Princeton
I take another chug of the silver water bottle, silently praising how it no longer lets me feel the cold. Silently curse what I've become.
The snow has melted at least, just sticky flakes falling every so often that melts as it touches the ground. Slick wetness covering the bitter night. I'm even coming home earlier, Sandra could tell how dead I am on my feet. Maybe she could smell it too.
I can't tell if I'm in a down episode or if I'm just regular depressed. I don't know if there's a difference, I don't know if could actually tell the difference. I just know the voices are so sharp and cutting, my body full of lead, and the darkness feels so much better. The thing different from the down episodes because the one thing isn't as bad as usual. Actually feeling a mess hurts as less than feeling nothing.
Even when those emotions lock your bones to encase you in your body with only your harsh thoughts. Even when those emotions make you replay any mistake you've ever made. Even when those emotions threaten your work ethic or decision making. Even when those emotions just get fueled up at every little thing.
I holt my pedaling, letting the big ride smoothly into the trailer park. It's only ten or so. That means a lot more lights on in a lot more trailers. But not Donna's.
I groan, gliding past her trailer, knowing there's a fifty-fifty chance where she is. Then I swallow the rest of the liquid in the bottle, the little bit left behind. Everything in my body doesn't want to be around her. I would slit my wrists in front of her if it meant she would leave. Maybe even take Dad with her.
Lights are flashing in the living room once I pull up to our shitty trailer. I shove the water bottle under my armpit, groaning and moaning as I try to stuff my bike in the small shed so none of the shifty motherfuckers in the park steal it. Stuffing a bike vertically in a shed is one hundred percent harder when you're body is already stuck under pressure like I'm laying on the bottom of the ocean.
Stopping outside the door, I dig out my phone to check and see if Sandra sent anything. Instantly I'm greeted with my voicemail box. My breath catches for a moment at the two I haven't deleted. I can't.
I have listened to them both -even the three seconds of the first one- at least six times since he sent it. Six times in two days.
Originally when I received them I was fucking worried. I haven't spoken to or seen, Knox in over a week. He didn't come to school Friday and I'll admit that made me worried too. Especially when Roger asked what happened between us that could mean so much to Knox. I panicked, a million reasons for both hate or love flickering in my head. I told him about reading. When I actually have a million things that mean so much to me.
But the whispers in my head also told me it was might fault none of those million things can grow. It's my fault Knox rejected me, ignored me. It's all my fault. And that's what makes it so hard to sleep at night.
Thursday, Thanksgiving when he called me, I was working at McDonald's. The cafe closed that day and no one wants to work on Thanksgiving so I took the hours begrudgingly. It's taken me an hour every day to get out of bed so working has strangled me.
I was working so I missed the calls. But as soon as I left and I saw he had called twice I freaked out. After I heard it once, I squatted on the sidewalk, covering my mouth with my hands and tears leaking out of me as I listened to it a second time.
I've listened to it four more times in the two days. I've thought every possible thing he meant to say before he got cut off. I've thought every possible thing about his panic attack. Guilt tore through me. He shouldn't be in a bathroom trying to subdue a panic attack. My mind hasn't let me comprehend the part of me helping him. I can't help shit. I'm the fault of all this.
YOU ARE READING
Dirt
Teen FictionBeing given the lesser of two hands never feels right. It can make you feel like dirt. Princeton Harrell and Knox Foster both come from rough situations. Princeton takes full care of his alcoholic dad, leaving time mostly for two jobs. He's lucky t...