Disclaimer: If I owned Degrassi, I would ban all fanfiction, bizotch! ...K, not really.
Note: It's been a while, eh. Um, I guess this is a short chapter, but I don't even remember where I'm going with this fic, so the next chapter may be far away. Butttt, on the bright side, Thanksgiving break is six days long this year, and Christmas break is hella long, too. Woot woot, I'mma be writin' bunches, specially if I get encouraging reviews on this chapter. Oh, damn, I'm babbling, aren't I. Um, keep on readin'. Onto the story.
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My back ached when I laid down on my familiar rigid bed. My ceiling was blank white, but after staring at it so long, I could've sworn there were shades of purple and red mixed in there. Every few minutes, I grabbed the hackey sack resting by my hip, never looking down, and threw it up. Like I had pushed the slow-mo button on my remote, it seemed to linger in mid-air. This dirt-covered, broken-in hackey sack, one of the many reminders of how stupid and mindless I was as a kid and how I played stupid, mindless games, landed in my hand and I grasped it. Whenever you tossed around a hackey sack with someone, there was a small sense of pride when you'd catch it. I mean, it was pretty small, so catching it was pretty hard. You held onto it until you got bored. Then you threw it away hoping it would come back again. And it always did. The temporary thrill I got out of it was enough to keep me reaching out for it.
I suddenly realized I wasn't talking about hackey sack so much anymore.
I felt like a prisoner that Thursday. Now I realized, I hadn't even come close to the concept of jail. Not only could I not leave my home. I couldn't leave my room. I couldn't leave my bed. I couldn't leave this exact position I was laying in, staring blankly at the blindingly white walls. Every single muscle down to my fingers was tense, anticipating the second in which I exploded. I couldn't let my mind have the satisfaction of winning over me. I would lie there until I died just so I could be right, and not embarrass myself by letting Sean see me like this.
Sean. I fucking hated that kid. What I wouldn't haven given never to have to see his fucking face again. I didn't get him, I didn't get why he kept hanging around when clearly he had his own house that was completely empty, and I didn't get why it gave me a sick ego boost to believe that somehow he was clinging to me, like he needed me, because you didn't even have to dig far into my mind to realize I knew I was deluding myself. I buried all the shit that made me feel worthless, and covered it all in denial. I would break it all down if I could. His actions threw me off this path I was trying to create towards reality, towards living in the real world. Because he stayed here. Because he hung out with me. Because he didn't stop the kiss I'd started.
I guess that's what alcohol was, then. False hope. A disguise. You poured it down, it ran its course, and you did shit you wouldn't normally do. Then no one would know who you really were. I'd never drank to excess in public. It was weak. It was something those whiny emo kids did. Sat in the corner with their bottles of vodka and drowned their sorrows like the starving artists that they were. And that just made me question Sean more. I mean, not only was it weak, but he'd done it on a date. In front of his date. She called him stupid. I hated that chick, but I agreed with her there. He was so fucking naive, he couldn't even understand how to defend himself. Sometimes, it was like he didn't care who took stabs at his self-esteem. Like he had no self-pride at all.
At this point, I felt like, one of us has to die, because we can't both make it out of this sane. I didn't know whether he would remember, but I would, and that was too much for me. And the girl in the shadows, she knew. She would spread it. I was about to be destroyed. I wanted to die before I cracked, even just a little. In my mind, I destroyed the realizations of last night before they could hit me fully. The fact of it was, it wasn't true. I was in a rut, and I was doing stupid shit, but I wasn't going to make stupid-ass assumptions from one week's happenings. That's all it had been. A week. One week cannot fucking nullify seventeen-plus years of my life. No fucking way. This was my life, and I had complete control over every minor detail. I didn't play any other way.
So fuck this. If I want to go eat some cereal right now, I will, because this is my house and I'll do whatever I damn well please.
I sat up and picked up a pair of jeans from the floor, and threw them on, along with an old ratty T-shirt. When I stopped thinking my own thoughts for a second, I heard some loud mumbles and mutterings outside my door. Christ, if that's one of Sean's friends, I'm going to kick his ass, for real this time. I sighed frustratedly and twisted the doorknob, about to let myself out into the real world.
Come on, bro, get your stuff, I heard. You're going home. There was an empty pause, then Sean spoke.
he said, his voice devoid of emotion. I don't live with you anymore. I don't have to listen to you.Listen, if I'd have known you were gonna go and abandon the house like that, I never would've let you live alone in the first place. So pack up your shit and let's go. I cautiously appeared, moving out to see the scene I'd been listening to. Both Sean and the guy I assumed to be his brother looked at me; Sean, lying on the couch, his brother standing there sternly. It was the first time I'd seen Sean since last night, and I was shaking thinking of that. So this is the kid, huh?This is Jay, if that's what you mean. My name from his mouth was jagged but intriguing. Others said my name like the letter, blunt and oversimplified. But when Sean said it, it felt whole. You saw the name behind it. Jay, this is Tracker, Sean muttered, like a little boy forced by his mother to do introductions. My brother. Tracker was walking around the couch, and walked straight up to me. I bit the inside of my lower lip, keeping a straight face. I was Jay. I was always ready for a fight. Except for now. I made eye contact and I swore he was about to pummel me. I don't know why--the idea of being beat up by an adult was sort of stupid, in retrospect. The guy was mature. He wasn't like the people I'd known.
How old are you, kid? he asked, condescendingly. I didn't want to answer, because this question-and-answer bullshit made me feel even younger.
I said bitingly, breaking eye contact, looking over at Sean instead.
So when my bro shows up to your door one day, you think, I'm an adult. I can take this kid into my house. I'm mature.' That's what you're thinking, right? I didn't respond. He had no idea what I was thinking. Yeah, well, let me give you a clue. Being eighteen doesn't make you any more mature than being seventeen. You're still a kid. You can't do shit like this. He looked over at Sean, sitting there in all his indignance, like he was unsure who was more to blame here. He motioned over to Sean. If he ever pulls this stunt again, you tell him to go home. We clear? I stared at the back of the couch now. I felt like a six year old again, being scolded by my mother. I wanted to protest and scream and punch and kick, but all I could do was stand there and nod. Good. Sean, let's go. I stood there frozen as Tracker walked by me. Sean picked up his duffel bag and threw it over his back. He didn't even pause when he walked by me; he only glanced at me, both sympathy and anger written on his face. I still stood there when I heard the door slam.