I’m weak. Hell, I’m so weak, my own parents can’t even stand the sight of me most days. It’s why they’re never around. Why they haven’t been around for the last several years. Looking back on my high school years, I recall finding it so strange that other kids couldn’t do whatever the hell they wanted. Couldn’t go out without their parents’ permission.What shitty parents to restrict their child from living their life.That’s what I thought.
I was probably closer to sixteen when it became apparent that my parents were the different ones. My household was run differently. Most other kids didn’t have to cook themselves dinner every night because their folks were tied up with a client or a patient, some eight-hour long procedure. Didn’t get to throw continuous ragers at their houses on the weekends while their parents were on a Cancun cruise.
Most kids had their parents in the stands during baseball, football, soccer games. Not mine. Fuck, I was lucky if they showed up to championship games. I understood—to a certain extent—they worked hard. Parents have to work hard to provide for their family. I get that.
But it always confused me when all my teammates had their families in the stands. Cheering them on. Rooting for them. Or how my friends would talk about family dinnersevery night. Shit got lonely, man. It’s lonely as fuck raising yourself. Taking care of yourself. Cheering yourself on. It’s also tiring.
The parties helped. For a little bit. Having my house filled with friends and classmates every single weekend. Feeling needed, appreciated. It helped. Until it didn’t. After a while, it did nothing except make me feel lonelier. I’d be in my house, full of people, and I’d never felt emptier.
I vividly remember seeing a doctor after my football accident. The prescription they gave me. Swallowing those pills managed the pain. It also managed my other problems. Soon, I realized that when I took those, when the high kicked in, I didn’t give a shit about feeling lonely or empty or unwanted. All I cared about was keeping that feeling going. Numbing myself for as long as possible.
For quite a while, I didn’t even use them all the time. It started out on the weekends, when parties happened. Then I graduated, my friends all left for a college I should’ve gone to, and the lonely, empty feeling multiplied. There was no Anderson around to make me feel wanted, feel loved. He was hours away, creating a new life with new friends.
I’d never felt more alone, more pathetic, more fucking worthless than in those first few months of college. Then I ran into Kalen one night at some kegger and he was out of the percs I love so much, but he had some cocaine.“Let’s just do a couple lines of this. You’ll be feeling great. Promise.”In hindsight, I know that was the beginning of the end. It was all downhill from there.
Snorting lines up my nose was a regular occurrence after that—cocaine, pills, xanax, molly. Then the overdose happened. My supposed“rock bottom.”But it wasn’t rock bottom, not even close. I mean, in my defense, Ididslow down after I went to rehab. For a little bit.
A few days ago, we were hanging out with our friends, laughing and having a great time, when my nose started bleeding. Out of fucking nowhere. Innocent, sheltered Anderson thought nothing of it, but Knox… I swear he watched me with a little more attention the rest of the night. I avoided being alone with him, because I couldn’t risk him questioning me. It’s his cousin, after all, that feeds my demon. He has to know the signs.
My carefully constructed lie of a life feels like it’s starting to crumble. Implode before my eyes, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I need to go to Kalen’s and pick up some more shit, but I need to slip out before Anderson wakes up. He’s going to question what I have to do, or ask to come with, neither of which would be good.
Carefully opening the bathroom door that leads to Anderson’s room, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness that blankets the space. The sun is already up, but the blackout curtains block any light from slipping in. I stop by the bed and make sure he’s still asleep before tiptoeing out the room and making my way down the stairs. The house is quiet, and I assume everyone is still asleep, but I don’t hang around to find out.
It’s bright as hell outside, not a cloud in sight, and it’s warm for how early in the morning it is. My Ray-Bans are on, the window is down, music is playing softly, and I pull out the pack of cigarettes I keep in my glove box. I don’t smoke often—hardly at all, actually—but it’ll help with the nauseous feeling and the pounding head, even if only a little bit.
Placing the stick between my lips, I light it up and inhale deeply. The rich, earthy menthol smoke fills my lungs before I exhale out the window. I know it’s a placebo effect, but my head feels lighter and my muscles relax slightly the more I smoke.
It’s almost nine by the time I pull up outside of Kalen’s house. Turning off the engine, I slide out of the car, locking it behind me, and make my way up to the front door. He’s still pretty pissed about Anderson kicking his ass, and shit between us has been awkward at best, but we’re cordial for the sake of business.
He opens the door before I can knock, stepping aside and letting me walk by. “What’s up, bro?”
“Not shit, man. How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain. Want your usual?”
“Yup. Actually, can you toss in half a dozen more?”
“For sure, boss.” He disappears upstairs while I wait in the living room. His dad must be gone, per usual. It doesn’t look like anyone else is here but him. A handful of minutes later, he saunters back down the stairs with a couple of baggies in hand. “Your guard dog know you’re here?”
Rolling my eyes, because this shit is getting old, I hand him the cash and take the goods from him. “Man, shut the fuck up. That shit’s tired. You got your ass kicked. Let’s not dwell.”
“What the fuck ever, bro. I’m just saying… heclearlydoesn’t know or accept you for who you are. But I do.”
Ever since the incident with Anderson, Kalen’s made little remarks like this here and there, and I fuckinghateit. His feelings are misplaced and weird. I’m not sure when we went from dealer and client, who occasionally used to hook up, to something more in his eyes, but it’s not fucking reciprocatedat all.
“Yeah, yeah. Look, wish I could stay, but I got a busy day. I’ll catch ya later. Thanks for these.” Tipping my chin at him, I spin on my heels and make my way toward the front door. I’m almost back to my car, when I’m stopped in my tracks. Ice floods my veins as a familiar white Range Rover rolls up.
Knox. Fucking shit.This is bad.
He spots me immediately. The look on his face is a mix between confused and amused. His furrowed brows are visible beneath his sunglasses, and the slight smirk on his face as he hops out makes me want to run away.
“Hey, Crew. Funny running into you here.”
“Hey, man. What’re you doing here?” I try to keep my voice light and friendly, when below the surface, I’m feeling anything but. Based on the way his smirk intensifies by my question, it makes me think he can see right through me.
“Picking up some bud from my cousin. What about you?”
“Yeah, same.”Way to go, dumbass.