"It's summer, Jess." My friend Conor said drunkenly. He lifted a cup and grinned miserably. I smiled back and raised my own cup.
"Yup, it's summer, Conor, my friend." I patted him on his back and poisoned myself again. He nuzzled the neck of the girl he met and she giggled. I laughed at his pathetic state, knowing full well that I looked the same as him. Blood-shot eyes and dry, cracking lips. I ambled through the crowds. A girl latched herself on me and I turned to her. She was cute. I smiled and brought my lips down to meet hers.
---
I slipped out the window without a glance back at the girl. What was her name again? I seemed to have forgotten. Or I didn't know at all. Oh well. I trampled down the street to my apartment. Conor was probably still at the hotel, fucking that girl. What was her name, too?
I stomped up the stairs to my apartment and swung open the door. There stood my mother. I forgot what she looked like when she was awake. I stood there in shock. Her blood-shot eyes bore into mine. Something was there. Something unreadable. I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. 12:05 the hands read. I looked at her again.
"You're leaving, Jess." She said hoarsely. I stood there, letting the words sink it.
"Leaving where?" I asked coldly, shoving my hands into my pockets.
"To live with your uncle Luke." She replied, wrapping her pink bathrobe around her. I realized she had only underwear on under it. "I called him a few hours ago when you first left."
"Fuck you." I whispered to her, my eyes hardening.
"Jess." She pleaded. Trying to get hold of my arm.
"Don't fucking Jess me, you stupid whore." I derided, slapping her hand away. It was so thin. So pale. I glared at her. "Don't fucking touch me."
"Jess." She whined. "I'm doing this for your own good."
"No, you're not." I deadpanned. "You're doing this for your own good." I turned and left.
"I'm sorry." I heard her say as I slammed the door.
"Yeah." I answered softly. "I'm sorry, too." I walked to Conor's apartment and shoved the unlocked door open. He lived next to me, and that's how we met. Him, a rising rock star, me, a fucked up high schooler.
I raked my hand through my brown hair and threw open his refrigerator. Cans and bottles of Coors were the only thing in there. I took one and popped the tab. In one gulp I finished it, and took another. Soon cans surrounded me and I was tripping over my own feet. I grabbed a bottle and left his apartment and stumbled down the stairs into the uninviting streets below.
I ran drunkenly through the streets and arrived at a telephone booth. I stepped in and locked myself there. I pressed my back against the plastic glass and slowly slid down into a sitting position. I took a drink from the bottle and stared at the people passing by. Some threw disapproving looks at me, but I didn't see them. I couldn't see anything. All I saw was my father's grave with a hole in it. A little baby looking up at me as the words "I'm sorry" rang through my head. Yeah, I'm fucking sorry, too.
A/N: I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this. Probably not, though. who knows?