Drew

.6.

"So you're good?" Owen asks as we step out into the night air.

"Yeah, fine." I mumble.

I'm not. Definitely drunk.

"Sure you don't want to call an Uber?" He asks. 

I nod my head, watching the concrete move beneath my feet.

A small sliver Toyota rolls up at the nearest corner and Owen glances back at me.

"That's me I think." He tells me. "You sure you're good?"

I wave him off, I'm not his problem. "Yeah, go. I'm good."

He lets out a sigh but he doesn't press it. He doesn't want me to be his problem either. I watch him walk to the car, his gate uneven as he leans on his cane for support. The kid was so fast in high school, so ridiculously driven and good at sports in general. And then my stupid party happened and set off a chain of events that seriously fucked ours lives up. Though if I'm being honest it looks as though Owen's risen above all of his set backs. Can't say the same for myself.

The sliver car disappears down the street a moment or two later and I let myself sway now that Owen isn't there to judge me. My car is easy to spot, the only one left on the street at this hour and I unevenly make my way to it.

I don't know what time it is but I'm hoping when I show back up at the house everyone's gone.

Or maybe I won't bother. Maybe I'll just drive home. Maybe Kenny still lives in town and has upped his inventory from just weed. It's been a while since I got strung out.

I turn from my car, walking down the sidewalk as I start to contemplate how I'd actually go about getting Kenny's number. Assuming he's still around. I pass streets and storefronts, mostly recognizable but there's some new shit I haven't seen. And I just walk, occasionally passing people but no one stops me to say anything.

No one will even miss me when I'm gone. Not my parents, not Julia, definitely not Jaelyn or Owen. I've fucked up enough things that they all just stopped caring. Maybe my parents never did in the first place.

The road starts to incline, my steps staggering as I make my way up an overpass. At its crest I look out over the road that passes below. A car thundering down the open cement. I bet I could make that person care for a moment. When my body collides with their car and derails all their plans for the rest of the night.

They might care then.

Unsteadily I straddle the cement rail that shields the cars from tumbling off the bridge, finding my balance before I swing my other leg over.

I think I'm just sort of sick of it all.

I'm sick of no one caring. Of being alone. Of trying to pretend I'm happy, that I'm this carefree, wild guy that everyone loves to have at the party. I'm tired of pretending. Of not being good enough. Of fighting these thoughts. Of hating myself. I'm just really fucking tired.

Staring out at the now empty road below, I start to wonder how it'll feel. Will I know the second that death has officially come to my door? Will I remember? Will I be anything after I die? Or will everything I've ever done, all the memories I have, will they just disappear. Die with me?

Like the time I finally got Holt to do something slightly crazy. He was shaking like a leaf, telling me it was a bad idea, his parents would get mad, he'd get in trouble. All we did was skip a day of classes to go to an amusement park, one hundred percent sober. He called his mom on the way down, mid panic attack, spilled his guts and all she did was tell us to have fun.