Perfect Screw Ups | Quackbur

Chapter One

TW/CW: suggested s/h, suggested abuse, mentions of alcohol, swearing

I brushed the hair out of my eyes, grunting as it stuck to my forehead.

I kept the music blazing in my ears so that I couldn't hear anything else. Not the sound of passing cars, or the sounds of crying children, or the sounds of hopeless drunks rambling on about their lives whilst they reeked of alcohol.

My lungs burn and my chest aches horribly, the feeling of heartbreak remains in my body. I suppose I'm sort of a mess like that. I'm like a bucket of emotions that are constantly overflowing. Or perhaps a better way to phrase that would be to say I'm an absolute train wreck.

That didn't bother me too much though, I always knew that I was somewhat of a screw-up. What bothered me was knowing that I would probably remain a screw-up for the rest of my life.

I have goals, at least I'd like to think that I do. I want things in life, I want to be able to finally live in a space where I can breathe. I want my own house, and I want to be accepted by someone most of all.

But that wasn't my future. God had other plans, and apparently, the first thing on his agenda for every day was to make sure my life remained a living hell.

I came to a stop, at last, doubling over and gasping for air as the sweat dripped off my forehead and fell onto the pavement.

Running and I sort of had a love-hate relationship, I absolutely hated the way it took the breath out of my body, but I also sort of loved the way it made me feel. It made me feel. .alive. The way my whole body ached but it was also coursing with adrenaline.

It was beautiful.

I turned off my music and put my earbuds in my pocket, taking one last gulp of air before entering the small apartment. Mom wasn't home yet so I had the place to myself. The apartment was small and only had two rooms, one for my parents and one for me.

I hated it; it was small enough to hear the shouting through the walls. I could make out screams sometimes, the sounds of slapping were the worst bit. I try my best to ignore it. I've got a roof and a bed, that's already two more things I've got that most don't. Aren't I lucky?

I let out a heavy sigh before walking to my bathroom and immediately peeling off my clothes the second the door behind me shut close. My shirt was soaked with sweat along with the rest of my body.

Why the hell did it have to be so damned hot?

I turned the water as cold as it could go and stepped in the shower. I put my head back so the water could hit my face, cooling my skin that was red and hot from the blistering heat.

I remember an old friend of mine once told me that when you want your body to cool down you should take hot showers because then your body would have to cool down or something. It makes sense, but I never did that. If the water makes me feel cold, then that's good enough for me.

Once I'd finished my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked to my bedroom. My mom still wasn't home, she probably wouldn't be here for another hour at least.

I shoveled through my drawers until I found a thin shirt that was cool enough for the weather, and then I threw on a pair of jeans. My thighs itched but I was scared to scratch, of fear of reopening the wounds.

I sat on my bed, the mattress squeaking under me. I suddenly grew aware of how empty the house was, how alone I was.

All I could think about is her. How beautiful she is, how soft her lips are, how lovely her voice is.

I thought about the sound of her laughter, how it filled my chest with elation. I thought about how it felt to run my hands through her soft, orange, hair. She always smelled like lavender, maybe it was her perfume. I could never get enough of her.

There it is, that feeling again. The feeling where my chest starts to ache and so does my throat. The feeling where my eyes start to burn but no tears fall. My body just aches with the feeling of sadness but won't let me express it.

I bury my head in my hands, slowly pushing my hand through my wet hair.

Why did she do this? What did I do wrong? Sure, I was a mess, but did I really deserve this. .?

I probably did, I probably deserve every punch God throws at me.

I wish I wasn't such a fuck up.

I can't take this; how can I live like this?

Everything I did, I did for her. I was always there for her, we never fought, so why did she pick him?

This just wouldn't do, I needed to get out of the house. It was suffocating being in my room when my head was swarming with thoughts like these. I feel like I might explode if I sit and think any longer, and I probably will.

I don't trust myself. I'm terrible company.

I stood up and grabbed my phone and my earbuds, turning on my music and running out of the house.

I had to walk once I was outside because I already had enough running for the day.

As I walked down the street, I heard laughter erupt from the doorstep of a small house. I turned my head curiously and noticed a group of what appeared to be young adults sitting on the porch talking. They each held a bottle of beer in their hands, evidently wasted.

I sighed and was about to continue walking when one of them walked up to me.