“Fine. I was trying to be nice. It looked like you could use a friend but never mind.”
“We’re not friends!” I snapped, now standing on slightly wobbly legs.
“I know!” she shot back. “But just because you’re cruel to me doesn’t mean you’re not deserving of kindness. I guess I was wrong, though.”
I clenched my teeth and glared at her. “Yeah, don’t be kind to me. I don’t want it. Just let me suffer in peace.”
“Jerk,” I heard her mutter before she turned and stormed away.
I was left alone with my bitter thoughts and the merciless wind. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but it must have been a while.
Soon, darkness fell around me. My stomach howled for attention, and my skin felt like ice.
For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to entertain a vulnerable thought. I wanted her to come back, to feel her warmth envelop me, to be wrapped within it. Then memories of my mother surfaced, a longing for her touch.
But none of those things were accessible. They were impossible to obtain. I put up my guard again and walked home, dragging my bike beside me.
My father would be passed out by now, but safety was never a guarantee.
I was always teetering on crackling ice, waiting for it to shatter, for me to plunge into the cold depths below. It was inevitable. Collapsing into an endless black hole, nobodyaround to save me.
Nothing else mattered anymore except survival, holding on until a day came when I might not feel so broken. Hoping for a day when I could start anew, when I could feel love wholly and without fear.
But hope was a delicate thing, easily crushed. That dream was fading, becoming a mere hallucination. A delusion.
Hopeless. Helpless.
Those were my thoughts as I stepped inside the house of horrors, passing by my father, who lay passed out on the floor.
I crawled into bed, not bothering to eat or clean my cut. My body ached, and my head felt hazy.
I thought about my father. The lessons burned into me. Never show weakness, never back down, never let them see what’s really inside. I was supposed to be better than her. Stronger. But I wasn’t. Every time I tried to wreck her, it just made the mess inside my head worse.
The rage built up, pounding in my chest, until I wanted to hit something, rip the whole goddamn school apart, just so I didn’t have to feel this way.
But I did nothing.
I watched the halls empty, watched the light die, watched the world move on without me.
All I could think about was her. Amelia. The way she looked at me, even after everything. The way she tried to hold on, in spite of me.
I hated her more than anything.
But underneath that, there was something else. Something I could never name.
It scared the shit out of me.
So I fed the anger. I let it rot. Let it own me, the way my father owned the bottle.
Every night, the same. Every morning, the same. I pictured her, the next time I saw her. I promised myself I’d be even worse. I promised myself I’d never let her win.
Because the anger, the hate, was the only thing I could count on. If I ever lost that, I’d have nothing left. Just the empty space inside. Nothing but a hollow echo of a boy who never stood a chance.
And maybe that was what I deserved. Maybe that was the only honest thing there was.
The anger. The ache. The hunger to hurt, so I wouldn’t feel so fucking weak.
It’s a cycle that starts every day. And I’d let it. Because that’s who I was. And who I’d always be.
