Worth Dying For ( A Johnnie Guilbert Novel)

02: Cigarettes and Razor Blades

I didn't get home until almost dinner because the bus driver was douche and wouldn't wait for me. As if THREE FUCKING MINUTES is a huge cardinal sin. I throw my stuff on my bed and slide my headphones on, cranking up Jamestown Story. I love my tablet. Which is funny when I compare it to how much I hate my life. A lot of things are funny, actually..

Time has run out for me. Everything's distant and I don't know what to believe; It's so hard. Lost in the world confusion and I need to leave for awhile. Life is so meaningless there is nothing worth a smile,

So goodbye,

I'll miss you,

I close my eyes, soaking up the melody like the ground does to rain after a drought. This song is my anthem and it keeps me strong. I hum the words, softly, so softly, because I don't want my stepmom to hear my suicidal tendencies and walk in. Can we get something straight? I never asked to be this way. I never wanted to be fucked up in the head and stupid and mad. Yeah, maybe if I was a better person or even not here at all, my mom wouldn't have to work so hard to keep me in school and pay the damn bills. If I wasn't so fucked up, maybe I could pay them myself, but I am and I can't.

It's no use. Why should I hold on? It's been five years, don't need one more. So goodbye life's abuse.

'Goodbye,' I think to myself. I draw the blinds shut and go to the door to lock it, not that anyone ever comes in except my stepmom, and even then, that's rare. Taking my razor, still stained from last night, out of its hiding place, I roll up my sleeve to find a patch of undamaged skin and---

My phone rings. WHAT THE FUCK. My phone never rings.I roll over and dropping my razorblade, I answer it with out even checking the caller I.D.

"H-Hello??"My voice trembles a little and cracks slightly. See, this is why I never talk to people.

"Yeah, this is the Five and Dime. I was supposed to call you when that special brand of cigarettes came in. They just got here today, so stop by and pick them up whenever you feel like it." It was a guy. Like a young guy. I felt my face tinge a little red with embarrassment as the situation became obvious that it was a wrong number. I was unsure what to say.

"Umm... I think you might have the wrong number. Don't get me wrong: a special blend of cigarettes sounds absolutely amazeballs and I will totally take them if the other guy never shows. But yeah. This isn't him." I laugh softly, wincing as my breath causes a static like noise in the receiver.

"Oh! I-I'm sorry," he stammers. I thought that was so fucking adorable but of course I didn't say this out loud. "I might very well have the wrong number. Hold up." There's a rustling sound like he's sorting through some papers when comes back on the receiver, "Shit. I forgot to add the six. My bad."

I can't help it but smile. "Nah, no worries." I'm a little disappointed now because I know this is the moment when he'll apologize once more then hang up the phone and I'll probably never talk to him again. But he does something that totally catches me off guard.

"So who is this, anyways?"

I freeze, not sure how to answer or even if I should answer even though I knew I really wanted to. "My name is Indigo, but my frenemies call me Indie. I go to the San Jose High School." I leave it at that. Short and sweet. Since we probably would never see each other, I didn't want to give this guy, no matter how cute he sounded, any leeway on me. I still had no clue which way he rolled and until then, I was going to play this cool.

"Frenemies?? What do your friends call you?" he sounds slightly perplexed but interested, like he really gives a fuck. It made me relax a bit.

I laugh self consciously. "I don't have any. Friends, that is." I am tempted to change the subject, but I  ask him before I change my mind. "What's your name, stalker?" I tease.

"Me? Oh, I'm Johnnie. Johnnie Guilbert. I work here. Obviously. He laugh just for a moment, so briefly that I almost missed it. But I didn't and I was  digging it. Then the awkward silence came. And went.

"Well, if that guy doesn't claim those cigs, I'll be more than happy to claim them."

"I will definitely call you up if he doesn't show. But you'll have split with me." I can hear the smirk in his voice. I'm feeling this way too much and I realize I need to get off the phone.

"Thanks,. I will totally share. Because I'm just that nice." I laugh. "But I have to go so I guess I'll catch you later." I breathe a small sigh of relief to know that this conversation is drawing to a close. Talking to people wears me out mostly because, I'm not used to it.

"Aight, later Thug Pug." The phone clicks and I know he's gone. I double check the call log to make sure that I didn't just dream this whole conversation up (Which would be a definite sign I need to start taking my meds again.). But there it is. The Five and Dime's number is glaring back at me in the harsh light of my phone screen. I toss it back on my dresser, remembering the razor was bed. I glance at it once, then put it back in its case, my abandoned painting.

The only sign of life in my room, emanating from my headphone, still blaring the soft lullaby of Jamestown Story...

And I'm sorry,  but I've waited too long. So here's my goodbye; No one will cry over me.

....I'm not worth any tears....

.........................................................................................................................................