Prologue.
( October 2015 )
April.
"In case 235b the city of Miami, Florida vs. Thomas-we the court & jury find August Anthony Alsina Jr. guilty on the three charges. Verdict A, sentenced to five years in prison for one count of drug distribution. Verdict B, two years for second offense of drug possession. Verdict C, three months on the count of being an accessory after the fact to a federal crime."
Seven years and three months.
That's how long I'd be away from my best friend. 7 years, 3 months, 2,646 days, 63,510 hours, & 3,810,600 minutes.
Without the love of my life by my side.
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( 9 hours before )
My phone rung on the night stand so I turned over to look at it. It was Lola calling for the fourth time this morning. I was already so used to just letting my phone ring, that I allowed it to go to voicemail.
I swung my legs out of bed first and put my feet to the cold floor. May and June whined from their cages, hoping I'd pay them some kind of mind. But I just walked pass them with a poker face and went into the bathroom.
I blinked at my reflection in the mirror, turning from side to side to look at myself. The bags and dark circles under my eyes were getting worst, so I'd have to make sure to cover that with more make-up. I couldn't scarf anything down much since that night so my face has gotten skinnier-my body not so much.
The oddness of my eating habits and the lack of things being able to be held down played with my figure, but I had no room to care about that. All I could ever think of was this day. The day of his ruling.
He's been in jail since his birthday, waiting for a trial. I tried to go to the police multiple times to try and figure out just what he was in trouble for, but they never budged. I went around so much that they threatened to throw me in jail.
And even though Lance tried to help out, there wasn't anything we could do at the time. He was just in custody until his hearing so we weren't able to get him out of the hell hole, nor visit, or call him.
That drove me fucking nuts.
I felt like I couldn't function without him. In this past month I've only been to school eight times-four of the times London had to drag me there. I've called off more times than I can count and luckily the hospital understood.
I'd basically locked myself away in my apartment, being too much of a coward to go back to his place. It'd just make me cry over and over and over again. Unfortunately, his side of the bed of course always smelled like him. I found myself actually talking to myself as if he was there.
To sum it up September was basically filled with hurt, anger, failure, sleepless nights, concerned friends & family, crying-lots of fucking crying-sickness, and upmost desperation.
