Bright Eyes: A Josh Ramsay Fanfiction/Collaboration {ON HOLD!!}

chapter one.

Josh.

The damp Vancouver early morning froze over in time. Fuck, my hands were trembling like mad, and thinking was hell, but I've never felt better. I was so high. I was so high. I giggled to myself as I slunk to the floor, the carpet warm under my cold flesh. The moon seemed to shine even brighter through the tiny basement window. The poster seemed to float off my walls, levitating about the off white surface.

Fuck school, family, friends, grades.... What did any of it matter in the end anyways? It all comes down to this; it always came down to this. My motive was relatively simple: find heroin, inject heroin, get high. Sure, maybe that road wouldn't take me anywhere, but who the hell cares? 5am Monday morning and what was I doing? Laying on my floor, hitting on the drug like it was going out of style.

But in my deliciously toxic little wasteland, no one needed to know.

________________________________

Jesus Christ, I hate this room. I hate this school. Why do I even bother showing up anymore? Everyone at University Hill High hates my guts, hell, I hate my own guts. This school is full of stupid, compulsive teenage boys and even more vapid, shallow teenage girls.

The bell rings and everyone scrambles to their seats. Our teacher begins taking attendance and I zone out. Even over his annoying voice, I can still hear the giggles from the girls and the talk about football from the boys. Fuck, anywhere would be better than here. Maybe I can lie and say I'm going to the bathroom but go hide out in the music room instead....

"Mr. Ramsay?" The teacher calls again.

My head shoots up, glancing around wildly. "Uh.. h-here..." I mumbled, before laying my head back down on my desk, pulling my sleeves down to conceal my hands. I hear some of the other students laugh at me but I don't care anymore. I passed that point in 8th grade.

The lesson begins. I sneak a peek at the clock; it's 8:06am. My bloodshot eyes are burning, and I think I'm about to fall asleep right here. I can't say that I don't know why I can't sleep during the nights, because I know damn well what I've been doing. I groan and rub my temples, my head hitting the desk with solid thud. Okay, I can get through English class. Music is right after lunch. I can handle a few hours of this. Three fucking hours.

First period English is not fun with wealthy cheerleaders and football players. I wonder how Shakespeare would feel in my position.

I slowly lift my head up and rest my chin on my hand, flipping my blue tinted bangs out of my face. I know that I look like shit and that I'm getting whispered about, but, as I've said before, I'm past the point of caring. As long as I can live through the day to get my hit after school, everything will be okay. It's like this underlying impulse controlling my actions, my speech, my fucking mind. It's all I can think of, and it's driving me off the poorly decorated classroom walls.

I feel a breeze past me. Whatever. It was probably someone getting a pen or something.

Fuck, my parents. Who knows what kind of shit I'll have to put up with tonight? Yeah I love them, but man are they overbearing. Seriously though, these brats at UHHS think they have it hard? Try me. It's my senior year, and my grades have slipped so far below that I have a whopping 59.87%. Thank you music class for trying to save my sorry ass. No self respecting college would take me. If there's anything I want from this damned place, it's gonna have something to do with music. That is, if I make it out alive....

A voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Mr. Ramsay. Seeing as you seem to be failing my class, you will be assigned a tutor for the rest of the semester to get your grades back up." I sit up slowly and look at the teacher, who, by the way, I didn't even hear walk up to my desk. My eyebrows raised in a 'go on' expression.