Waiting for Regret

Chapter 1- Just Attempting Normal

I woke up panting, my brow covered in sweat. The dream, it was back. The dream of a girl who was beaten and bruised , then hung until oxygen was no longer necessary. I have never had the same dream for more than a week, yet here I am having the same dream for three weeks now. No matter how hard I try in the dream I can’t save her. I want to, I can’t.  I sighed exhausted. I haven’t actually had a full night of sleep in about seven years. Caffeine and adrenaline rushes are the only thing that keeps me going at this point in my eighteen years of life.

I rolled out of bed, too tired to do much more. I groaned as I hit the hard floor and struggled to push myself up. Once I was standing, I shuffled into the bathroom and started the water. I studied my face in the mirror; my cold gray eyes stared back at me. My black hair stood straight up suffering from a restless night of sleep. I took a deep breath filling up my lungs, and slowly exhaled. Feeling relived, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, and let the cool water wash away all the stress from the night.  I cleared my head. Not thinking about anything, not even the dream from the night before.

Once I felt confident enough to not think about anything, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my bare waist. Careful not to slip, I padded into my room and pulled out an old band tee, black skinnies, and my red chuck taylors. I had nowhere in particular I wanted to go, but I had to go somewhere. I had to atleast attempt to be normal.

Hurriedly, I ran down the stairs and straight to the kitchen. I pulled the stale box of apple jacks from the top shelf, along with a bowl, and a spoon. My stomach let out a low rumble, speaking to me. What could I say? I'm a teenage boy. I NEED food. I poured the jacks into the bowl, licking my lips in anticipation. I suddenly remembered that I needed milk; eating stale apple jacks dry was not decent. I checked the fridge, and checked time and time again, mentally slapping myself. There was no milk. I now knew where I was going.

I grabbed my skateboard off the living room table; don't ask how that got there that's a whole different story. Quickly, running out of the front door, and slamming it behind me. I skated down the driveway and onto the busy streets of New York City, ignoring all the evil looks from the people that came into my path. All the looks themselves read, 'Stupid kid.' I didn't mind though, it was to my enjoyment.

I finally reached the Walgreen’s, and parked my skateboard outside. Nobody would take it; it was an old beat up thing. And, if they did, so be it, it was worthless anyways. The people that worked here, all knew me by name and could tell what I came in here to buy by the look in my eye or the panic on my face. It was pretty funny and not to mention really cool. It saved me the trouble of looking for anything.  I could see some of the workers already heading towards the milk. I put my hands up as if surrendering and said, ”Don’t worry guys, I got this one today.” I chuckled to myself and headed towards the milk.

 Grabbing the first gallon I saw, I spun on my heel, and literally dropped the gallon of milk at what stood behind me. No. NO! No.. NO!! NO! This couldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen.  I sucked a deep breath and blinked several times, hoping I wasn’t dreaming. Please let me be dreaming…