Disposable Teenagers

Chapter 8: Panic Station

Warning, sad chapter with a reference to blood and pain. Sorry.

Lewis POV:

*Three Days Ago*

Sweating, I swiftly bolted up on my bed. Something wasn’t right, must have had another nightmare or something; nothing unusual there. I often have nightmares, it normally features my Mam. It was 4:40am; I slipped downstairs to get myself a drink. Sneaking past the living room, I listened for my dad. Not a sound. After pouring myself a glass of water I retreated back to my room where I sat, reading Kerrang! magazine and listened to Lower Than Atlantis through my iPod.

I before I knew it, it was 6:35am. I decided to get back up. I showered before slipping on my school trousers and top. I rummaged around my room looking for my tie; after giving up I went downstairs to look for it. Not in the kitchen, hallway or dining room; I came to the conclusion that it was in the living room as I was in there last night. Knowing my dad was in there, I snuck in quietly, dodging all the noisy floorboards. I grabbed my tie which was flung on the sofa furthest from the door. Typical. I slipped to the other side and grabbed my tie, keeping an eye on my dad. He was laid in the middle of the floor; normally he passes out on the sofa but ends up rolling off and landing in the centre of the room. I checked to see if he was okay. He hadn’t thrown up or wet himself. Usually he does; he keeps drinking and goes to the toilet wherever he is as he has no dignity. He used to but not now. I rolled him onto his side just in case he did vomit; as I moved his neck I noticed something quite wrong. His head seemed a lot heavier and wouldn’t stay on the side.

“Dad?” I whispered, “Dad?” I repeated louder. I shook him violently as I shouted. Why wasn’t my dad responding? I felt his neck and wrist; no pulse. I stopped in my tracks, staring. I was in shock. It was no surprise he would die at an early age as he was a heavy smoker, druggie and drinker but not at 34! I burst out crying lying next to him. What was I supposed to do now? How can I tell someone? Will I get put into care? What if I hide the body and act like everything was normal? Although I hated my dad, he’d beat me, make me work, make me buy him things, I still missed him. I was curled into a ball, crying for 2 hours.

Eventually I got up off the floor, threw my tie back across the room as it was too late to go to school, and stumbled into the bathroom. I stared into the mirror with an ugly, tearstained thing staring back. I wiped my face, still thinking about my dad. It was all my fault. It was my fault that mam died. It was my fault I didn’t stop him. It was my fault that he drank and smoked so much, I was scared to not buy him it. It was all my fault. My mam had died and now my dad has; I continued to cry. Everyone will think I have killed my dad too, they already think that about my mam. I could hear voices in my head, ‘Lewis killed both of his parents, ‘Lewis is a murderer’, ‘Lewis should be locked up’. I screamed in frustration and before I knew it, I grabbed a razor and slide it across my smooth skin. A thick, crimson streak appeared on my arm. After a few more slashes I fell onto the cold bathroom floor…