Logan Marshall's Misery (Sioux City South Series Book 1)

1.

Logan's Monday morning began with an extra shot of cortisol jolting him out of bed from his sister's shrill yelling downstairs. Because of his punctuality, due to his pragmatic loyalty to school attendance and academics, he had plenty of time to get ready and drive himself to Sioux City South High School, but the conflict boiling over downstairs between Rebekah and Mom motivated him to be extra on time for first period. The Marshall household lacked an amount of bathrooms exceeding one, so Logan had prepared for situations like the one that morning. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from the clutter on top of his wardrobe, brushed and flossed in front of a tiny circular mirror, and spit into a bowl when finished. Since Rebekah's room was downstairs on the first floor, which was the floor with the only bathroom, and since Logan wanted nothing more than to be as far away from her, this process was a much better alternative.

"Why would you even bring that up right when I'm waking up!? Fuck Mom!?" Rebekah wailed from her room at Mom, who was questioning Rebekah on how she was planning to keep her job at Wells Fargo with so many no-call-no-shows.

"You wanna know why!? Huh!?" Mom exploded back at Rebekah, "You want to for once in your goddamn forsaken life wanna understand where I'm coming from? It's because I don't want you to lose another fucking job leaving you more broke than you already are with me taking care of you for the rest of my life. That's why!" This response did nothing but push Rebekah over the edge of her impending emotional/mental breakdown. If a neighbor could hear, which they very well might have, they would've thought Rebekah was in pain and dying the way she cry-screamed for the next who knows how many hours.

Rebekah's emotional state was mainly due to her migraine, which had begun the night before. However, Logan had long ago become numb to his sister's crying and screaming. For as long as he could remember, there was always something wrong with her. Something that justified her regression to selfish, child-like manipulation of the rest of the family to be at her beck and call. Headache, migraine, tummy ache, growing pains, allergies, joints hurt, any and every ailment thinkable could supposedly strike at any moment dispelling any illusion that Rebekah would be non-selfish for a period of time. Oh, and her severe clinical depression didn't help either, but unfortunately, living your whole life with a person's suffering saps your sympathy as compared to temporarily getting a glimpse at it from a distance; at least, that's how Logan understood his indifference to his sister's sufferings.

Logan rushed downstairs, was in and out of the basement shower in five minutes flat, grabbed his backpack and jumped into his 2002 Chevy Impala for the morning commute to school.

As Logan took strategic side streets to get to Sioux City South avoiding the morning gridlock, the bright Iowa sky illuminated the red and yellow August leaves dancing to the ground. It was a fair, cloudless day, but for Logan, the drive was overcast with an impending dread. He did not know how to feel about the current state of things; what lengths he'd realized he was able to go to remain functional. Functional not just at home, but everywhere. He realized how fragile life had made him; how prone to breaking he was. Staring out into middle-distance, the world looked gray and ambiguous to Logan. It was unnerving. Yet it was also calming.

As he got over the hill on SW 14th street, he was able to see the high school. To him it looked how the city felt: bland and empty even though both were full of people, most just getting by, others convincing themselves they were happy. Who the fuck is happy in Sioux City, Iowa? Answer: no one.

The main building left a lot to the imagination; it was boring and square and made of boring, square, red bricks. Curved concrete arches on the outside of some windows and doors hinted at some possible artistic expression, but like the school itself the result was just disappointment. Logan didn't know why he cared how the school looked. It's just a school. But he did, and it was just another mirror in his life. Another thing that reflected the disappointment and depression he felt so consistently. On the way down the hill to the parking lot he glanced at his face and hair in his rear-view mirror. His dark brown hair was acceptable, he thought to himself. He had the faintest hint of some chin hairs poking out of their follicles. They never grew that long. He had retained his pre-pubescent inability to grow a mustache and/or beard into sophomore year. That was just one more thing he didn't like about himself.

His friends who were girls would sometimes comment that he was attractive. The more tom-boyish ones, like Kristen, would sometimes joke about how fuckable he was, and how they'd be all over him if they weren't already dating someone. Logan didn't share these views, but when Kristen threw around these raunchy comments about him, his heart couldn't help but flutter and he felt himself blush.

He pulled into the cracked, sun-bleached parking lot behind the high school, and found a spot way in the back in the shadow of the trees where some of their roots broke through the pavement in defiance. Logan didn't park back there for the shade, but so he could be hidden.

He felt like his blood was pooling in his legs and feet making his heart faint and his head heavy. He felt an impending dread, and a quiet nervousness in anticipation for what he was about to do. He wanted to do it, but he also wanted to stop. He just needed to today. It was too hard. He was too scared. He was fragile and felt himself breaking already.

He grabbed the lighter from his glove compartment. He didn't have a cigarette. He didn't have a pipe. He rolled his sleeve up and put the lighter to his arm flicking the striker with his thumb. And he hurt himself.