little blue suitcase ; e. dolan

2 : monster

ethan grant dolan

✿ august 11th 2017 ✿

+ 8:46pm

"you okay, buddy?" the door creaks open, my reflexes causing me to slam the pages shut and my pen to fall to the floor.

"fine, dad. just, finishing off some homework." my eyes scan the floor in an attempt to avoid his sympathetic ones.

i don't do homework. my attendance at school is nonexistence. but he doesn't have to know that.

"okay, bud. dinner's on the table if you want some."

i don't eat. my nutrition levels are nonexistent. but he doesn't have to know that.

"no thanks." the words come out as a mumble, my body turning back to my desk.

"okay. well, why don't you try and get some sleep?" i hear him try to reach out to me but i simply nod a hardly-visible nod.

i don't sleep. my sleep schedule is non existent. but he doesn't have to know that.

my eyes stare at the paint patch that my dad painted about a month ago. it used to be a spot to lay my fists (more like throw and pound until blood dripped down the white paint, but let's just go with lay), but now it sits above my newly redecorated desk. people say all-of-a-sudden redecorating is the first sign of early depression. maybe so.

i wait to hear the faint clicking of the door being closed before my legs lift the rest of my body up and walk myself to the closet, taking out a green zip up hoodie. i throw it on, the creak of the window making a screeching sound as i lift it open. i practically throw myself out of the window, becoming aware of the repercussions after my feet reach the hard ground, a sharp pain running up my ankles. a groan escapes my lips before i stumble the short distance to my car. i unlock it and climb inside the black bmw, my feet hitting the soft carpet. i start the engine with the key i pull out of my pocket, and start to back out of the driveway. as i back out, i glance up, looking into the window of my house that looks into the dining room space. there stands my mother and sister, looking with such concern and worry, as my car rolls away.

i don't know why they look like that. this isn't anything new. i'm simply going for a drive.

you're basically suicidal. a simple car ride can drive you into a tree or off a cliff.

i guess so.

my wheels slowly roll out of the driveway, and i take one last glance, seeing the turquoise car that was once driven by my best friend. now it sits there, alone, everyone too afraid to ruin such a unique atmosphere.

i drive fast down the road, my aggression controlling my feet as it pushes harder on the gas. my car slows down as it rolls into the large carpark, my car being the only one there, besides a red one further away.

with my hoodie hanging over my shaggy hair, my feet squeak against the freshly mopped hallway. although the halls were deserted at this time of night, the empty feeling inside hasn't changed to when they were bursting with ignorant, selfish teenagers.

the heavy weight sunk in my stomach, that i desperately wish i could physically throw away. the dim lights allow slight illumination so i can see my feet move along the blue and white checkered tiles.

my feet come to a halt as i spot a small paper photo on the ground. my hand reaches down to pick it up, the slightly crimpled paper soft between my fingers.