy on my mind, I dived into the cabinet of alcohol,
coming across my old friend. Jack Daniel’s.
“Hello, motherfucker. It’s been a while,” I taunted the bottle, watching as the amber
liquid sloshed around the bottom of the bottle.
Ripping off the cap, I sucked in a mouth full of the foul tasting shit, hissing as I
gulped back the vomit that was quickly rising up my throat. I took another large
gulp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I ventured up the staircase on
shaky legs. The alcohol already had me buzzed, but I didn’t want buzzed. I wanted
completely fucking annihilated, inebriated, and comatose. It was the only way to get
rid of the rising guilt.
After negotiating the staircase, I stumbled across the hallway, making my way to my
childhood bedroom. I laughed at the thought, not so much a childhood when you’re
on the run from it. I slumped my body against the door, turning the handle with one
hand, bringing Jack to my lips as I did. I stumbled into the room with a loud thud,
Jack almost slipping through my fingers.
“Slippery little fucker tonight, aren’t you, Jack?”
I winced. This was when Willow came out of her shell, alone and... pretty damn
wasted. I didn’t want to be her. I wanted so desperately to be Low Parker, not who I
was. The text message I received had sparked this, the need inside me just to break
lose, to remember why I turned into Low. I hated Willow; she was nothing more
than a poisonous memory, a part of the past that was now creeping up and tainting
everything within its path.
S.K. Hartley is a mother, wife and a writer. Based in the not so sunny North West of
England you can find her either glued to her computer desk, in the public library
(Yes, they do still exist!) or floating around her favourite authors books signings.
S.K. Hartley has an unhealthy obsession with coffee, chocolate and retro computer
games and a healthy obsession of stalking indie authors.
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