Demolition Lovers

Chapter I

What do you do when the only thing that is keeping you alive is the very same thing that is slowly tearing you apart, day by day?

This is the question I have been asking myself for well over a year now. It haunts me each and every night as I toss and turn, trying to escape the inevitable thoughts that consume me with guilt and simultaneous hope. My life, my thoughts, my very inner being are a paradox, one that has no escape or solution. No escape from the outside world; no escape from myself.

This night differs only slightly from every other. Instead of trapping myself further in the small confines of my room, I’ve taken the initiative to temporarily free myself from my pressing thoughts, and drown everything out with heavy music and the silence of the cool fall evening.

As my black converse-clad feet slap quietly and rhythmically against the damp, cracked pavement that lines the rows of identical suburban homes, I allow nothing but the soothing sounds of smooth guitar riffs and calming lyrics to enter my mind. I’m trying; I’m trying, to let you know just how much you mean to me. The words drift softly to my ears, and I chuckle darkly at the pure irony of the situation. The thing I sought to forget is being forced from my subconscious and breaking my concentration, by means of the thing intended to wipe those memories clear. I rip the headphones from my ears, and stuff them roughly into the pocket of my Avenged Sevenfold hoodie. I continue along at a brisk pace, trying to focus on my surroundings instead of my internal conflicts.

The night is calm, without a trace of wind; an event that is rather uncommon in this area. The dim streetlights illuminate the path I find myself on, highlighting the dull, wet cement in a yellowish light, making the sidewalk appear a pale shade of saffron. “If only life were as easy as clicking your heels and following a yellow brick road.” I think bitterly. I press on, the chill of fall seeping through my beloved hoodie, and nipping at my scarred arms. I stop a moment in front of a large puddle that blocks my path. I take in my appearance in its glassy surface: Raven hair with streaks of neon purple scattered throughout that sits just below my shoulders, an absurdly pale face with jade eyes rimmed heavily with black eyeliner, a faded black band hoodie, ripped up red skinny jeans that are adorned with dozens of safety pins, accompanied with long silver chains that hang to my knees on one side, and jet black converse. I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes as I am reminded of why my mother no longer speaks to me, why I have two friends in the whole world, and why no one could ever possibly love a reject like me. I stomp through the puddle angrily, marring its smooth surface and sending icy droplets of rain water flying in all directions, as well as soaking into my canvas shoes. I instantly regret my actions and curse under my breath as my feet slowly begin to grow cold and numb.

I do my best to ignore the numbness in my frozen feet, and trudge along the sidewalk at a considerably slower pace than I had been before. Feeling defeated and sullen, I purposely scuff the toe of my shoe against the ground in an attempt to vent some of the frustration I am ridden with. The result is not relief, but rather an awkward stumbling followed by my face hitting the hard grey surface below me. The rest of my body is sprawled in an undignified manner upon the pavement. It certainly was NOT what I was expecting, although I really should have seen it coming. I’ve always been uncoordinated, and this accident was no exception to that. I shakily push myself up into a kneeling position, and sign in defeat. The universe really has something against me, I swear it. I’m about to drag myself to my feet, when I’m startled by a harsh vibration, followed by the blaring of Slipknot’s Psychosocial ringing out and shattering the silence around me. I reach into my back pocket and retrieve my cellphone from its crimson confines. The time reads 12:13, and the words “1 new text message” stare up at me expectantly. I sigh again, this time in annoyance, and retrieve the message. It’s from my dad, and reads: “Honey, where are you? I’m worried. Come home soon.” My annoyance is immediately melted away and guilt instantly washes over me as I read the text. I almost always tell my dad when I go out, goodness knows he’d have a heart attack if he didn’t know where I was. He cares so much, and it comforts me to know that no matter what, at least my dad is there for me. When he and my mother separated a few years back, due to my mother whoring around with some other guy, he always made sure I was okay, and was making sure things were working out. My mother on the other hand acted coldly around me all the time. She knew I was closer to my dad than her, and she loathed my father and me for it. She gave me the ultimatum of “It’s me or him! What’s it going to be?!” and naturally, I chose my father. You can’t honestly tell me you’d pick that cheating, malevolent whore over someone as kind hearted and caring as my father. She took off with my oblivious younger sister, and I haven’t heard from either of them since. I was momentarily caught up in my memories, and was brought back by the loud ping of my message reminder. I sent back a quick reply, saying I’d be home as soon as I could, and for him to stop worrying. I shut the phone off, and pull myself to my feet, and head back home as fast as I could manage.

