Where is my mind

1

"Don't," I spoke with extreme difficulty, each breath came out in wheezing gasps as my throat began to close. Tears pricked at my eyes but I couldn't fail now, I had to let him know I didn't care, I told him I would not run after him. Hell, I'm still trying to prove to my own father I don't care, and that made me even more enraged.

"Don't what?" he pushed, inching out the door, getting further, further away, creating more and more empty space between us. I shook my head and urgency arose in the pit of my stomach, say something you fucking idiot!

"Just-" I pursed my lips. Fuck. The look on Ian's face was what truly destroyed me, a look of anger and . . . disappointment. I felt crushed and stupid, like a teenage girl who just got ditched by her date at prom, god this is pathetic. You're pathetic. Ian looked down at his shoes and shook his head, turned around, and was gone. Just gone. My heart sank and I crumpled onto my bed, the heels of my hands pressed into my eyes as I cried. I'm actually crying over a boy. Mickey Milkovich isn't supposed to have emotions, and even after we've been through so much, a part of me still says not to go after him. That it's better this way.

"Really?" the familiar voice of Mandy echoed from the threshold, "that's all you have to say? You're a fucking pussy," she scoffed. Stop. Stop. Stop. Pussy. My fingers shook as I fumbled through the cigarette carton on my nightstand, picking one up and lighting it as I pinched it between my lips. Giggles and laughter erupted from my pain, and I was alone.

I sat the next morning at our shitty dining table, while Mandy cooked the entire family breakfast. Terry and my other brothers were passed out drunk and shitfaced, and I would've joined too, but I was just too heartbroken and grieving. Mandy hummed a tune mom used to sing when Terry wasn't around. Mom wasn't always nice, but she had her moments. I stared down at my fork, examining every single prong at the top and the chipped metal. Stab. I looked back and forth between the fork and my arm, running my fingers along the soft, thin skin on the inside of my arm, back to the fork. Do it. A sudden want came over me, the urge to see crimson blood well up around the prongs soon to be embedded into the flesh of my arm. Maybe because I knew I was worthless, and I wanted to punish myself as my father always did. Or maybe I thought if I just let some of the bad blood free. . .

Almost robotically, I wrapped my fist around the handle of the fork, bringing it into my lap and turning the inside of my forearm towards the fork. Drive it in. Drive it deep. Bleed! Mandy whipped around with a plate stacked high with pancakes, and my head sprung up. Concealing the fork beneath the table, I looked up at her, searching her eyes to see if she saw. If she saw how weak I truly was. She turned her head, and once she made eye contact, I looked away. If I looked at her, she'll look into my eyes and know. She'll know everything. She can probably read my thoughts. Cocking her head and putting her hands on her hips, she continued to look at me as her brows knitted together. I waited for her to turn back around so I could hurry and put the fork back before she noticed its disappearance. But she didn't. fucking. turn. around!

"Stop looking at me," I growled out from gritted teeth, staring at a door in the hallway.

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "god, who pissed in your cereal this morning?"

When she finally turned around, my hand came back up, fork gripped tight as I jammed it into the stack of pancakes and put a few onto my plate. When Mandy spun back around with a platter full of sausages, I attempted to occupy myself to avoid her suspicions. I reached out to grab the coffee pot sitting in the middle of the table, only for her to slam the plate she was carrying down onto the table and slap my hand away. I scowled and sunk back down in my chair, having already drained two cups of coffee and still feeling like morning shit.

"Oh, no. No more coffee for you. You look like a dead man walking." She snatched the glass pot off the table and put it back onto the counter. Mandy pulled a chair out across from me and began to chow down on her food. I just sat there. I wasn't hungry, so why did I feel so hollow inside? A hung over Iggy and Tony stumbled over and threw themselves down on chairs positioned on ether side of me. Tony began taking pancakes from my plate, completely oblivious to the stack on the table. I stood, shoving my chair back and turning out of the kitchen.

"The hell are you going?" Mandy yelled behind me, to which a still rising Joey winced and emitted a guttural groan from the couch at the shouting.

"Fuck off!" I bellowed back. I grabbed my jacket, boots, and made sure I had a cigarette before ripping open the front door. A freezing gust of wind blew, and gnawed at any exposed flesh. Yanking on my ski hat, I stomped across the door frame and slammed the door to such a violent degree, the door continued to shake even after I bounded down the steps of my front porch.