RED LINES

4 • I

I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I'VE BEEN LAYING
in the damp grass, looking at the stars.

It's getting cold. My jacket is wet and I don't know what time it is. It's too quiet and too loud at the same time. I can hear the bass line of the music from a nearby party.

Am I alone? Was I sleeping? When was the last time I ate something?

I try to get up but my mind is too foggy, like I just woke up from a nap. I think I hear footsteps. Or is it my heartbeat? I can't tell.

I stand on my feet, fighting the urge to lay back down. I need to get home. I slowly walk to the gate, reuniting with the familiar concrete that paves those streets. I know my way there. I cross the street, walk to the next stop sign, turn right, cross the main road and I'm home.

First, cross the street. I rub my eyes, I can't see my feet. I look to the left, to the right and to the left again —just like my kindergarten teacher taught me— then I go. I don't know what time it is but from the moon hovering above the thick clouds and the darkness that surrounds me, I know it's too late for any cars to be roaming the streets.

During my journey, my head is completely empty of any thoughts. I do not think about the upcoming finals, I do not think about my Mom or my Dad.

This effect is the very reason I started doing drugs. When I'm high, I do not think of the burdens of being, of living. Think of a nap, when one is sick, they tend to sleep at all hours of the day. I feel perpetually sick and need to escape the symptoms of said sickness. And once sleep capacity has dried up, the only remedy appears to be intoxicants.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary; to be intoxicated defines the state or condition of having lost control of one's behaviour or mental faculties as a result of drinking alcohol or taking drugs.

According to the Ivy Cunningham English Dictionary; to be intoxicated means to escape from one's true self and their surroundings. To paraphrase: to feel fucking great.

I made it home.

Mom's not here. The oven clock confesses the time. 3:36am. She left for her shift hours ago. Liam's been on his own ever since. Did she leave him anything for dinner? I slowly open the door to his room. The pile of dirty clothes on the floor makes it hard for me to do so.

"Ivy? What are you doing?" In this moment, I am glad that he is facing away from me, from the disheveled state in which I am. I feel my hair is heavy on my head, all tangled and miserable. My jacket is dowsed with early morning condensation and my hands are congested with dried blood. "I was worried about you, where have you been?"

"I told you not to worry about me, kid. Did you eat anything for dinner?"

"Yeah, Mom ordered pizza. There are some leftovers in the fridge." He shifts under his race car branded beddings.

Just like that, he's fallen asleep once again. I admire the thoughts of having a bite of that pizza but I immediately collapse on my bed upon entering my bedroom.