The pounding sound of the beat pulsed its way into my brain. It was the last day of grade eleven. I had one more year of high school and I would be free. I stopped dancing to take the joint from Kirt's mouth. I took a deep breath and blew the smoke back into his face, his hands searching me in tune with the music. How long had we been dancing? An hour or five? My head swam as I became numb to the world. Real clubs were so much different than the teen ones we used to go to. I didn't really need the joint because it was already the perfume of the club, that along with alcohol. Everyone was smoking or drinking. Everybody was dancing. I didn't even know what Kirt was doing to me, I didn't care.
Then the D.J said he was playing his last song so we headed out with Chris, Ana, Karine and Tony. We all poured into Tony's car and drove off. He cranked up some more music. I knew better than to think the night was over for us. We hit the town, pushing 150 clicks on a 100 high way. Tony produced some more drinks and we downed all of them. This was our life. Party all evening then break off in pairs for the night. Sex, drugs, and parties. That's all the mattered to us. Tony slowed his car to a stop in front of his house. Chris jumped out and the next time I saw him he was on top of Tony's roof, peeing.
"What the 'flip' are you doing up there?" I yelled.
"I… needed to find a… place high enough to piss…" his word slurred together. He always acted like such an idiot when he was drunk.
"I need to go too!" screeched Ana.
So we all got onto Tony's roof and took a piss. "Look at me!" I said walking on where the roof peaked.
"Are you crazy?" Ana asked.
I laughed again. "I'm gunna get out of this stupid place," I said, threw my head back and let the summer night air whip my hair away from my eyes. They were bloodshot, and it wasn't only because of the weed. I had a dark secret, something that no one knew, not my pathetic excuse for a father, not Chris, Kirt, Ana or Karine. The truth was that I hated myself. I hated that I needed a drink and smoke up to make me feel the least bit alive. I hated the feeling the drugs gave me. I hated myself for being so cheap. Twenty-five feet wouldn't do it. It probably wouldn't kill me, but it would be just enough for me to smell it. If I jumped before I fell, maybe I would get twenty-eight feet. It would feel great; I would be flying for like…one second. One second of flying would be better than anything I felt now. I looked out to the horizon; the sun was rising.
I looked back at the sunrise and as a tear slowly fell down my heavily make-up'd face, I jumped. I woke up in hospital with a hang over, a cop and my dad who appeared to be out of it, himself. To make a long story short, I was off. Off to live with my mom.