The Cult of Wishful Thinking

Jesus of Suburbia (pt.1)

I stayed at Nick's house for a record amount of time- 16 hours. We strung our bodies out across his room like drying laundry. It was mostly silent between us other than the soft sound of the tv coming from his living room. In all reality, his living situation wasn't a whole lot better than mine. His mom actually worked though, instead of living off of scratch-off lottery tickets, and his dad was actually around, though he was a drunk. And he never had a sister to kill herself. But his dad was the one who always gave him hell, calling him pathetic and a waste of space. Hypocritical, I know, but everyone here is, I guess. Around noon, his mom walked in with the phone. She didn't even need to tell me what is was or who it was, but she did.

"Jimmy, it's for yo-", I cut her off.

"I don't want it". And really, deep down I did. But I thought about how many phone calls I've gotten and how many fake, no-good apologies she's given me in an attempt to make things better with herself and her own fucked up morals.

"Honey, you really should take it. It's your mother...", Her voice got quiet when she said mother. She knew how I felt about Miranda. I shook me head and she turned around, leaving the room. I huffed and layed back down on the bed with a thud.

"Are you gonna head back?", Nick asked. I really didn't know. I wanted to, but not if she was there. Not if Brad was there.

"Maybe".

I did decide to go back after all. In my head I knew I wanted to go only so I could get into a fight with her and tell her how much I hated her, just to get "kicked out" again. But I told Nick and his mom it was time to forgive her because if I didn't it would only get worse. I kicked stones all the way down the sidewalk, picked a few up and threw them. All the way home I rehearsed what I would say to her when I walked in.

You're fucking disgusting. You're the reason why your daughter killed herself. You're the reason why I want to kill myself. You're the reason for my misery and regret.

I couldn't find the right words to explain how much I hated her. There was no word hateful enough, hurtful enough. There's no pit deep enough to throw her into. No hell fiery enough to cage her in. The sky thundered the same way my heart did. It lit up into a brilliant grey-blue and started to cry. I started to cry. And as the tears from the sky came down faster and harder, so did the salty ones from my eyes. I knew Leslie was crying and that's what the rain was. She was crying for me and crying with me. She knew the world of shit I was living in.

I know Jimmy. She's fucking disgusting. She's the reason why I killed myself. She's the reason why you want to kill yourself. She's the reason for your misery and regret.

I walked underneath the dark sky, underneath my sister's tears. I stopped at the end of the pathway that lead to the front porch.

Just walk in there and tell her how you feel. Tell her all the shit inside.

Every step I took was short and staggered. Every breath I took was shaky and shallow. For how much I hated her, I was so scared of telling her. I was so scared of telling her the truth like she didn't already know.

I opened the door. She was sitting in the same chair, a cigarette lit like always. The shitty day-time tv on, some talk show. She slowly turned her head to look at me in the doorway, then looked back at the tv.

God dammit you son of a bitch, tell her!

"Looks like nothing's changed much since I left", I said, referring to the shards of glass left from yesterday. She didn't say anything. I shut the door and sat on the couch diagonal from her. Other than the look she gave me when I walked in, my presence hadn't been acknowledged any further. Her eyes stayed locked with the tv. Everytime the audience laughed, she'd laugh and start coughing. I sat looking at her, trying to see if she'd lost her mind or just gone blind. After a while during a commercial, she turned to me finally.

"Is there something I can help you with? You seem a little lost". Finally, the snide comment. I chuckled and stood up, walking back to my room.

"Nope, you just gave it to me".

I got to the end of the hallway to my room and slammed the door. I heard my third grade picture fall to the ground in the hallway. Oops. I locked the door and sprawled out across my bed. I rolled over on my side and found a pair of black-laced panties. Sam's. I hadn't seen her- or felt her, for a while. God only knew what she was up to. The more that I thought about it, the more I realized Nick was probably right. She was fucking other guys. I guess I always knew, I just tried to not let it bother me because it wasn't supposed to. Her and I aren't committed...I guess.