not okay {ziam}

nineteen

{nineteen}

living without hope

-

"no, i don't," i reply to gus who seems awed by the two boys making out in patrick's backyard. it truly is a sight to behold in our small, heedless town.

"oh," the kid beside me murmurs, as i take another swig of the vodka bottle in my hand, "yeah, that guy — zayn — he seems a bit odd."

gus' words sink in like the strong liquor, sending a chill up my spine. i exhale a ghastly breath, my mind spinning, "what makes you say that?"

"he's just... off, y'know? he never comes to school, but when he does, he never even goes to class. plus he's always screwing around with all the college guys at parties, even though he rarely speaks. it's just... weird, i guess." he blurts out and i feel that ugly jealous feeling clawing at my skin, sinking its talons into my flesh. guzzling down more of the alcohol, i shut my eyes tightly to stop my transfixion of zayn with another guy. anger prickles across my neck as i turn to the fair-skinned boy, a hostile grin resting on my lips.

"speaking of which, why are you still following me around?" my body twists around towards his direction to give him my full focus, an aggressive flair sparking in my eyes. gus shutters slightly, feeling threatened by my stance and i get it now. i get how empowering it is to make someone feel afraid in my presence. i like the flutter of the blonde boy's eyes as he gapes at me with concern, wondering if i'll tear him the shreds or let him go his merry way. maybe it was easier to be feared instead of liked.

"i, um, sorry, didn't mean to seem like a freak." he immediately apologizes and i inhale his unease, continuing, "patrick just wanted me to make sure you guys found each other tonight."

i scowl, a bitter taste in my mouth, "why the fuck would he do that?"

"i--" he doesn't have time to explain why, because if you speak of the devil -- he shall appear. gus withdraws from me as i feel a dark shadow creep up behind me.

"hey, you made it!" i can already hear the insincerity in patrick's voice, before he wraps an arm around my shoulder in pseudo-friendliness, "how are you, man?"

his hand pats my arm which immediately causes me to recline from him. i separate from his warmth, staring into his vacant silver eyes. his pupils are larger than usual and there's this wide smile playing on his lips, appearing to be on something. i make sure i don't slouch or flinch under his line of fire, preserving my firm vigor. i had the control here, not him -- and it was clear he knew with the way he fidgets nervously. he feigns confidence, but not well enough for me to believe it.

"fine, what do you want?" i reply half-heartedly. cold, stony, unattached... my mind wanders to zayn -- no, i can't go there. not now.

he tries it on, whatever foolish game he pretends to play, "just wanted to hang out with you."

with the roll of my eyes, i state, "look, whatever you and your mates are up to — i don't care. i came here for free booze and to get fucked up." if i was being frank, i wasn't sure why i came here at all. my detachment left me drifting and searching for an anchor -- it had felt like i was sleepwalking through life without any state of consciousness. without love or light or anything good. without anything to believe in, there isn't much courage for any improvements. and, strangely, i've come to the realization that without much to lose, i had nothing to be scared of. losing all hope was freedom. living without hope for something or someone better -- i knew it was all completely illogical now. i wouldn't say i'm pessimistic, i believe in realism and genuine happiness for people like me wasn't real.