these troubled bones | s.m.

ii. stranger

ii. stranger

SUNDAY IS SPENT lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself like the fucker I am. Tommy texts about getting together to go see some new movie, something with hot girls and explosions because that's how Tommy rolls. Will and Jones, ever faithful minions, jump on board immediately, but Elliot claims he's got work and can't go. I'm grateful for this because if he flakes out, it's not as bad if I do it too. Not that I'm busy.

    It's hard to explain why I don't hang out with the guys as much as I used to. I guess it's because I've noticed that they're kind of jerks. Or, well, that's a lie - I've always noticed, I just used to let it slide, more than I should have.

    If I'm being honest, it's because when I look at my friends and I see them laughing as they run down the halls and push one kid out of the way, the world tilts and the air slips out of my throat and I'm just stuck standing there and I feel like everything is so heavy, pushing down on my chest and filling my lungs with smoke and lead and I just think to myself, I don't belong here. I want something that means more than a passed blunt or peer pressure to agree that one girl is fat and another one is hot.

    I could never say that aloud, of course. Tommy'd probably beat the shit out of me for being a loser, and it's so sappily cringeworthy, anyway.

    I guess not all my friends suck: Elliot's okay. He knows me the best out of the four of them; terrifyingly well, sometimes. He's acutely aware of everything, and never afraid to call me out on my bullshit, which has its perks and pitfalls. Mostly, he doesn't give me a hard time like Tommy loves to do, so I stick with him.

    After ignoring Tommy's final text (you guys SUCK movie will be better w out u) and Will's and Jones' agreements (two fist emojis and a you'll miss out on the hot girl @ the concession stand, respectively), I put my phone down on my nightstand and groan. It's already nearing 5 PM and I haven't left my room yet.

    A shriek of laughter from outside startles me. I pull my shades up just enough to peer out to the street, where I see the little blue house. The kid, the young boy who must be Willa's brother, is running around on the lawn and chasing after a small dog that I must've somehow missed when they arrived yesterday. His little legs carry him across the grass and his boyish giggles spread over the entire street. It's almost cute, but then Willa comes outside and my half-smile drops.

    What's your problem? she'd asked me.

    If I could answer, I'd tell her everything.

    "Jack, come on," I hear her call faintly, though the closed window obstructs some of the sound. "Time for dinner."

    I snort to myself at this. They eat dinner together in the dining room at 5 on the dot. They're like the stereotypical image of an ideal American family.

    It's almost ironic, I think to myself as I let the blinds shut and fall back into bed, considering how fucked up the family that came before them was.

+

    Mum's three rapid knocks on the door come at 6:30, just like every morning. "Time to get up," she sings through the door.

    I groan incoherently back and rub my eyes. My room is awash in the blueish light of early morning, and my mouth is saturated with the gross taste of morning breath.

    I really fucking hate Mondays.

    "Remember, Aaliyah and I'll be at the dentist by the time you get home, so you're probably on your own for dinner tonight," she continues babbling, as if I'm listening. "And it's Willa's first day, so make sure you help her around, okay?" I pull myself out of bed and mumble back some nonverbal form of agreement, which seems to satiate her because I hear her footsteps leaving.