The Beginning of the End (Editing)

Twenty Eight : Over

I'm semi-drunk and alone and I'm in my car driving to somewhere. I know that's not safe, but really, what's the point in even trying to be safe anymore? Like, what's the point in doing anything? I have no girl, no Dad, Ma is too busy trying to mask her sadness with fucking wine and shit, and I'm doing the exact same as her. But my version is a toxic cycle, and I do it more often than chickens shit eggs.

I guess I'm a verrrrry sad sad person, but I guess I deserve it for emotionally torturing myself for how long? Too fucking long I think, and I think alcohol gives me a nice, brief pause to it all. Maybe I should work in a liquor store? I'm sure I could get great discounts.

The road I'm driving down isn't that familiar, but I feel as though it should be. I mean maybe Harry was right, maybe sober me knows more. He probably is right. I think he is. But that doesn't worry me, I just wanna keep driving and driving and hopefully I'll end up somewhere nice where none of this bullshit ever happened.

I don't think I could drive far away enough for that to happen though, I think I need to build a machine where I could switch to another alternate universe and then kill the me from there so I can take over as if nothing ever happened. That would be nice, maybe I wouldn't even have met Eleanor at all. That could be good too, right?

Having no El to feel feelings for should just eliminate the problem? All that emotional torture would just be obsolete and non-existent and really great because it's just not there.

I can see six lanes on the road, which is weird for a road that goes to nowhere. In the distance I can see a long white something on the road, but I don't know what it is. As I slowly drive closer, a car toots behind me and I feel my soul leave my body momentarily as I hit the breaks.

"Fuck off!" My voice messily call out to the cunt in his jeep as he overtakes me. My triple vision follows his heap of shit car as he drives off, and that's when I notice that the long white something is in fact a casket. Weird, how the fuck did jeep cunt not see it?

I get out of the car and slowly stumble my way closer to the death bed, but this mother fucker isn't fucking empty. My voice is much louder than usual as I yell out in shock, because how the fuck does a funeral director not notice that a dead body in a fucking casket fell out of their fucking van?

"What the fuck?" I inch closer and closer to it, and slowly my vision restores to the usual twenty-twenty that I fail to appreciate. When I'm a mere foot away from the white casket I feel a sharp intake of air drop into my lungs and feel myself fall to the ground.

What the fuck?

Suddenly I feel more sober, and numb in a completely different way. I crawl over the graveled road on my hands and knees to the edge of the coffin, and the feeling of my stomach dropping makes me sick. Absolutely sick.

I stand up and look down at the porcelain girl I see laying there lifeless, covered in white. White everywhere, too much white. I hesitate to leave her, but I don't want to look at her either. The dream flashes through my mind as I look down the road for any passing cars, and almost immediately one swerves around the corner into view. I stick my arms up and begin waving them around.

"Help!" I plead, looking down at her again and again I feel the feeling of tears swelling in my eyes. I blink them away and look back up to the approaching black car. "Help me please!" I notice as the middle aged couple stare at me as they slowly come behind my own car parked in the middle of the lane. Just as I think they're about to stop, they pull out and slowly drive past and ahead of me.

They look at me in such a way that makes me anxious.

"Help me!" I yell again, but they just stare at me. I look down at her again and my hands find their way to my hair and begin pulling. "Can't you see her? Help me!" I yell once more, and quickly they speed off.

What the fuck?

I feel my blood boil, and begin hopelessly running after them. My run is more of a stagger, and I imagine myself looking zombie-like, but I don't give a fuck. I need help.

"Fuck!" I my voice booms down the lengths of the roads as I watch the fucking car drive away. "Fuck." My voice breaks, bringing my stumble to a halt. Sweat and tears are dripping down my face. Why didn't they stop, don't they see this fucking girl lying here?

Reluctantly I swerve my body around, but in shock I fall back to my hands again.

It's gone?

I run back towards the car and cave in to the ground where the coffin where she laid was, mere seconds ago. Immediately I feel tears prick at my eyes and come to my hands and knees, letting the sound of sadness quietly sound around me.

I don't understand this anymore, I'm so sick of these mind games and the feeling of not being able to go a day without feeling like the biggest sack of hopeless shit to ever exist. I just want this all to be over, whether it mean rewinding the clock back to the day that I made the mistake of telling that fucking Eleanor that I fucking love her or whatever. I just want this over. I don't want to have to feel as though existing is a burden, and I don't want to feel the guilt eating at me from the inside out every fucking day.

Fuck that girl for having eyes that I could drown in, fuck her for having that broken and fixable heart that I want so badly to mend, fuck her for being so her. If she weren't to have moved here I wouldn't have been her friend, I wouldn't have been so close, I wouldn't have felt the feelings that I do. But I do and I couldn't help that. But what's worse is; she loved me too.

I just don't understand why she ran. Why? Do I not have the right to feel like it's unfair? What if she didn't crash, maybe we could have had the chance to talk it through, to become something that I never thought we ever would? What if she lived and ran and never turned back, or even so much as never laid an eye on me for the rest of our passing days? That shit is still better than this fucking bullshit.

I just want it to be over.

I feel a subtle vibration in my pocket and it continues for a few seconds then stops. I don't want to talk to anyone, I just want to disappear and never see the light of day ever a-fucking-gain. The vibrating begins again, but this time I pull my phone from my pocket and decline the call.

What the fuck could Ma want now, maybe she just wants the whiskey that I forgot to drop off. She can fucking wait.

Again my phone begins vibrating, and irritably I press answer.

"What do you want, Ma," I angrily spit through my tears.

"Um.. Kyle honey," She guardedly, softly says into the phone. For the first time in the past few days she doesn't sound drunk, if anything she sounds... sensitive?

"Yeah?" I release the anger that was coursing through my blood with a heavy breath of air. "What's wrong?" I urge.

The line falls quiet for a short moment.

"Kyle, I just really think you need to come home-

Harry's contact comes up on the screen, cutting Ma's call. What's going on here?

"Hey Harry what's up-"

"Where the fuck are you, Kyle?" His voice is blunt, emotionless.

"Why, what the fuck's wrong? Don't tell me that you think I should come home to-

"Kyle, it's Eleanor.."