COMFORT CROWD [3] , jj maybank

1. we trust this?

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EVERY TEENAGER AT A certain point realizes there will be a certain emotion that is constantly carried with them.

  No matter how happy or excited or whatever they could be—that emotion will always somehow overtake them, ruining whatever else was there, negative or positive.  For a long time I thought it was fear. I'm pretty sure mine is anger.

    Enmity. Hatred. Annoyance.

   They all mean the same shit.

    No matter how many times I laugh with the Pogues, that feeling fades and the anger is always there.

     I'm not just angry at Weston or Ward or even Rafe—I'm honestly more angry with myself. I didn't shoot Weston dead. I'm mad that I'm not 100% sure I killed him.

  1). Because he could very easily tell people it was me who shot him and everyone would believe him.

2). I didn't keep my promise to Piper if he isn't dead.

   Him not being dead is ten times worse than if he is. If Weston survived that gunshot wound and told Rafe or Ward, one of them will tell the Pogues. That's where fear comes back. The only one that knows is Sarah. I never said it directly like, hey, I might've killed my dad, but it was silently implied the day we got to Poguelandia.

  Fear that Weston will shoot one of them as revenge or fear that if I did kill him, they'll hate me. It might be far fetched considering 2 others here have tried to kill their wonderful fathers but I don't know, not only am I mad all the time but I just have a feeling someone is mad at me all the time as well.

  It's like a souvenir from being abused.

  I have a vivid memory of Weston from when I was about 5. I was crying out for my mom for some stupid 5 year old reason in the middle of the night but he came to the doorway instead. He was annoyed, annoyed that his daughter was scared of whatever thing I was scared of and calling out for my parents like I'm supposed to.

  Even in the dim light of my nightlight, that he despised by the way, I could see the frown lines on his face. "What?" Weston roughly asked me. Immediately, I was more scared than I was before.

   "I don't want you. I want mom," Is what I replied with. He was offended, pissed off and just walked away. Didn't try to understand me. Nothing.

  I always wonder if that's the day he began to hate me.

   I don't regret shooting him. I regret having to shoot him, y'know? Being the one of the faces of daddy issues is not the best feeling and neither is wondering what will happen if he shows up alive.