Not Like Last Time

Chapter 2

My room, like every other room, was a deep blue. The floors were cold concrete, and not even the thickest or fluffiest socks could keep out the cold. I had a small duffle bag that had already been checked by the orderlies. It had pictures of me, Cassie, Marcus and Samuel. Some of them were in black and white, Cassie had gotten a Polaroid camera, a black and white film one.

There was one, in color, that I loved. Cassie was on my back, and Marcus and Samuel were on either side of us. Samuel had a crush on Cassie, but Cassie already had a boyfriend. He treated her nice enough, but sometimes she didn't have time for me.

I'd started doing drug runs for them more and more, and when Marcus ran out of money, I had to offer myself as payment. So I would go back to the man's house while his wife was out and give him his payment. Then I would go back to the group and give them their drugs. That was one secret I'd never told Cassie.

I put the photos back carefully. Then I pulled out my notepad I used for talking to people, and myself. It was kind of like a diary. Recently I had only used it for talking. Now I feel the obsession coming back. The obsession of writing down every thought, every feeling inside of my head and putting it on paper. Putting it on paper so I know that I thought the thoughts, and not someone else.

Sometimes I wrote poetry. Sometimes I just wrote random words, and sometimes I would just fill page after page of my thoughts and feelings. The pages were my therapist. My heart and soul were there.

I dug through my bag and found a pen I had kept hidden. Some of the girls here were desperate to have something, anything, to relapse. The orderlies take away almost everything sharp from us. When we do use sharp objects, like in Crafts, we're very closely monitored.

I started writing. First some poetry. All these thoughts inside my head/All the thoughts in your head/Mine are different from yours/But maybe not as much as I think

I'm pretty shitty at poetry sometimes. On good–well technically bad–days, I can pour out the most heartfelt poems when I'm sad or angry. But I'd had a decent day today, I just missed Cassie. I missed Cassie more than Marcus or Samuel.

So instead of poetry I just poured my feelings and thoughts onto the page.

I miss you a lot Cassie. I missed you when the sun rose, and I will miss you everyday until the sun stops setting. I know I'll probably be stuck in here a while more, and you'll probably forget about me. I wonder who's doing the drug runs now? I honestly hope that you stopped doing those. I hope you clocked into rehab or some shit. What I don't hope is that you get so messed up that you end up somewhere like this.

It isn't all that bad, really, but you, Cassie, you wouldn't last a goddamn day.

I miss the way you laugh, I miss the way you smiled when you weren't high. I miss the way we'd stay up all night talking about our secrets. That was before your boyfriend took our nights from me. Are you two still together? Or did you break up and have nobody to cry to? Or maybe you do have someone to cry to now. You can't hold on to me forever, not like I'm going to do.

You won't hold onto me forever.

Maybe you found a new person to drag into the group. To turn them into me. A replacement. Not the same, but good enough. I hope you did. I would've gotten us caught eventually and then we would've all ended up here.

My heart is going to hurt for the rest of my life because I know I can't go back to you if I don't want to end up here. Before I met you, I had been here before. I had tried to commit suicide at the age of 14. By the time I was 15, I was back to my old ways, and then I found you. I still cut with you, but it was nice to find someone who kind of understands in a way that the girls here never will. Now I'm 17 and waiting for my 18th birthday in exactly 1 month and 6 days to roll around so I can clock out of here.