Addicted

Addicted: Year Four

" Get out!" he yelled, hitting me over and over again. Ever since my sister had died George started drinking, abusing, drugs and not loving me. I cried as he continued to hit me over and over again, I crawled into my room, packed my bag, and walked away, leaving him in his misery, I couldn't take his abuse anymore. I walked across the road as the snow fell softly onto the awaiting pavement, this was the second time I had left a boy that I was in love with. I turned eighteen in a couple of months and I wasn't ready for it at all. I walked slowly down the road, stopping at the bus stop to wait for the bus; I had no where to go.

" Boy! Move it!" the bus driver yelled and broke me out of my trance. I walked up the steps, placed my money into the bucket and walked down the aisle, sliding into a seat in the very back. I never really liked people except that one guy I had met a few years ago; the one that had almost made love to me, the one who was that first person to ever treat me like a human and the one person I could go to about anything. Stephen was probably old and wrinky by now; I laughed at my thoughts unknowing I laughed out loud, making everyone on the bus look at me. I continued to laugh and do the age math in my head.

' I was 14 and he was 22....that's a 8 year difference and I haven't seen him in 4 years so that's.... 22 plus 4 which is 26....' I thought, hoping my calculations were right and if they were I just hoped he lived in the same spot; not that I remembered what dorm he lived in nor what dorm house. I sighed; my plan was effortless but hopeless at the same time, I would never see him again and in all honesty, he probably never wanted to see me again, after what I had done to him, just leaving like that with just a note... The bus stopped and I got off, shivering as the cold hit my thinnly covered arms. I walked down a small road, stopping to sit down on the bench where Stephen and I had first met, it wasn't very warm out and being the dead of winter, it wasn't going to get warm for at least another month. It was Mid-January and Chicago being the Windy city you could just guess that it was like an icesicle. I got up and started walking to a store near the park, in hope of getting some food. I walked through the aisle looking for something to eat yet nothing seemed to entice me until I looked out the window, seeing the pizza place that Stephen and I had gone to at the beginning of our relationship and smiled. I walked over to the small shop, opening the door and walking up to the counter and ordering.

“ That will be $5.99 please!” The cashier said happily as I handed the money over to him, he handed me my pizza and told me to enjoy it, which I knew I would. I walked back out onto the streets of downtown Chicago, searching for a quiet place where I could eat my dinner.I sighed, sitting down under a bridge, chewing away at the delicious food sitting in my hand. I looked around, taking another bite of my pizza and keeping my eyes peeled to the grafitti that dressed the grey walls. I used to be a tagger until I got put in jail for a night which wasn't fun, I had learned my lesson well and never again did it. I wondered if the people who had made the art had been put in jail too? Or if they hadn't gotten caught and are still out their tagging away. I suddenly felt fear grip my heart as I heard voice coming from in the distance. Why I was scared? I didn't know but I did know that I'd soon come to find out why. The larger man of the two walked up behind me, pulling me up by my jacket and throwing me back down continueing to punch me as I hit the ground hard, feeling my ribs snap under the pressure of the man and being thrown against cemente. The Larger man was for sure a gangster, he had slicked back, jet black hair, facial hair and other aspects of your normal Chicago Gangster and for once in my life I feared that I wouldn't get to make to to see the world again tomorrow. The smaller of the two men was a person I knew, the person I loved and thought I could trust; George. It then hit me that the guy who was beating me up was his uncle, who was a drug dealer from George's hometown of New York. I felt pain rush through me as blade and flesh colidded, ripping through the muscle in my shoulder. I cried out in pain as blood rushed from my shoulder and the world around me became blurry; I was scared, was I going to die? Would someone save me? Would it be Stephen....?

Once they had left I felt like the world would come to it's end very soon and the men who had killed me would never be caught and would continue to ruin younger peoples lives. I had met George because of my older sister Carrie, she was the school slut and wanted her brother to be set up with her ex-boyfriend. Of course at the time I thought he was a complete and utter cutie and wanted him to be my boyfriend so I let it happen. He turned me against my parents, abused me, got me into cocaine and made me skip school. At first, I thought it was cool but when I realized that it was the exact opposite it was too late and I had already knew and witnessed his anger not wanting to be on the recieving end of his anger. I thought I had loved George until one night when he made me, a fourteen year old boy go do a drug run from him; it's when I bumped into Stephen and he invited me for pizza.

I remember his generoisity, they way he just straight up asked a stranger out for food and went through with it. The way he had cuddled me when I found it too cold at the bus stop, yet I had ran away from him that night as well, only to come back a week later, after hearing about my mom's death; it had wracked me more than I thought it would have and George was too drunk to care about what I had to say, so I went to Stephen, hoping that I could find comfort with him and even though I didn't talk to him about it, it felt good being around someone that truly cared, even though I was a stranger and even a month later he still cared, he gave me that notebook and had even taken care of me when I had that awful cold during the month I had stayed with him.

The early hours of the morning on the dayI left him alone was the precious thing that I'd remembered the best; his hands were so soft against my warm flesh and his lips so wet against my dry mouth. I had been to aroused to really take him in, take his gentle hand and tell him that I loved him, even though I had only talked to him a little bit. I don't really know why I loved Stephen the way I did; maybe it was because he was the first person to treat me like a human being instead of some whore and addict. The way he touched me, the way his taste lingered in my mouth, the way his hands touched my face as we kissed, all made me yearn for him in the last moments of my life, because I knew with the amount of blood that I would die. Even the soothing sound of the sirens in the background gave me no hope at living because I had died four years ago, when I had lost the person who might have been the love of my life.