Prologue
Twenty-one-Years-Old
Everyone has a story.Are you sure you’re ready for mine?
1
Brandon
Sixteen-Years-Old
A few momentsafter Linkin Park started blaring, my finger found the snooze button on my cell phone. I had nine more minutes to myself.Fuck the world right now,I thought to myself as I rolled over and closed my eyes. It seemed like mere seconds had passed before Linkin Park started up again.
“Fuck! Seriously?” I snapped.
Annoyed, I rolled over and grabbed my cell phone off the royal blue metal nightstand and pried my eyes open to look at the time. Nine minutes had passed even though I thought it had only been a few seconds. I shut the alarm off, and while propped up on one elbow, I quickly opened up my Instagram app and checked the activity on my most recent post.
I laughed out loud when I saw four hundred and thirty-seven “likes” on the picture of me floating shirtless on a giant, inflatable slice of pizza. I was scrolling through all the comments from a lot of the kids at school that I recognized. Some dickhead made a backhanded comment saying that it must be nice to be able to float around on my parents’ money. Fuck him. I didn’t recognize the name, so I deleted the comment and blocked the prick. No one was going to rain on my day.
A loud knock rapped on my door seconds before it opened. Some tall guy stood in the doorway just in his short bright red boxer briefs. He was bald and completely buffed out from steroids and rocking a golden tan. In his hand, he held a cup of coffee that he sipped from while I stared incredulously at him. Like, he seriously just banged on my door like that.
“Yeah?” I finally asked when he hadn’t said anything.
“Your mom said to make sure you’re up for school.”
“Yeah … well … I’m up,” I mumbled and then dropped my gaze back down to the phone.
Out of my peripheral vision, the guy walked back to my mom’s room without another word. He left my door open, and the angle from where I was laying on the bed, I could see into her room. I was grossed out when he set the coffee cup down on her nightstand and started to do some creepy dance that I was sure was meant to be sexy.
“Fuck, seriously?” I said under my breath and tossed my phone on my bed to get up and shut my door. I’d admit, the door shut a little louder than I had intended.
I went to my bright blue dresser that matched my nightstand and peered into my underwear drawer. My day was already annoying to me, so I opted for some turquoise boxer briefs to lift my mood. From my sock drawer, I picked out the blue ones with Big Foot surfing. I turned on the shower and then jogged back to my bed to grab my phone and opened up my streaming music app. I quickly found my playlist and then heard the music over the shower water from the bathroom speakers.
I felt like my heart was pounding too hard, and I needed to try to relax and take the edge off. I grabbed the can of shave gel, turned it upside down, and twisted the bottom off. I dumped the contents, and several small heavy-duty baggies spilled onto my hand. I carefully selected one with a thin blade in it. I set the fresh blade on the counter and flipped the faucet to fill the sink with scalding water. I squirted some antibacterial soap into the sink and moved my fingers around to help make the suds faster. I set the blade in the sink while I put my can of blades, pins, and needles away. The wall mirror was covered in fog as I cleaned the blade and then dried it. I left the bag on the counter so I could toss it in the trash at school.
With the freshly cleaned blade in my hand, I got into my shower. The first thing I did was prop my foot on the tiled shower seat. I found a place on the inside of my thigh that was free of wounds and pressed the edge of the blade into my flesh. It stung, but it felt so fucking good. Slowly, I brought the blade down and sliced into my skin. I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched the blood trickle down my leg. Feeling the sharp bite of the blade piercing my body sent me reeling into a euphoric state. I felt myself calm down as my blood swirled down the drain.
With the cut made and the pain inflicted, I tossed the razor blade onto the shower seat. I picked up the bar of soap and worked up a lather, then pressed my hand over my fresh wound. The lather cleaned my wound while I hoped it gave me enough breathing room for the day. Despite my mom saying that regular soap would dry out my skin, I kept a regular, fragrant-free bar of soap in my shower just for these occasions. She wouldn’t understand.
After I was showered, I pressed a cotton ball that was drenched in alcohol over the cut. I hissed as the alcohol burned, but I also welcomed this pain. Once I had a Band-Aid and my boxer briefs on, I wrapped the blade in some toilet paper and then slipped it in the baggie. Before I finished getting ready for school, I put the baggie in the front pocket of my backpack.
I dressed in distressed jeans that had a few crafted worn spots near one of the front pockets and along the thigh. While standing in front of the bright blue dresser with drawers that were meant to look like a locker, I mulled over my decisions for the t-shirt. I decided on a gray t-shirt that had a small navy moose, pulled it on, and then went back into the bathroom to fix my hair.
My current hairstyle was short on the sides, but the top was slightly longer. I ran enough gel through the top of my damp hair to give it that wet look all day long. The damp look made my light brown hair appear a little darker. I tilted my head from side to side to check out my hair and ensure it was styled to perfection. When I was happy with it, I went to my walk-in closet and pulled on a navy and maroon plaid button-down shirt. Leaving the buttons undone, I grabbed my black Vans sneakers and sat on the locker room styled bench that was in my large closet. Before putting on my shoes, I snapped a pic of today’s socks and immediately posted it to my Instagram account with #BrandonCCooper. Everyone at school knew that fun socks were my thing, and I often got lots of love to my sock posts.
In case my mom came into my room, I pulled the camouflaged comforter in the various blues and grays up on my bed, so she wouldn’t freak out. It appeared to be made with care. She had a thing about me making my bed each day. It was annoying as fuck, but so were a lot of other things around here. I grabbed my black backpack and my gym bag with my track stuff in it, and headed downstairs.
Descending the long winding arced staircase gave me enough time to post a pic of me to my Instagram account. I typed the caption, ‘on my way to captivity for the next 7 hours,’ under the pic with #BrandonCCooper and #livingthedream. I hit “post” as soon as my feet hit the marble floor. Dropping my backpack and gym bag at the bottom of the stairs, I continued to scroll through my Instagram feed as I went into the kitchen where my mom’s voice was coming from.
“I don’t know, Marco, we’ve had parties here before,” my mom sighed into her cell phone.
I stepped out of her way when she tried to touch my head as a greeting gesture. I gave her an annoyed look when she tried to touch my hair. Was she nuts? I just fixed it. She knew I didn’t like her hands on my head. She was on the phone with her modeling agent, planning some party by the sounds of it. While scrolling through my Instagram feed, I wandered to the pantry in search of something to eat.
“I don’t know exactly. Honey, how many people do you think we could host for a party?” my mom called out.
“Four people,” I sarcastically said as I came out of the pantry with a granola bar.
“Two hundred. Maybe two-fifty,” the steroid bald dude said as he approached the breakfast bar. He glanced at me and smiled. “I think your mom was asking me,” he said in an obnoxious pacifying way.
