No Place Like Home ✔

Nine

I was a horrible person. 

I've said it before and I will say it again. I'll say it until the entire world is aware of just how horrible I can be. 

If you're unable to process why I'm repeating this, let me let you in on a secret. 

After Adam had left the previous night, I had ended up taking the book he'd given me to a nearby bookstore. And do you want to guess what I did next?

I sold the book.

I sold the book he had given me just to get a reasonable amount of money in return. 

The guilt didn't hit me until later when I thought of him again and the memory of the book came floating back to me. He had gotten the book for me because I had told him that I couldn't afford it - and when he did get it for me, I sold it for my own benefit. 

The guilt got even worse once I saw him again. 

"Hey, how are you doing?" was the first thing he asked me that day as he sat down beside me. 

"Could be better, could be worse," I started. "But I don't think it can get any worse than this."

"Is everything okay?" he questioned, the concern evident in his tone. "Wanna talk about it? I'm all ears if so."

"It's nothing," I lied. "Just my own mind making me feel worse about myself, I guess."

"Don't listen to your mind," he suggested. "It's stupid."

"You just indirectly called me stupid," I stated. "And that's just about the worst advice anyone's ever given me in my entire twenty four years of existence."

"At least you still consider it advice," he said with a chuckle. "Is it alright with you if I ask you some questions?"

"Is it for your psychology report by any chance?"

"What else?" 

"Go ahead," I sighed, leaning back. 

"If there's one thing you could change about your life, what would it be?" he questioned, pulling out a notepad as if he were some sort of therapist. 

"Is everything an option on that list?"

"There are no options," he interrupted. "Answer with the first thing that comes to your mind. It doesn't even have to be detailed. I just need an answer - but if you feel like the question's too much, you can always ask me to skip past it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything."

I hummed in response, thinking of a response. 

"Is this making you uncomfortable?" he inquired out of pure concern. 

"No, calm down," I responded. "I'm just thinking."

He fell silent for a moment or two before I finally came up with an appropriate answer:

"I guess I'd change the people I chose to pass my time with. I feel as if they influenced me in some sort of way? I know it sounds like I'm blaming them for my situation, and I totally am, but let's not talk about. I'd also like to change the way in which my mind works, I guess. It's my worst enemy at the moment. I probably need a lobotomy."

I didn't stop there. I carried on. 

For such a simple question, I had such a detailed answer. 

I went on and on and on and on - and he listened to every last word I had to say. 

"Okay, okay. Now that that question's out of the way, I have another one," he muttered, flipping through the pages of his notepad before letting out a triumphant 'aha!'. "What's it like being in your shoes? How would you describe your life?"

"Do you want the answer to be negative or positive?"

"I can't shape your answer for you," he began in that philosophical tone of his, shaking his head at me. "I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. Help me understand in your own words."

I sighed under my breath, "If I'm being honest.. I don't really know. It's a disaster. That's all I can say. I hate being me, I hate my life as a whole. But, if anything, I'm glad that I'm the one who has to go through all this and not anyone else. I'm glad I'm on the receiving end of all the misfortune, you know? I wouldn't wish a life like this on my worst enemy."

I'd partially meant what I had said - no, I meant what I had said entirely. Only, I wasn't talking about being "homeless".

"Is this getting too much? Do you want to take a break maybe?" he offered upon noticing how silent I had gotten.

"No, just ask your questions," I replied, trying not to let my discomfort show. 

"Okay," he nodded before looking back at the paper. "Let's see.. what's one thing you'd like people to know about you?"

"Is this a job application?" I joked. "Hm.. I guess that I'm human too? And I make mistakes just like everybody else - though the mistakes I've made might be a little bigger than the ones others have committed."

"You speak as if you've murdered someone," he chuckled before placing the notepad onto the ground, face-down. "That will be all for today. I'll come up with better questions the next time I come here."

"Okay, I look forward to them."

"As you should," he responded with a chuckle. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you something actually. But you look like you need to say something so go ahead."

"How did you-" I began before shaking my head. "I wanted to know if you have a job or anything."

"I do," he nodded. "I only work for a few hours though. It's getting kind of hectic trying to keep up with work and college at the same time, but it's only part-time. I'll be getting a real job once I'm out of college."

"That's nice," I nodded. "Where do you work?"

"At a fast-food restaurant," he confessed. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

"Go for it."

"Where's the book that I gave you?"

I swallowed. 

He'd noticed that I didn't have it with me.

"I.. I lost it, I'm sorry," I lied. "I fell asleep over here last night - someone must have ended up taking it. They took a bit of the money I earned as well."

"Oh," he mumbled under his breath. "That's horrible.."

I nodded.

"Tell you what," he began out of nowhere. "I'm getting my paycheck tomorrow. I'll give you a quarter or even half the amount."

I didn't even turn him down on his offer.

You know why?

Because I'm a horrible person.