But it won’t be enough.
Because the pain is too loud.
Even in a room of strangers yelling over each other and the screech of house music, the only voices I hear are inside my head. Haunted fragments of real monsters meld with the sadistic sneers of my inner demons until I can’t distinguish between memories and fabrications.
“You came!”
The handle of vodka I polished off on the walk over sloshes in my stomach. Or maybe it’s nerves.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I ask.
Mason flashes a classic Cali boy smile— the kind that on the surface appears easy-going and welcoming, but on closer inspection hides a devious agenda. He’s four years older than me but for some reason still hangs out with his younger brother Cassius’s friends. Not that I’m close with Cass— the guy is the definition of a space cadet. (Talking to him is like having a conversation with a balloon.) But he’s oddly book-smart and lets me cheat off him. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend at school. And he introduced me to his brother.
Jury’s out on if that’s a good thing.
“Come on.”
Mason slings an arm around my neck, his oversized tee reeking of weed and body odor. I doubt I smell any better; I don’t recall the last time I showered. Dad’s been working twelve-hour night shifts since the pay is higher so he hasn’t noticed that I’ve been fucking sloshed for three days.
Would he care anyway?
He’s giving up. They all are. Mom used to call all the time, begging to talk to me, but after too many declines, she stopped. Richard texted me twice a year ago. I’ve become the elephant in the room. The problem they never asked for. The disappointment.
Yeah, I could reciprocate. I could strap on a mask and play the part. I could clean up my act. I could, I could, I could…
Or they could realize I’ve been telling them all along.
My silence is a scream to be heard.
My solitude is a plea for company.
My self-destruction is a cry for help.
So why isn’t anyone listening?
If my own parents deem me a lost cause, I must be.
Discarded cigarette butts smash under my boots as I cross the dingy living room behind Mason. A few glazed stares scan us, but most of the strung-out regulars don’t bother.
“Watch out! You’re going to ruin the garden!”
There’s no garden; only a girl on the floor rearranging cups. I dodge her disillusioned Zen paradise and skirt past a blaring sound system to catch up with Mason.
He glances over his shoulder, smirking as he leads the way down a dark hallway. My fingers dance against my thighs.
“Nervous, Bunny?”
Apparently, I remind him of the black rabbit he had growing up. I’d rather be called anything else.
“Nah, I’m good.”
That smile again— the one that wakes up my lizard brain. I shove natural instinct aside and tail him into a tiny, dirty bathroom. The door clicks shut, followed by the lock, dampening the noise.
It’s fine. It’s just Mason.
He shuffles to the peeling Formica counter, pulling some baggies out of his deep cargo pockets.
“You’re gonna fucking love this shit,” he grins, the foggy mirror warping it into something sinister.
