our last summer

in which they converse

Emily is shaking him awake. Everything is blurry to him- how did he get in this bed? Did Tommy carry him into bed again?- and his head hurts. It hurts so bad that he groans in pain. All he can remember is the book. Dropping it off at the house next door. The door slamming in his face.

And that's it.

"I left you some food," Emily is saying, her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not hungry," he snaps at her angrily. He's falling, stumbling out of bed, blindly feeling around his nightstand. Where's his little bottle of pills? He left it here two nights ago--where the hell is it?

He knows his little sister is watching him, trying to look away. Part of him is embarrassed- why is he letting his sixteen year old sister see him this way? Why has he ever let her see him this way? But another part of him doesn't care- "Where the hell are they?" he yells, trying to focus his eyes, his mind.

She begins to plead with him. "Come on. You don't need them right now."

"Shut up, Emily," he snaps, turning on her, a look of contempt on his face. "You don't know anything."

None of them know anything. They act like it all comes so easily to him, like nothing is difficult. Like nothing is supposed to hurt him, and like he can't find a way to dull the pain. They act like his pain and his getting high is a game. Who wants to feel pain? Who wants to endure it, when the antidote is in a bottle, clearly marked and labeled? Only idiots would do that.

And he is not an idiot.

He faces Emily again, anger darkening his blue eyes. "Did you take them?"

She stutters, hazel eyes wide. "T-take what?"

"You know what," he spits at her.

His sister is silent, looking away from him. "You don't need them."

He wants to grab her, shake her until her head comes loose. The anger in him rises from the pit of his belly, to his chest, then to his throat where it squeezes, cutting off oxygen. His head feels tight and his eyes go blurry again. He breathes in deeply, trying to control himself. "Get out," he whispers, beginning to hyperventilate. He's seeing spots. When she stands frozen in front of him, he uses his last breath to whisper-scream it at her, "Get out!"

She rushes out of the room, almost falling over herself in the process.

He bursts into tears.

Everything has been taken from him his whole life. His mother, his father. His best friend. His will to live. And now his source, his motivation to keep living.

Pain meds are more than that. Adderall is more than that. They take away the void, the pain. Emotions can hurt to the point that they hurt more than physical pain. They trap you, squeeze you, tighten your throat. They make everything, including- ESPECIALLY- people leaving, hurt more than they actually should.

The pills take it all away. All the pain, all the suffering, it makes everything you cry about seem childish, or far away. Far away so that it can't hurt you--

For a while, at least.

Emotions- love- they hurt you whether you like it or not. Drugs only hurt you if you let them.

The emotions come back when he's off the drugs. Reality comes back when he's off the drugs. Reality hurts, because it makes him realize he needs physical touch, emotional touch. And when he doesn't have it, it hurts. +

It hurts even more now.

Emotions- they're rushing to his head, his heart. He tries to push them back, they need to be far far away. He needs to find-