Timeless

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

            It made me feel better that Brendon had opened up to me, but it did nothing whatsoever to soothe the ache I was still feeling. Insanity’s a weird thing, you know? It’s like, knowing a secret, and knowing that you know it, but you still can’t tell anyone even though you know you’re not supposed to.

            I understood now how I had become so affected by London; she’s dealt with this kind of thing before, this “comforting” technique I mean. Who knows how long she’s been friends with Brendon, and who knows how long he’s been making himself feel better this way? And how long has London known, and been helping him?

            “He’s tired” London has mouthed that free Saturday we had together.

            I understood what he was tired of now.

***

            “Hunter,” my mother asked again. About my schoolwork. I was slipping: algebra was killing me, language arts was a disaster, (I kinda wanted to shove a bird down Ms. Right’s throat, just to see how she’d react) social studies hadn’t changed at all; I was a mess at the beginning, I’m a mess now. Only difference is my teacher has gotten louder and more hateful. Yearbook wasn’t that bad; we were a team, everyone got pictures, everyone wrote captions. No one noticed if I hadn’t done any work. And Ms. Goldheart hated me from the beginning.

            Nothing’s changed.

            “Hunter!” I looked up carelessly. It seemed like my whole family was deteriorating; first my mother had been decimated to the land of cleanliness and no care for personal hygiene...which is completely contradictory considering the context it’s used in. Our house is the cleanest thing on the planet, my mother scrubs and scrubs until the bleach and 409 has surely leaked into her skin, poisoning her blood. This used be Starburst’s job, and she fulfilled her filial chores every day, but now she’s just a ghost of our home. Does my mom give a damn how she smells or how nice her hair is? Hell no. She’s the grossest thing on Earth. Our house is beautiful.

            My father acts like the world is his, or like the world owes him something. Which it doesn’t. The world was here first. London likes quoting Mark Twain. I’m not depressed. I don’t think. I’ve come to this realization; there’s nothing wrong with me.

            Wait...who am I kidding? Of course there’s something wrong with me; I just can’t place the list somewhere where it’ll fit. I’m really surprised (that’s an emotion, right?) my parents haven’t sent me away, their two insane children—the depressed and the voice hearer—out of their hair. I wonder what they’ll do when we are finally gone. Moved out. Or maybe Starburst will just stay in a mental facility her whole life. They should just kill her there; it’s better than living your life based on pills and shrinks that try to sweet-talk the craziness out of you.  

            I don’t enjoy seeing London now. I don’t enjoy anything. Yes, I’ll hang out with her, but most of the time I’m just sitting on her bed while she’s sitting in her desk chair across the room, staring at me. It’s like a deceptive, curious demon looking at your soul. I wonder how many flaws London sees. But today she was tense and nervous as she reminded me that I was coming over. She really didn’t need to, she told me every day, but maybe reminding me kept her a little saner.

            I walked to her house, and upon entering her room, I was confronted with seven familiar faces: Anna, Raven, Mason, Pixie, Elliot, Auburn, and Brendon. The family that changed my life. For better or worse, I have no idea.