The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

36

CADEN LEE

When I get home from school today, I hear screaming. Arguing. Loud and vibrating through my run-down two story home.

I pause, backpack slung over my left shoulder, and just listen.

"Well, maybe if you weren't so controlling, I wouldn't have to do any of that!"

"Are you serious, Daniel? This is my house!"

"It didn't used to be."

More intelligible screaming follows, but by then I've resigned to tuning their voices out of my mind. To think of other things. Did I pass my science test today? Probably not.

Lately I haven't been—I don't know—smart? It sounds wrong, and I guess I'm not any dumber than I used to be, but my grades have dropped from A's to C's.

I've tried to get them back up, but I just can't. I don't know what to do.

I glance over to the kitchen, mull over whether I'm gonna eat anything. I've found that with pills, you have to plan ahead.

Don't eat anything too painful to throw up if you know you'll be getting high later. Which...I will be. I always do. Because, the thing with opioids are—you will be throwing up if anythings out of the ordinary.

A higher dose than usual? Bliss turns to bile  before you know it. It's better to prepare in advance.

Things like granola, spicy food, dairy...It's all to be avoided.

Squinting my eyes shut, I head upstairs and plug my ears when I pass my mom's doorway. The screaming hasn't stopped; if anything, it's only gotten louder.

Deep, crescent indentations sink themselves into my lower palm. I hadn't realized I'd been digging my nails into my skin until I saw the blood spotting at the surface.

That night, I think of what would've happened if I'd never started all of this in the first place. But then the high kicks in, and I don't have to worry about that anymore.

_._._._._._._._

"Wanna go to Taco Bell after school today?" Asher asks, stuffing his backpack with binders from his locker after fifth period.

"Why Taco Bell?" I ask. Hate me, but the food really isn't that good.

"Cause it's fucking delicious." He rolls his eyes, glancing to Joseph for confirmation. He only nods in response; mildly amused, mostly sarcastic.

Before I can say a word, Joseph speaks up, "he's mostly just wanting to raid his mom's tequila stash after." There's a smile on his face. Lighthearted. Laughter.

"Fine, sure," I sigh, "are we just driving home to drop our cars off and then going?"

"Yeah, you driving?"

"I guess." I push myself off of the blue lockers when Asher slams his and swings his bag over his shoulders.

"Cade. You good?" Joseph asks, looking at me wearily. I guess he noticed my tone. I'm not—I'm angry and annoyed and all I want to do is go home and take the Oxy so I can rid the pulsing of my temple. I don't say that, though, instead I nod and send—what I hope—is a reassuring smile his way.

"See you after seventh." I say, putting as much pep into my voice as the situation calls for.

"Wait by the front entrance for us!"

My hands shake slightly when I stuff them into my pockets. God, what is wrong with me? I'm tempted to check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, see if im too pale, or look sick, but I'm scared of what I'll see.