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"Exactly," I shot back, reaching into my bag for my homework journal. “Don’t ask and don’t care.”
"Fine," he snapped, and for a brief moment I wondered what would happen if I told him the truth, before mentally flinching when Darren’s words of warning reverberated in my mind.
“Go aheadand tell your teacher. See what’ll happen when you do. See what’ll happen to the rest of them. They’ll take us all away; split us up. Maybe your conscience can live with them having their innocence stolen, but mine sure as hell can’t.”
I’m trapped,I thought to myself, feeling my resolve seep back into my veins at a rapid pace,I’m all alone.
I felt snared, fucking cornered.
Surrounded by liars and cheats, I couldn’t turn my back for a goddamn second.
Exhausted from fighting a war I would never win, and cut open from betrayal, I struggled to rein in my tumultuous thoughts.
Nothing made sense anymore.
It felt like everyone was out to get me.
I couldn’t trust a goddamn soul, that was for sure.
Help wasn’t available for people like us, with families like ours.
We were fucked, royally screwed, and I was too broken to keep these kids alive any longer.
Not when I wanted to die.
It was at that exact moment that my phone vibrated, signaling a text message. Sliding it out of my pocket, I quickly glanced at the screen.
Holland: Smoke @ lunch?
Mentally sagging in relief, I quickly tapped out a response and pressed send.
Lynchy: I’ll be there.
Shaking my head, I bounced my knee as I quickly typed out another message.
Lynchy: Got anything else?
Holland: Like?
Lynchy: Something stronger. Something to shut my brain off.
Holland: It’s your lucky day. Got a batch of 512s with your name on them.
Lynchy: 512s? Will that do what I need it to do?
Holland: like you wouldn’t fucking believe, my friend.
Lynchy: Then I’m all in.
Somewhere in my mind, I knew I was behaving in a self-destructing manner, bringing on unnecessary pain, inflicting harm upon my own body and mind, but I couldn’t stop myself – the depression eating me from the inside out forbid me to.
My body was in pilot mode. I was going through the motions, just trying to get from A to B by any means necessary.
A smoke used to do that for me, but not anymore. I could feel my love affair with cannabis beginning to wane, because as the beatings from my father continued to intensify, my control continued to slip, and my desperate need to escape grew to epic proportions.
I needed something stronger.
Something to make it all stop.
