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"If you would just give him—"
I swipe my hand through the air, cutting off her ridiculous nonsense that I don't care to listen to.
"How could you do this to me? To him?" I shake my head. "I fucking hate you."
With that, I clutch my phone and grab my bag, running out of there in my sweats. No destination in mind, nothing to do on a Sunday night. But I'm not staying here. No way.
I hate her.
I sit on the hill, aimlessly gazing down at the lights and noises of downtown Fargo in the distance. A burnt-out cigarette sits pinched between my fingers. I shouldn’t smoke. I want to, but I shouldn’t. I know what it could do to me, but it doesn’t stop me from buying a pack, taking a hit out of one here and there. It calms me. When I’m most flustered, just one drag settles every nerve in my body.
I’ve already taken a drag. I can’t afford to take another, but my blood still simmers beneath my skin. I’m torn between feeling numb and feeling everything. I can’t feel the night breeze as it brushes across my cheek, but every blade of grass feels like shards against my bare feet.
I don't want to move.
At first, I went to my best friend Sacha's house, but in the end, I was too furious to be around anyone. No one really understands what I'm going through, even though they've known me my entire life. They know the struggles I've been through. They know me.
Except they don't.
I walked here, to the random hill that's in between the city and nothing. Crickets and mosquitos fly behind me and only noise and lights are in front of me. It feels like my life right now. Stuck in between two different lives. Two different worlds. Which way should I go?
I pocket my cigarette butt and shove my bare feet into my Doc Martens, pushing them into the soles as I stand up. My palms go to my butt, swiping across my sweats to brush away any lingering dirt and twigs.
My hand slides through the loop of my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder before I start making my way down the hill. The sun is long gone, the only light coming from the businesses up ahead. Every few steps, I trip over a larger rock, making me stumble forward and almost fall to my knees.
"Fucking stupid." My voice bounces as I walk down the hill. By stupid, I mean the rocks and my situation.
I don't know where my mom wants to move to. I don't know what her plan is. But after talking with Sacha and Leena, I don't have anywhere else to go.
No one wants to take in the misfit.
I've been friends with Sacha and Leena since I was young, or else their parents wouldn't let them hang out with me. They blame me whenever we get in trouble, perpetually saying I'm the problem child.
Well, fuck everyone.
My friends fuck up just as much as I do. Sometimes more. But it doesn't matter, because the girl with the black-and-white dyed hair, septum piercing, and permanent black clothing is always the first to take the blame. Talk about profiling.
My friends look and dress similar to me, but I guess when you look at your child you always try to see the best in them. My friends’ parents… well, they're blind whenever we steal cute bras and panties from Kohl’s. Or come home halfway into the night tipsy and smelling like weed. Or when the police show up, carting us to our parents’ doorsteps at three in the morning, the finger is pointed in my direction. Every single time.
It doesn't stop my friends from hanging out with me, but it definitely puts a sour fucking taste in my mouth.
So, it shouldn't have shocked me when I asked both of them if I could move in. One look in their parents’ eyes and I swear—I fucking swear–I could see them holding back laughter. What came out of their mouths was, "I don't think that's such a good idea." But what they were thinking was, "Hell to the fucking no."
My hand lifts, my middle finger pointing to the sky.
Fuck everyone.
Life for me hasn't always been so… jaded, I guess. But shit happens. Me and my mom used to have a great relationship. Like best friends. Now she spends most of her time working, and I'm left alone. Left alone to do whatever the hell I want to do.
What I want to do is stay here, but for some reason my mom wants to be a parent now, thinking she knows what’s best for me.
Hilarious.
I sigh as I make my way through town and into the nicer neighborhoods. Turning onto my street, I see my house up ahead, illuminated by our outside light. My mom sits on her bench, rocking back and forth on our large wraparound porch. Our modern two-story home is pristine, the white siding against the dark roof and windows something that makes our house a little different from all the other creams and browns. We live in a quiet neighborhood, even though we're surrounded by the university and the airport. Somehow our small pocket seems tucked away from the noise. It’s beautiful here, and it makes an even bigger pit fall into my belly.
I sigh as I keep walking. I can't see her eyes from here, but I can feel them. Boring into me.
I guess it's now or never.
