Dear Stanley [Watty's 2019. Completed]

The drugs

Monday, May 30th

Dear Stanley,

I got suspended for starting the fight. For a week.

My parents are supposed to be having a meeting with Kinley in a few days. I know they are finally going to find out about my grades.

I don't know when it is and I hope they don't attend it. But I wonder if they will even care once they see my straight row of F's.

I was in the hospital for a few days, getting treated and tended to. For some reason they gave me a therapist to talk too, though I didn't really try to form a relationship with them. They said the therapist would help me, but I don't think I need a therapist just because I started a fight. I don't think that's how it works with normal kids.

I think they think something is wrong with my head.

I look very bad. When I sit in my bed and look at my appearance from the cracked mirror in my bedroom, I notice that I have gotten a little stronger and healthier since when you first left. But now there are scratches and bruises painting me like art. My lips is busted, swollen, and sore. It hurts.

My stomach burns every time I use a single muscle. I feel fire all over me.

I have a black eye as well. I've received yet another concussion.

And what makes it worse is that Mom and Dad are fighting again. This time, the fighting is different. It's not loud and scary. It's soft.

I think it's about me. I think Mom was saying something bad about me in hushed whispers to Dad but Dad didn't like it.

I really appreciate Dad a lot these days. Especially with no Breeze around. He is my only reason to keep going I feel like. I have started to open up to him, started to tell him how lonely and lost and misunderstood I feel. He tells me he used to feel the same way. I wonder how he stopped feeling like that.

Speaking of Breeze, I wonder if she found out about what happened. I wonder if she even cares. My heart craves her so much and I hate it. I wish I could move on.

I decided to sneak down the stairs to hear what Mom and Dad were saying.

"He's crazy. He needs help-"

"Scarlet, just give him time. He's not crazy. He went through a lot that kid."

"He could've killed that Ashley kid, Andrew!"

Dad sighed and I could picture him running a hand through his hair. "But he didn't. Ashley was brutal to him, didn't you see? It was self-defense."

"Was what happened with Stanley self-defense?"

"Don't bring Stanley into this." Dad retorted, icy cold.

Mom was getting frustrated. "I don't know what you see in that kid. He's evil, he's got a demon inside of him or something." Her words were jarring and I almost considered sneaking back upstairs to my room.

Mom thought I had an evil spirit in me?  She thought I was genuinely bad. Not just like teenage boy bad, but evil bad.

And what was she talking about? What happened with you? I felt a light searing throb in my brain but ignored it.

I suddenly felt the need to go to the waterfall. It would calm me down. It would give me the chance to think and organize my mind.

I slowly stepped down the stairs and saw Mom and Dad in the kitchen. They seemed to be absorbed with silently arguing with each other, their volume too low for me to understand anything. But the hatred and tension was present.