Lost in July

XXXIX

Collin
~
I don't think parents understand how much they truly affect our lives.

Every fiber of my being comes from my mom and dad. From the color of my eyes to the trauma that lingers in my brain, Bethany and Alexander have molded me into an extension of themselves.

Perhaps that's why I've begun to resent them. Since I'm only seventeen, they have controlled my entire life. Everything I've experienced in my life thus far has been under their supervision.

My trauma happens under their supervision. I don't fully blame them, but I also can't deny it. I'd be better off alone, under my own supervision.

Especially now that they're banning me from seeing Margo. Banning me from going to Orchard Hills. From getting help.

I haven't left my bed in three days. Since X left my house and ruined everything. I have no way of contacting Margo to tell her that I'm not bailing on her. I have no choice.

I stopped taking my medication in protest. My parents didn't even notice.

I haven't seen my father since he stormed into my room in the morning, telling me that I will never see "that girl" again. Then proceeded to tell me to get ready for school.

Yeah, right, Alexander.

My mother promised me she wouldn't tell him. She promised me. Yet here I am. No Margo, no medication, no will to live...

I need to stop.

No, I need to sleep.

~
I wake up to my mother shaking me awake. I have no idea how much time has passed, but I am still exhausted.

"Get up, Collin. The police are here." My mother's high pitched voice barely registers as I stretch my limbs.

Police? Do I even care right now?

"They want to talk to you about that boy," she explains, shaking my limp body again. I groan louder.

"Tell them to fuck off," I mumble into my pillow.

Mom didn't like that. She pulls me by my leg so that I'm half hanging off the bed, causing my blanket to fall to the floor. I'm cold. And uncomfortable.

I stand up, angrily glaring at my mother. She points to the door, her scary 'i'm mad at you' look on her face. I roll my eyes but comply anyway, dragging myself down the stairs.

I hear my father and presumably the police talking in the distance. Their deep voices echo against the empty walls and high ceilings of the house. It's so cold here.

I somehow drag myself to the kitchen. My father and two officers are sitting at the kitchen table. As they hear my loud footsteps, they turn to face me.

"Son," my father greets. "Have a seat." He pats the chair beside him and I slowly make my way to the chair. I rest my elbows on the table and hold my head up with my hands, eyes droopy.

"Hello, Collin," one of the officers speaks. His crooked teeth and prickly scruff surrounding his lips makes him unappealing to look at, so I look down. "We wanted to talk to you about Xavier Cyprus."