I Am Cameron

All is Lost

My parents didn't have to teach me about drugs. What's the point of teaching something controversial, when I can just glance around the corner of our unruly, unkempt apartment and peek at the stacks of cocaine hidden behind their room door? You're probably thinking the same thing I thought when I first figured out my parents' addiction:

What the hell?

The sad part is, once they realized that I knew, the only change was that they didn't hide behind closed doors anymore. It's quite disturbing coming home after long and extraneous hours of fourth grade seeing your parents in the kitchen with a needle in their arm. Even now, nine years later, I can positively say that it is not a sight that I would like to get used to. Luckily, today was Tuesday. Mom was at work and Dad was nowhere to be found.

It was perfect. I park my bike on the bike rails and put both security chains on. I sigh, wishing I could buy another chain. It's hella hard to break through these chains, but it has been done before. The following months were brutal. I had to walk or beg to get a ride. Considering the fact that I had to do something for someone in return for a ride, I mostly walked. I was in no position to get screwed over by a drug dealer and then deal with the 'at home' repercussions as well.

After successfully fighting my front door, I'm allowed into the apartment. I drop my book bag in the corner and head to my room. By my room, I mean the rickety couch and the plastic, three drawer organizer that I'm supposed to imagine is my dresser. They're fucking lucky I have a great imagination. I shrug off my jacket and toss it on the couch as I walk by. I head to the restroom and do the same thing I've been doing for the last few months. I stare myself down. It's the same square face, same dirty blond hair that needs to be cut, same annoyingly thin lips, same dull brown eyes as yesterday. And the day before that. And so on. I still stared, hoping to find the answer to the question swarming in my head, as if it was a colony of bees being disturbed by a pesky intruder.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

I'm a 17-year-old, high school graduate. In half a year, it will be March. I'll be 18. Of course, I'm leaving here as soon as the clock hits midnight that day, but what do I do until then? Dad won't let me work for his own insecure reasons, but I'm still able to save up some money from other random jobs. I've been doing it for a few years actually. It's been enough to pay for my online associate's course. I study and do the coursework at the library. There's no way I can buy myself a computer. They'll sell it as soon as I walk in the door. I couldn't hide it either. I can bet anyone $100 that if I reach under this sink and trail my hands above the roof of the cabinet, there's some form of drugs hidden.

I grimace, my hands gripping the sink just a little harder.

"Just a few more months", I mumble to myself. Before I have the time to get discouraged, I turn on the sink and rinse my face. After drying off, I head to the kitchen. I'm the only one who actually cares to cook in this house and I'd like to say that I'm pretty good at it, depending on what we have in stock. I take out some hamburger meat along with two packs of hamburger helper Zest and Cheese. I take my time cooking, letting my mind grasp at the peacefulness that was instilled at this moment.

I drain the meat.

I wonder what the weather will be like tomorrow?

I put the lid on the food and let it sauté.

I'm more than sure the landlord just plastered cheap paint over that hole in the wall.

I turn off the aisle. After moving the pot to another aisle, I fix myself a plate and then store it in the microwave. This is the only way I can make sure I eat. Afterward, I clean up the mess I made and take a nap. It's not that I was exactly tired, but I had no other way to escape reality. So I slept.

I was awakened by the rugged and sloshy footsteps walking past me. I could hear my parents voices murmuring close by. I'd be an idiot to let them know I was awake. They continue a small conversation, allowing me to catch a few words here and there. My name was mentioned several times along with 'drugs', 'expensive' and 'sell'.

This is my first time hearing them talk about selling something in order to get more drugs. What are they trying to sell?

I calm my nerves, trying to rationalize my jumbled thoughts. I haven't heard their entire conversation so I can't jump to conclusions so quickly. I know for sure that it's something bad, but finding out what it actually is might be a problem.

'Just let it go Cam', I think to myself. The more I thought of just leaving it be, the more I wanted to know. After a good thirty minutes, when I was sure they were either asleep in their room or completely occupied doing god knows what, I get up. I go to the microwave and heat up my dinner. As I pressed the '2' on the microwave, I hear a buzz. My dad's phone is on the counter. He must have left it behind. The phone buzzes again and I sigh. I'd hate to go back there, but he'll be pissed if he finds his phone up here, even if it is his own fault. I pick the phone up and it buzzes again, allowing the screen to light up the scariest sentence I've ever read.

'So are you selling the kid or not?'

A/N: thank you for reading this far. Please enjoy.