lost [editing/rewriting]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎

I feel like the thing you were looking forward to when you were younger was growing up and being able to make your own decisions and having a relationship and having your own money. Of course I had that too, but I also thought about being able to pray and not go to church but devote my entire life to God because, wow, he's just so important. 

Have I mentioned I hate God? 

Drugs and God and boys are all I ever think about, and those contradict each other some. 

Anyway, my best friend and also mutual trauma friend, Peyton, was molested by a priest, and suddenly I didn't like God a lot anymore. But most of all I hated the church and I hated my family and I hated Peyton's family. 

People tell you to talk about your issues, right? In media you'll see people open about sexual abuse and I think that's great, but not so great when your parents react by it by sending you to the priest who molested you for cleansing and also talking to your best friend's—my—parents who also send you to the priest who molested a twelve-year-old for cleansing. 

It's so stuck in my head now. Seeing Sam over and over and over again in the corridors and in the kitchen or out at campus with his millions of books and flannel shirts make me think of it over and over and over again and I want it out of my head forever. 

Sometimes I convince myself for a minute that that cleansing was what made me gay in the first place by making me rebel (Peyton and I ended up making out a few times, not because we were particularly attracted to each other (he wasn't attracted to me, anyway) but because we hated everyone). Then I remember that I've always enjoyed kissing guys and I've always enjoyed looking at guys and I've had a crush on at least 50% of the guys I've ever seen and I've lost my virginity to a guy.

I had a period of a relationship with a guy who I'm still friends with today, Kieran. Him and Peyton are the only people who know I'm gay. Well... bi, or... 

I hang an arm over the railing of the balcony. Either I'm trying to suppress the loud music from inside with my thoughts or the other way around, but at this point they're both equally aggravating so it doesn't matter. Better to let them melt together into an incoherent mess than be fully aware of one of them, I guess.

"I thought you liked parties." Kell comes out on the balcony and sits in the chair opposite of me. 

"Bad timing," I say.

He gives me this knowing look, but I have no idea what it is he knows. Usually I'm pretty good at hiding how fucked up I am, I think. And considering all my friends seems to have accepted that I'm "just doing drugs for fun", I must be, right? 

Kell crosses his legs and puts his chin on his hand. "Well, it's not like you're missing out. I talked to just about everyone and they're all boring as hell." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. It ended up with me trying to talk to Sam when he went out in the kitchen, and now he wants to kill me." Kell takes a slight pause to look me dead in the eye before we both break out in a chuckle. "So if you find me dead tomorrow, you know who to report." 

I freeze for a moment but I don't let my brain go there. I mean, it goes there anyway, just the mental image of waking up and seeing Kell in a bloody pool on his bed takes me back to so many things, so many deaths from overdoses.

That's the reason I have the friends I have today; people who aren't drug addicts.

And also running as far away as possible from heroin. Doesn't take the urge away, of course, but if it's not accessible, I can't "try it once". 

I somehow manage to force myself to keep smirking. "Well, cops aren't exactly my friends, so I think I'll let you lay there, to be honest." 

"You can stash my body in the hole if you cut it up and grind it in a mixer or something first." 

"That sounds traumatic as hell."

Kell shrugs. "Better than being a suspect, isn't it?" 

"They'll take me for drugs eventually."

"You think?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well, drugs give you a shorter sentence than murder, doesn't it?"

I lean back and lift my feet, resting them up on the railing. "You never know." 

He's giving me that knowing look again. This time it feels ominous, like he can see straight to my brain, watch all my memories and read all my thoughts, and that feeling makes me think more about those things and fuck, I don't want to think about it right now or ever. 

I try to ignore it all and focus on the starlit sky and the loud noises from inside. The music isn't so bad after all.

hi. i just wanted to say that these characters mean a lot to me, although they're probably way better in my head than in the actual story, but i haven't shared my writing and actually had people read it like this for years and it's really cool that someone is. thank u to anyone reading, i appreciate it and it makes my day :)