Coconut Scented Curls

She snorted as she ran her fingers through my sticky curls

I continuously sobbed,

“I’m sorry.”

She braided my hair,

her eyes squinting like a cat’s as she took in my pathetically drunken state.

She’s like mom.

She raked a comb through my hair, the bristles stretching my now coconut scented curls as she soothed my scalp with her hands.

I hate how morbidly sarcastic she can be.

She giggled drunkenly.

The water had seeped onto my bare skin and drenched my sports bra,

 but wasn’t nearly as bad as her t-shirt that turned a dark grey after hunching over the tub to wash the vomit from my hair.