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The blood, is it mine?
Yeah, I say. Some of it.
This is a wrong answer.

-Fight Club

I Want a New Drug

We stare at each other like it's some kind of contest. It's like this every time I come to Dr. Loren's office. She asks questions, I shrug or nod, and then Ma or one of my brothers comes to pick me up. I tell Ma every day that I don't need a psychiatrist. I tell her I'm not crazy. She just smiles and says psychiatrists aren't just for crazy people.

"Jack…your mother says you sometimes have nightmares." Dr. Loren says. She's looking for some kind of confirmation, which I deny her. Instead I sit still, staring at my hands.

"Can you tell me what they're about?" She asks, careful not to anger me. This, of course, angers me. I don't have anger management problems.

"Jack…I'm only here to help you." Dr. Loren tells me. Bullshit, I think. You're here to make money. That's all anyone really cares about. Except maybe Ma.

"Jack-"

"I don't want to talk about them." I cut her off curtly. She looks shocked for a second, maybe remembering that I can talk after all, but she quickly recovers.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?" She questions, scribbling something down in her notebook. That angers me too.

"Could you not do that?" I ask impatiently. She tosses a sideways glance to me before putting down her notebook.

"Not write in that, you mean?" She asks, though she clearly knows the answer. I nod. Speaking to her is like speaking to a brick wall.

"How do you like your new home?" She changes the subject, shifting in her seat. I look up at her, brushing my too-long-hair out of my eyes.

"It's hardly new." I state hastily. "But I like it." I add with less annoyance. This seems to please her and she smiles at me.

"Good, I'm glad. Your mother told me that there was an incident yesterday…you were sick at dinner? Jack-"

"I don't really think that's any of your business." I reply before she can finish. She makes a reach for the notebook, but stops shortly.

"Okay, well then…you want to tell me about the pot your brother found in you room?" I cross my arms over my chest defiantly and stare her down. She does the same, and in other circumstances I might have found it amusing. I almost find it amusing now.

"Jack, your mother is worried about you. She thinks that you were on drugs yesterday." She tells me. I huff indignantly.

"Bobby thinks I was on drugs yesterday." I answer bitterly. The memory of Bobby questioning me this morning, yelling at me until Ma order him to leave me alone, is still fresh in my head.

"Bobby seems like a smart guy. You know he knows what it's like to be in your shoes. Bobby had drugs problems when he-" She begins to lecture.

"I don't have any fucking drug problems!" I yell, standing up in a threat to leave. She doesn't fall for the bait.

"I wasn't talking about you was I? I was talking about Bobby."

"You were imply-"

"I was implying that maybe Bobby knows more about this kind of thing than he's letting on to. Maybe it'd do you good to listen to him. He wants to protect you. As do Angel and Jerry and your mom. They're your family now Jack." She interrupts. I fall back into the seat and prop my head in my hands.

"That's what they keep telling me."

---

Today is Monday and Angel is taking me to school and picking me up. Bobby is at a 'friend's' house, and Jerry has basketball practice, so Angel got stuck with the job. He's had his license for barely three months, so Ma told me that I couldn't 'antagonize' him while he was driving. Not that I do that much to any of my brothers anyways. It always seems to be the other way around.

"You actually going to stay at school today?" Angel asks sternly, referring to last Tuesday when I skipped school to smoke pot with some friends. Of course, I failed to mention the reason behind skipping school. The teachers had just called Ma to tell her I wasn't here, since she had asked them to. I look at him as innocently as I can, repressing a smirk.

"Of course." I tell him, not really sure myself. I don't actually mind school all that much. Or my teachers. The problems of sixth grade hardly compare to the problems of foster care.

"Jack." Angel states seriously, latching on to my arm. I look at his hand emotionlessly, and let my eyes drift to his 'not bullshit' stare. "You better." I nod once and hop out of the car, catching a glimpse of some the guys I get high with outside of school. If only Angel knew…or Bobby. If Bobby knew he'd probably kill them all. That's just how Bobby is.

"Jack!" Angel calls from his car, ready to drive himself to the high school. I look back at him to signalize that I heard him call my name.

"Tell all these fuckers who your big brothers are. Make sure they know who they're messing with should they decide to give you any shit." Angel says, loudly enough to catch the attention of some of the guys near him. I smile at him, and he smiles back before driving off. Sometimes it's nice having brothers.

---

Roger Clemons is fifteen and in the eighth grade. I want to ask him if there's a limit for how long you can be in middle school, but Roger Clemons is kind of big so I decide against it. Instead I try to steer away from him and ignore his ceaseless name calling and his 'accidental' shoves in the hallway. Today though, it's impossible to ignore him.

"Hey faggot! Are all your brothers black, or just your chauffeur?" Roger calls out to me during lunch. As always, I pretend I don't hear him and keep talking with Jonas Orchard and Keith Myers.

"Hey….I know you heard me you little shit!" Roger yells, grabbing the back of my jacket roughly. Keith stands up in fighting stance, but Jonas keeps eating, too high to take notice of the action.

"Drop him!" Keith demands. I shake my head, knowing this isn't going to end well.

"This your little boyfriend, Jackie?" Roger teases, shaking me for effect. I jerk out of his hold and face him.

"Don't. Call. Me. That." I order, emphasizing each word. I don't like it when my brothers call me that, let alone this jackass. That was my dad's name for me.

"Why Jackie, that's no way to talk to your elders." He says with mock superiority. I clinch my fists together, feeling my nails dig into my palm.

"Leave him alone Roger." Jonas finally decides to step in. Roger smirks and places his hand on my shoulder with feigned friendliness.

"Do your parents know that you're a homo? Is that why they didn't want you Jack?" I can feel my blood boil, and my fist connects with his jaw before I can think about it. Five seconds later I'm on the floor, with Roger on top of me, pounding on me like no tomorrow. This is what he wanted, I think. A reason to pound on me. Good going Jack.

"Fight! Fight!" The other kids in the lunchroom scream, gathering around to watch like it's a sideshow at a circus. White pain soars through my body, as his fist connects yet again with my ribs. Fuck, he can hit hard. I bring my knee up into his stomach, watching with pleasure as the shock registers on his face.

"Break it up! I said, break it up!" A teacher yells, pulling Roger off of me. He coughs violently, pulling himself up to his feet. I sit up, and for the first time, notice the blood running from my mouth and nose. Shit this is bad, I think, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

"Get up now Jack Mercer. I want you both in the principals office, pronto!" My math teacher demands. Mr. Lennox? When did he get here?

"Now!" He barks, dragging me to my feet. I give a crooked smile to Keith and Jonas, letting them know I'm okay, and walk beside Mr. Lennox to the office that always smells like peppermints and Lysol. I look down at my bloody shirt and grimace. Shit, I think once more, Bobby is going to be furious.

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