Damn, I Hate You

I was shocked. "Yes? Are you sure?"

"Jaimie, he's my dad. He's the only family I've had since I was, like, four. There's no way in hell that I'm just going to stop wanting his love and approval. And I know it's retarded and I'm stupid to think it's ever gonna happen, but I can't help thinking that IF it happens, I'll say yes." he appologized. Seriously, it sounded more like he was telling me he was sorry for the way he thought more than he was explaining it.

"I realize this, Deryk, and it does make sense, I suppose, but you need to get it through your head that it's not going to happen." I broke the cruel truth to him.

It was silent on the other line. "Deryk? Are you ok?" I asked. Something was wrong. It's Deryk! He's not supposed to be quiet. If he's quiet, I need to worry, because I'm scared of just what might be going on in his mind.

"Yeah. Well, no. I dunno. I'm lost. I need... I need something. I dunno what I need. I think-" he stopped. I heard a slight crash and then Deryk started talking. I dunno what exactly happened next because I heard it snap shut. Oh my god, he better be ok!

*Deryk's POV*

I was freaking out. My hand started shaking, my head was light and dizzy; I swore I was having a seizure or something. Maybe it was a panic attack! Something was going on in my mind that wasn't right. My phone fell to the floor. I was saying something, something crazy like, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Over and over.

I snapped out of it, though. I was trapped. I needed air. I had no air; I was suffocating in my room full of memories and crowded as the old me and the new me tried to battle to win over who I was. My head was spinning. I picked up my phone, forgetting Jaimie entirely, and ran to the window. I snapped the phone shut, opened the window and jumped down the fire escape; it was a two story drop. Not exactly a big deal. I couldn't think clearly; I just needed to run.

I ran for about eight blocks. I was somewhere near the school. It was blinding though. All the lights of the city merging with the lights of the cars driving by in the ten thirty traffic (which was pretty much empty) were bluring my vision. I kept running, though. I needed to clear my head.

I found a familiar ladder; one that I naturally found no matter how lost or confused I was, and climbed up as quickly as I could force myself without risking slipping on the frost of the November night.

It was freezing, but I was burning up. I was going crazy. I needed a rush, I needed to feel something. Not pain, though. I quickly stripped off my jacket and threw it to another side of the department store roof. I stood at the edge of the roof, the wall extending up at about waist length as my t-shirt waved wildly in the wind. The gell in my hair was losing it's strength and my hair started stabbing my eyes as it often does. I put my hands on the wall and looked straight down.

It's all going to be ok. I was in my happy place. I just needed to sit here, skin getting bumpy as the breeze chilled my bones, and clear my mind. Everything was going to change; not just change, it was going to crash.

I looked across a few streets- you could see everything from this blessed roof!- and watched as cars narrowly escaped crashing themselves. Would I be like them? Would I narrowly escape this? Or would I end up like the cars on the six o'clock news? My world started crumbling as my knees went weak. I fell to the roof top and leaned against the high-standing wall.

My eyes closed and I was able to hear little other than the racing of my heartbeat, my breath and the breeze all blending into one sweet melody in my mind. It was a song of it's own; not classical, nor reggea, nor rock, nor jazz. It had it's own beat, full of insane synchopation. It had it's own rhythm. There was no rhythm.

I started thinking, trying to create a poem of the events as I always do when I can't think. But the words were coming out jumbled and crazy. There was no rhyme. There's no rhyme or reason. There's no logic. I'm in the real world, now. I'm not in my room where I can pretend my life's a cartoon or a feel-good comedy to watch after your dad breaks your heart and bones every night. I'm not in Jaimie's arms where my life is a romance and drama of a tortured soul being cured in the embrace of an angel. I'm in the real world. There is no poem for this. There is only anger. Angry songs that don't make sense but can do little other than thrash. I would've head banged or rocked back and forth to calm myself, but suddenly I understood an insane concept.

I pulled out a notebook and started to write. My first free-verse poem was starting to form.