Unpredictability of Love

Irresponsibility At Its Best

As I walked back home, the only thing I could think about was Ethan's confession.

And yes, I walked back home.

While most fashion-crazed teenagers found walking a big ordeal with six-inch high heels, I didn't, mostly because flip flops and shoes were the only kind of footwear I ever wore, so I actually enjoyed the 20-25 minute walk from the park to my home.

16. He was 16 when he started doing drugs. What did the poor 16 year old Ethan go through to make him take such desperate measures to feel happy?

My 14 year old brother, Ed and I grew up in a very protected environment.

My parents didn't spoil me, but they took care of me, they loved me. I was taught to follow my dreams along with the morals.

I tried to imagine my Mom and Dad standing on the sidelines while I went through something so hurtful that I'd end up turning to drugs for happiness.

I couldn't. It just wasn't possible. I knew for a fact that if I went through something even remotely bad, the first people to turn to would be my parents.

You're a lucky bitch Em.

I knew it though, I was one of the most luckiest bitches in the entire world, or so I thought.

Anyway, I couldn't stop thinking about Ethan even after I got home.

My house wasn't anything special. We lived in one of the quietest streets in the town, where most of our neighbours were retired couples who kept to themselves.

My house itself wasn't anything remarkable. We had a drawing room, a kitchen and two rooms on the first floor, my room and the gym on the second and the garage along with a punching bag underground.

While that might have sounded a lot more luxurious than apartments, it wasn't.

We'd specifically narrowed the width of the house to accommodate the huge garden with a bunch of plants while building it. (My Mom wants to do her best to reduce Global Warming)

Because of my Mom's drive against global warming, we had plants even inside the house, making the already congested-looking place seem smaller.

Since I couldn't stop thinking about what Ethan had told me, I did what I usually do whenever my mind fells disturbed.

After checking up on my brother, who was busily reading a book in his room, I headed downstairs to the garage.

Although I had a room on the second floor, the garage was my haven. Unlike most homes, our garage wasn't used for parking our cars, even though it was built for that very reason. My parents stopped parking their cars in the garage a few years after moving here, and at the same time, I started taking boxing classes, so we simply got a hook attached to the ceiling and put a punching bag to it.

The garage also contained other bits and pieces of me, like the pom poms I had used in my cheerleading phase, a couple of gymnastic mats ( I used to do gymnastics when I was 6), my swim suits, a few tennis racquets, a basketball ball and a bunch of bicycles.

Needless to say, my hobbies used to be very volatile, there was even a time in my life when I'd wanted to do ballet.

Boxing was the only hobby which lasted this long, I'd been boxing for the past 6-7 years, without wanting to start another sport.

My Dad being a sports enthusiast didn't mind my jumping from one thing to another.

Once I was inside the garage, I shut the door, locked it and switched on the light.