It's not like I had a choice, it's not like I can turn back the clock now anyway. They didn't love me, they were just using me to fight each other. It's like I was ransom, or maybe bait to get them what they wanted. I hated feeling that way, like nothing that I want matters, that I exist because they need me to make the other person angry.
I am not going to be used…that's why I had to go, why I had to do the things I did. Maybe now they will see that I am not going to live with it. That I didn't need this, that I won't take it.
I woke up shivering, my sleeping bag wasn't enough to keep the midnight air from biting through. My socks were full of holes, my pant legs had large rips in the knees, and my tank top was thin, my hair was short. I had no source of warmth other than my worn sleeping bag, and my thin body, neither of which was much of a source.
Tristan was huddled in the corner of the alley, his blue jean jacket draped over his head. There were black strands of his shoulder length hair that stuck out from underneath. I smiled to myself, remembering what he said to me the night before, about how he loved me and wished I would say it back, and how he didn't want me to do drugs…he was such an odd person to be living on the streets. So happy most of the time, so safe…he never did any of the things I have. The "stuff" we used to say. Or the ever popular "lifts" we wouldn't say "drugs" or "alcohol" we would say "lifts" because that's what is does for you really. It lifts you out of this world, this wasteful, useless, painful place we call existing. Tristan always said he was the only one with any real reason to get "lifted" he had actually been through utter agony. I didn't believe him, he's a poser. He wants to be cool , he got mad at his mom for calling him "sport" and got mad at his dad for not taking him fishing. Every guy thought he was tough as nails, and every girl thought he was supernova. I can't believe they really think all that crap he says is true, he is fake…fake.
I sometimes can't stand to be around him, except that I think I can trust him. Because if he lies so grandly, and without guilt, he has his secrets deeply hidden, your secrets will be too. He will keep them deep inside of him, and lie. That's why he is my friend, probably my only friend. I love him, I will not let him know that. It wouldn't fit in with my routine. I can't live my lifestyle with the baggage of love. I know I couldn't stand to see the look on his face if I told him. Happiness, I haven't seen that much less felt it in so long, I know it would be completely scary and foreign to me…I am not that strong, if I was as strong as everyone else thinks, I wouldn't be alive right now.