Tate reaches behind his bed, removes the falsified hinged wooden square, and takes the bag of coke he had been craving since he bought it off his dealer two days ago. With the cocksucker breathing down his neck all weekend, Tate felt he couldn't wipe his ass in peace, let alone snort a line or two. Yes, the bitch had been effectively coke-blocking him, but today was Monday and there was no fucking way he was going to school unless he was full of prime killing substances and could only see the world through a kaleidoscope view.
He was not satisfied. The last few years of his life replay in his head, a never changing tune filled with mediocrity, a humdrum sameness that was somehow perverse and bled into every detail of his life. He was becoming the stereotypical jock douche, and the worst part was he didn't know how to get out of it. The war that had existed for decades between him and the world was ongoing, but it seemed that for now he was losing. He snorts three lines, and rubs the excess on his gums. The coke returns to its hidey hole, and with it, Tate's sobriety.
He is flying. Untainted and untethered. There is a buzzing sensation prickling his entire body, and he feels every prick, from the back of his eyeballs to the tops of his ears. He feels it in the semi hardness of his cock.
Breakfast and the mandatory goodbye to his fucked up family is avoided by jumping out his bedroom window. He throws his bag, then dives feet first. He lands on the soft grass and continues with a roll that ends with him on his back. Looking out at his neighbor's house, a breath of giddiness escapes him, his parasympathetic system at work to return his body to homeostasis. Around him, , and in its place a girls face peaks out of the second story window. Long dirty blonde hair split in the middle covers an average looking, yet striking face with large brown eyes. An eyebrow is raised in a "what the fuck" fashion, and he is caught.
Transfixed. Mesmerized. Utterly and completely captivated.
And pissed off.
He doesn't know why, but something in him automatically wants to strangle her, squeeze the life out of that vivacious face. He senses her strength, and resents it.
His coked up state, and something else, something he attributes to her, causes him to make an obscene gesture at her.
His middle finger rises in a salute, and he whispers to her a mocking fuck you.
He knows she hears him, not through his voice, or even reading his lips, but by the aura his whole person radiates, the sneer on his face. A smirk dismisses him, and the oval face disappears into the darkness of the house.