So Far (Matty Healy)

Chapter One

"If you take those, you're out. Done!" My mom often yells things like that when she's pissed. She doesn't scare me. I raised my eyebrows in response to her futile attempt to 'save me from myself.' I stared into her eyes intently, daring her. She thinks she can control me; she acts like she's my boss or something. Plus, I like challenging people. It gives me a sort of rush. Of course, there was no point in giving getting hyped over a natural buzz because I was about to swallow a handful of pills. I wasn't going to take enough to kill myself or make myself sick. I just wanted to relax my mind and body. The only time I like myself is when I'm high.

"Where am I supposed to go?" I continued to stare at her as I lifted my hand to my mouth and swallowed the pills I had stolen from her. Her eyes hardened as I took a gulp of water from an old water bottle that was on my nightstand.

"I don't fucking care, Cadence. I give up!" I flinched at her harsh tone, but I masked my hurt expression before she could recognize it.

Never let her know she cracked through the surface. My dad's few words of advice blew through my head like a train.

"Fine," I said, "I don't blame you; I can't stand myself, either." She rolled her eyes at me.

"I'm not playing this game. If you really hated yourself, you would have made am effort to change the last time this happened. But you didn't! You didn't change and you never will. You don't care about anything other than your own self destruction," she spat.

"You act like it's my fucking fault, Mom. You always seem to forget who raised me," I accused. I knew I was hitting her below the belt, but the only person I liked to hurt more than I liked to hurt myself was my mom.

"Get out of my house." She stared at me with eyes full of shame.

I shot up from my bed and grabbed my bag. I needed to get somewhere before the pills kicked in. I can't be trusted when I'm stoned. The last time I had taken pills, I woke up seven hours later in a stranger's bed. I never did find out his name.

I threw an extra pair of socks and underwear in my bag. I wasn't sure how long I'd be gone for this time. I knew that Sydney was out of town with her family, and Becca was no more accepting of my lifestyle than my mom was. I had nowhere to go.

"Bye," I muttered as I elbowed past her and moved out the door. She didn't reply. She was happy to see me go. She was relieved from her duty of being my mother now. She will be able to live her life how she wanted to: free of my sorry ass. I was hoping she would have pushed me back, and disappointment tickled my hopes. Every day's a good day for a fight.

She should have just had an abortion, I thought to myself, disappointment seeping through my mind like poison. It would have saved both of us from seventeen and a half years full of regrets.

My eyelids began to get heavy before I had reached the end of the block. I quickened my pace, eager to find a spot to rest. I was near the park when my head started to buzz and my arms and legs began to tingle. My walk slowed; my thoughts froze.

Finally, I made it to the bench that was hidden in the secluded area of the park. There was a tree planted just behind it, perfect for shading. It was midday in July; the Michigan sun would burn me up in no time. There was a soft breeze blowing as I laid back on the bench, stretching my numb limbs, and closing my eyes. My long, blonde hair fell over the edge and blew around. I imagined myself as a tree. My hair was the same as the green leaves on the oak a few feet away, my arms were the limbs; my scarred skin was the ugly bark. I relaxed as the noises danced around me.

I never understood why people were so repulsed by my recreational habits. When I was high, it was like meditating. What's the shame in resting your mind and body?

A word formed in my mind. Viscid: Adhesive, glue. The letters took shape in my imagination. They became bold. They swirled and jumped and kicked around, then ran away as soon as they had formed. I had learned that word in middle school. It was a vocabulary word that had been stomped into my memory by my wicked teacher. She was truly awful, and she sent me to the office at least once a day. The office was cool though. The ladies down there really understood me. I bet they popped a few xannies back in their day.