Holding On

Chapter 1: The Name of the Game

I Breathed In the stale air around me.

It smelled like sweat, tears and puke. I was close to all three.

The cold, terribly smelling air was making me shiver, and the hard metal bench beneath me wasn't helping, so I tightened my dark jacket around my torso. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to provide my body some comfort, but my mind did not believe it was real.

Comfort did not exist at this moment; comfort does not exist in a dark, damp jail cell.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be angry with Kayla and Taylor, wanted to be angry at them for leaving me stranded in my most desperate moment. "Come on, Charlie!" Kayla's voice said in my mind, over and over. "Don't be a coward, just do it!"

I wanted to find her and pull out all her hair. I wanted to scream and tell her how it felt to feel completely and entirely alone in the world. I wanted to scream until my throat was sore and no more sound would be able to escape my mouth. But I couldn't do that. I didn't feel angry, although I wanted to be. I felt sad and alone. I didn't want to scream; I wanted to cry.

When a sob tried to struggle its way up my throat, I choked it back. It hurt, just like it always did, but I fought it. I would not cry. After everything that'd happened in the past few months, after how many times I'd refused to break, I would not give in now; I'd fought too hard to give in now.

I swallowed the last of the lump, taking a large breath to help it go down easier. I tightened my jacket, leaned up against the cold, hard wall, and I waited in silence.

There was a blue-haired girl sitting across from me on the opposite bench. She had a nose ring, and half her head was shaved. She bowed her head, and began sobbing. I swallowed again.

I wasn't sure how long I waited in that cell. There was no clock, and all I had to go by was a sobbing noise every three seconds made by the wild-haired girl across from me. It had to have been a few hours, at least. Once the girl stopped crying, I realized a dull ache had crept its way into the front of my head. I rested it against my thighs as I pulled my knees to my chest. I looked weak in this position, I knew. But no one here cared. So neither did I.

It was an act I'd learned to master over the past month: not caring. It was difficult, some days more than others, but, ultimately, it was right. It was what I felt like doing, so it was what I did. I figured that after everything that'd happened, I deserved to do one thing that I wanted to do. One thing for me. Most people would have called that selfish. I called it self-preservation.

For the first time since I'd developed this new attitude, I felt a prick of guilt. I'd tried so hard to block out what guilt felt like. My eyes started to sting, so I swallowed again.

A female officer got out of her swivel chair that sat behind a desk at the front of the room and walked lazily down the hallway. I heard the jingle of a door handle, and the creak of the hinges as it open and shut.

"Where is she?" Uncle David. His voice sounded strained, warped, odd. If my aunt was with him - undoubtedly she was - then she stayed quiet. I imagined her raising her chin in the air, trying to seem like she had things under control, trying to appear like what had happened was not her fault by any means whatsoever. This would have gotten on my nerves, normally. But this time it was true. It wasn't her fault, or my uncle's, or anyone else's. It was my own.

"In here," the officer replied in a monotone. She probably dealt with a lot of concerned parents. Or, in cases like mine, guardians.

When my Uncle David saw me, he pinched the bridge of his nose- something he did when he was overwhelmed. It was like he'd just had the possibility of a terrible nightmare confirmed to be real. Aunt Susan took in my appearance, my black jacket, dark jeans that were worn at the knees, my messy and knotted blonde hair, and the heavy makeup that was smudged underneath my eyes. She pursed her lips, took a breath, and turned away from me. I was used to her disapproving looks by now. They hardly bothered me anymore.