III

There she was. Lying in that single bed, squinting at the light filtering through the window. She'd been woken by a noise, what noise? She placed it. A little girl. A little girl that probably hadn't been fed yet, bathed, dressed, nothing. She got up to see to the little girl that wasn't hers, tripping over toys on her way to the door. It was afternoon, the sun was very high, reflecting off the snow on the balcony like a billion tiny diamonds that stabbed at the eyes. She closed the balcony's blinds halfway, and went to pour a bowl of cereal for the little girl, who was wandering about in a shirt and panties, hair a tangled mess on her head.
Walking to the balcony and opening the sliding door, she lit a cigarette. Coughing, she felt the pain of having smoked too much the night before. Closing her eyes, she felt the pain of having drank too much the night before. Feeling the ground shift, she felt the aftermath of having done too much of something she couldn't quite recall the night before. What was it called again? It didn't really matter.
She instructed the child to go away from the smoke when she came too close to the balcony door. The child wanted to be played with, or read to. She put out the cigarette, sat down to read to the little girl. The little girl's mother wandered out of another room, also in shirt and panties. She could see the mother flitting about in the kitchen in her peripheral vision. They spoke, nonsense about how they felt physically. Bullshit about how fun the night was. At least one of them knew they were killing themselves. At least one of them knew all the problems they had were caused by themselves. At least one of them could see the mistakes, however uncorrected they stood.
She saw partly to the dressing of the girl, and did the girl's hair. She didn't dress herself, though the mother did. She wished for a moment alone. She never got a moment alone anymore. They were always together. She didn't know what she felt anymore.
Later in the day, as the sun started to go down, the mother phoned the babysitter. Dressing herself, she readied the child that wasn't hers, and took her to the babysitter's. Inventing some excuse, as was normally done, for why the mother couldn't be there herself dropping the little girl off, she deposited the child and went back to the apartment. Both women got ready to go out in the city.
Another drive, knowing she would be driving home drunk and probably high, she ventured into the city with her partner in crime. They went to a club, and then another. They drank too much, flirted for free shots, danced unnecessarily shamelessly, and jonesed for another form of entertainment. They bought some, and disappeared into the ladies bathroom. Shortly after, they walked about looking at the men, pupils dilated, jaws clenching, licking their lips. Who knew how the night would end? It was open to fancy. They were invincible. They were on top of the world. Ripping up the town, owning everyone in their path.
They were destroying themselves. Damning and abusing their own souls. Killing themselves. One of them knew it. At least one of them knew it.