Say You Hate Me

the nick extravaganza

Flashback (Grayson aged 13) his first high
I held the blunt between my fingers and gawked down at it. I shifted it between my fingers. I liked the feeling of it in my hand and the way it fit in between my fingers. I liked the weight in my palm.

I also liked the way it made me feel. Inhaling a drag and feeling fire stumble down my throat. The way it stripped me of my breath. The way it made my eyes water. I liked the subtle pain. It reminded me that I was alive.

It also did something that I've never felt before. It got rid of the throbbing in my chest and the lump in my throat. It dimmed the shouting in my eardrums and reduced the rage flowing through my veins. It stopped the pain and unleashed a different version of me. Sure, I looked hazy and I was slurring my words and my eyes were rolling back in their sockets. But inside, I felt euphoric.

I knew it was poison. They call it the type of shit that slowly kills you. But what if I said that I wanted to die?

It muted all the bad things and enhanced the good. I couldn't feel the deep gashes on my abdomen anymore. Pain didn't race down my spine every time I moved. Instead, I felt good - better than ever before.

I felt free from the constraints of my brain. I felt powerful.

Fuck you, dad.

My eyelids hung low and obscured my vision but I couldn't find it in me to care.

Snatching back the blunt, I brought it to my lips and inhaled another deep drag. Spluttering and coughing as it blistered my throat, my lips tipped up in a lazy smile.

Ecstasy exploded like fireworks inside of me. My body flopped sideways and I sunk into the grassy patch beneath me. The world seemed to ripple around me. I could've sworn  that the trees were breathing; it was the way that their trunks expanded and contracted in slow, deliberate waves. And the green of the grass was vivid and blindingly bright. Was it neon?

The sound of the wind whipping around me mixed with the sound of bird chirping sounded like an orchestra performing music. I liked it. My thoughts were moving slowly, almost lazily, like the smoke curling upwards from a lit joint. And I felt weightless, like if I hauled my body off the floor, I would float away.

I find myself thinking back to this morning. To the blade dug deep in between shoulder blades and the belt against my back. To the venomous words emerging from dad's mouth. To my brother's eyes and their mournful glimmer as he found me sprawled across the floor after a beating.

But this time, I didn't flinch at the memory. I didn't feel tears forming in my eyes. I didn't feel my cheeks burning up.

I just felt numb.

And I loved it.

An hour turned into two and then three and then four and then I can't remember. I'd lost count of how many more drags I took.

I just stared at the sky, mesmerised with the way the fluffy clouds drifted aimlessly across it.

"Get up, Grayson." Matteo hissed from somewhere beside me. I made no effort to move. "Get the fuck off the floor."

Alarmed by his sharp tone and the way he was yanking my body away from the soft grass, I turned to look at him. A laugh bubbled up in my chest.