 As I round the corner of my street, a large truck speeds by, soaking my entire being with the dirty remnants of the earlier rainfall. I yelp in surprise, and furiously flip off the asshole who has managed to make me feel even shittier, and more worthless than I already do. Tears threaten to fall, and for once, I let them. I just don’t care anymore. Let the world see that I’m an emotionally disturbed, fucked up teenager. After all, why bother denying the truth any longer? My salty tears mix in with the rain that has started to fall for the second time that evening, splashing to the ground. As I near my home, I see the silhouette of my father pacing back and forth on our driveway, umbrella held high. He faces away from me, and for the hundredth time, I pray that he won’t see through the façade I’ve carefully perfected over the years. I walk up the drive towards him, and the moment he sees me, he lets the navy blue umbrella fall from his firm grasp and rushes forward, embracing me in the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced.

“Where were you?! I was so worried! You left without a note, and I mean, I know you wouldn’t be off doing anything bad, I trust you, it’s just-“He rambles on, voice panicky and full of concern. I cut him off before he can get too lost in his own little bubble of worry.

“Dad! Stop. It’s alright. I’m alright. You can stop freaking out. I just needed to get some air, it’s not like I’ve never done this before.” I inform him. His brow creases and he opens his mouth as if he were about to speak, but shuts after a brief moment. He isn’t typically prone to long speeches on how he’s the dad, it’s his house, and he makes the rules, and so on. The only time these speeches make themselves present is when I screw up really badly. He nods in what I perceive to be agreement and snatches up his umbrella.

“Let’s get inside. It’s fucking freezing out here!” he says with a laugh. I follow wordlessly behind him, and into the warmth of the moderately sized house the two of us call home. I hastily undo my converse and chuck them onto the mat reserved for shoes that resides near the stairs leading to the upper floor. I’m shivering now, something I hadn’t noticed until I heard the clicking of my teeth hitting against each other. My dad removes his jacket and carefully hangs it above the register for it to dry. He kicks off his shoes, runs a hand through his short, gray hair and sighs. He turns to me and gives me the saddest looking face the world has ever seen. “Why do you always disappear in the evenings? You’re always coming in later than you say you’ll be back, and you constantly hide in you room with the lights off. Please, tell me what’s wrong.” He pleads. He beckons for me to follow him downstairs, and into the living room that sits at the far end of the basement. I hesitantly follow, not wanting to speak, but rather to just go to sleep and attempt to ignore the messed up world I’m slowing coming to grips with. Despite my will to supress my emotions, the strong feeling of dread creeps up my spine and settles into my chest, which tightens as feelings of anxiety and sadness worm their way in, and come to rest alongside the dread. I gingerly sit down on the faded blue loveseat that is pressed up against the beige wall, and stare at my father, waiting for some sign as to what I’m to say. He takes his place in the worn faux-leather recliner, and turns to me with a knowing look spread across his aged face. “Izzy, come on. Please, just talk to me. I’m so worried.” He whispers, a frown forming on his lips as he completes his sentence.

“Dad, I wish I could tell you, I wish so badly that I could explain to you the mess of…” I stumble on my words momentarily, and gesture fiercely to my head. “… This! Nothing makes sense anymore, and I just don’t know what to do. I’m not even sure what’s wrong. If I knew what was wrong, I wouldn’t have a problem in the first place.”