"Just go to sleep hon, it'll all be better tomorrow."
"How can you say that mom? It'll never get better..." Zisteau says sadly, looking at the white sheets.
"Because I know it will."
"But dad left, you forced us to move and I have no friends, I never will." Zisteau pouts.
"I know sweety, I know, but you'll find friend soon, I just know you will." She brushes some of Zisteau's blonde hair out of his face. "Now go to sleep sweetheart, you have school tomorrow."
"Don't remind me." Zisteau sighs as he laid down on his side, his back to his mother as he stared at the chips in the blue paint.
He heard his mother sigh as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. He knew she was trying, but nothing felt right anymore, not since his dad had left them. He didn't even know why, but he blamed himself. He wasn't even old enough to truly understand anything. Seven, that's how old he was. His father left almost a month ago, which had ruined his life. He sighed and closed his eyes, desperate to get some sleep, which came shortly.
Just another day alone, Zisteau made his way down the road to his work down house him and his mother shared. It had been four years since his father had abandoned them, for horrible lonely years, which had only torn him down and made him feel like nothing. The house was silent as he entered, he knee his mom wouldn't be home till late because of the two jobs she worked.
He felt bad for her, but his own self loathing was the one thing he usually felt. He still blamed himself for his father leaving, he always would, there was nothing that convince him otherwise. He threw his bag down on the couch and grabbed his skateboard before heading back out the house. He road down the sidewalk, just wanting to clear his head, which ask keys seemed to be full of dark thoughts.
"Hey, kid, come here." Called a boy, who looked to be his own age who also has a skate board.
He briefly pondered ignoring the kid, but decided to see what he wanted. "What do you want?" He questions, skating up to them.
"You wanna try some?" The kid asked, holding out a lit joint.
He stared at it for a second and shrugged, taking it. Couldn't hurt, right? He took a drag of it, and instantly stated coughing, but the feeling accompanied it was a welcome one. It made that weight on his shoulders a little lighter.
"What's your name?" The kid asked.
"Zisteau, but you can call me Z." He said, handing the joint back to the other.
"Vechs, it's a pleasure to meet you." The other, Vechs said, pure mischief in his icy blue eyes.
"Hand over the bottle Vechs, it's been a long day." Zisteau says, motioning good the bottle of vodka Vechs had been hogging.
"It's your birthday dude, how can it be that bad?"
"My mom found out and wants me out of the house, especially know that I'm eighteen." He says, talking a big swig from the bottle, loving the way the clear liquid burned his throat.
"Shit dude, that sucks, you can crash here till you find somewhere to stay."
"Thanks man."
Another hit of the joint and another long drink of vodka, loud music, plenty of girls all in skimpy clothing. Just another typical night, ever since he dropped out of highschool to follow his 'dream' of being a singer. He knew his mother hated him, but he couldn't care. His father hatred him too, but that was evident when he left all those years ago. He never stopped blaming himself, but alcohol drowned his sorrows.
