With a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, Genevieve sighed.

The Smith's household was not normally loud, they preferred to settle into a thick silence and carry on about their day, but their eldest son had just made his way home for a birthday that was not his, and so it seemed fit to pop the cork on their aged wine and completely forget the birthday girl... not that it was not an affair she was not used to, it happened nearly every year.

Their pride for their university professor son had swelled far past regard for their youngest daughter, Genevieve, so she sat herself in the corner of the room, large brown eyes watching her drunken family, as she sung to herself softly- the only happy birthday wishes she would be given that night. Beside a harsh slap across her cheek, that is, when her father finished the bottle and with a slurred voice hunted for a smaller prey to blame the lack of alcohol on, and soon after that, her cheek would retreat to a colour that much matched the ribbon woven through her hair, the thick, blonde strands falling over her pale shoulders in perfect curls.

She would admit to herself, reluctantly and through tears, that she had dressed herself up for her party in hopes that for once, her parent's attention would be directed towards her. Maybe the eyes that stared at her in irrecoverable loathing would for once stare down at her warmly, perhaps with a hint of affection that she had missed dearly since the two years of her miserable life she had felt her mother's gaze staring through her back, searing with anger and acute hatred.

Genevieve won't play coy and ponder why her mother grew to hate her so much because she indeed knew the exact reason why... she was no stranger to it either. It was not as if she expected her mother to be kind and loving when she walked in on her daughter being spanked, moans cascading from her plump, pouty lips, by the man she was having an affair with. Her husband remained as oblivious and alcoholic as ever as each year flicked by on the calendar, but Genevieve could not help the fact that her abominable heart fluttered in her chest at the idea of a man, much older than her, spanking her rear as she told him to "Go harder, daddy," For she could not help the attraction she harboured.

So she remained in the corner of the room, her pink acrylic nails drumming on her small glass that held an even smaller pool of bourbon in the bottom as she seldom brought it up to her lips, and took a sip from the burning liquid as she watched her family carry on with their partying ways, growing more and more oblivious as the next bottle was popped and drained into their glasses. Her father wasn't as oblivious as one would perceive, and nowhere near as much of a golden parent either. The glass in his hand forgot her infidelity for him, and so he did not have a thing left on his mind as their wallpaper glistened over rotting walls.

Her eyes stared down at her glass, a small pout forming on her already pouty lips before she drained the contents, the burning liquid sliding down her throat. A lipgloss stain clung to the mouth of the cup as she placed it on the floor and climbed to her feet, dusting off the back of her neat, pleated skirt, her even whiter sneakers silently making their way across the room and towards her front door.

Her hand grasped the polished handle before she pushed the door open, the cool night air creeping along her exposed shoulder where her cropped and fashionably tattered shirt that failed to cover her stomach, also failed to cover her shoulder, which was no good as her white... fashionable windbreaker had slipped away from both of her shoulders.

She was not bothered by the night air. Instead, she embraced the icy aroma and took her front-porch steps one by one, making her way towards their white-picket-fence as she reached out and unclipped the lock that did not do much to secure the perfect little suburban house that she resided in. She began to make her way down the pathway that flanked the street road, midnight black and stretching out over the distance under the blanket of the even darker night sky, scattered with celestial lights and pools of stars.

The weight of the bottle she had snuck from her kitchen counter, threatened to slip from her grasp as she continued down the street with steady steps, a light breeze dancing along her skin as she travelled along. She was no stranger to drinking, a sad truth. Her parents didn't seem to care much either, they only did when she dipped into a bottle they particularly admired.

Her blonde hair was slipping from its half updo and cascading around her face in loose ringlets, but she fixated her eyes ahead. Even through the light rain that had begun to fall from the angry clouds overhead, minuscule droplets clinging to her pale skin as she sighed, the small tune she hummed of the song 'Happy birthday' not faltering once as she stepped further- she did not falter once.

A shiver raked her spine as the rain increased, but the cold and clothes damper than her spirits failed to motivate her to reach up and pull her hood over her head, maybe delaying the rain from seeping deeper into her bones, yet she simply sniffled, her trembling fingers failing with the lid of the wine bottle she had retrieved.

She knew it would take the whole bottle to make her at least tipsy, and her stomach would not hold so much fluid. She dreaded the feeling of a bloated stomach, holding more than it was used to, but she knew she would have to deal with it soon if she wanted to put this night behind her as she kept her eyes scanning the horizon for the nearest playground she could camp at for the night. Maybe in the small, static-filled, and even more filled with germs, tunnel of such a playground, or maybe in the tube slide if she were lucky and there was one, most playgrounds these days saw it fit to remove the roof over the slide so it was a crescent, half moon if you will. Maybe there was a reason to that action, (she thought, as she brought the bottle to her lips and took the first gulp, contorting her face in distaste at the bitterness) was because it would be more practical to watch your children slide down the slide, I mean, maybe it would soothe the worries of parents if their children did something improbable and irrational like choking to death on air? Perhaps the toes of their own shoe from an infant curiosity, or a fingernail of their own wedged in their nostril.

She let a long breath out, the bottle slippery from the growing moisture that ran down the glass before she inhaled and brought the bottle back to her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed as she studied that she had barely consumed a quarter of the neck, and still had a generous amount of what tasted like tangy, juiced grass to drink before she would allow her birthday to be over- you don't turn three-hundred-and-sixty-five full days older every day, after all.

She squinted her eyes as a set of headlights passed, the bottle held to her lips as she gulped down as much as she could. She planted her feet to the ground as the light passed, tipping her head back as the heaviness of her breathing increased and she had to pull the liquor from her lips and pause to regain her breath. She glanced down at the bottle once more, just with disappointment as she noted she had only finished half.

She came to another halt in her tracks as she held her breath, hoping to dilute the godly awful taste as she gulped as much as she could- resisting a splutter that rose in her throat at the taste. She had diluted the earlier and worse tasting beverage with the likeliness of coca-cola, the glass weighing less and less in her hands as she squeezed her eyes shut and-

The loud sound of a car pulling up by the gutter where she stood drew her attention away from the ugly, burning sensation that grew in her throat and she drew the bottle away from her lips, shifting her attention to the stationery buzz as a man leaned out through the window. He was smirking as his eyes crawled up and down her figure, wet clothes clinging to her skin and becoming rather see-through. A short, drunk girl. What an easy prey.

"Hey, darlin', wanna hop in?" He asked as her perfect pout parted and her eyebrows furrowed, her legs weak beneath her. He knew that even if she refused to get in, it would not be hard to subdue this girl in a dark neighbourhood with no onlookers, it was a perfect crime.

She tried to shake her head, she never drank as much as now, and that fact seemed evident as the world swayed around her and she found it hard to remain upright, the bottle slipping from her hands and shattering on the floor at her feet. The remaining numbered droplets sprayed over her shoes although they seemed insignificant, just joining the crowd of rain droplets that glazed the material.

He smiled, teeth crooked from years of smoking as he unclipped his seatbelt. Rain was angrily pelting to the ground by now, as he pushed his car door open, swinging it shut just as he made his way around the stagnant vehicle, puking a steady stream of exhaust into the air.

Her brain slowly began to register what was happening as she turned on her heel, slipping on the saturated pavement as she felt a sharp pain travelled up her leg, her elbows meeting the hard ground milliseconds after. It was a dull, reluctant pain. She was willing to bet that the skin from her knee was grazed, but the ground was far too dark to notice the small droplets of blood that had begun to bleed into the water puddles on the floor. Her blood always had been thin and easy to spill...

All Chapters of Vanilla (Completed): Chapter 81

30 Part III