Not A Soul

“You’re just like your parents! I hate you. I hate how you feel like everything in your life is so horrible. You don’t have to take your misery out on everyone else. Fuck you!”

My eyes snap open out of anger or shock, I’m not sure. I sit up from my bed and run my hand over my face. Fuck, why did I have to dream that? Hearing it once from Curt is enough, but hearing it in my dreams as well is too much.

You’re just like your parents!

I shake my head stubbornly and get out of bed. The moment my feet touch the carpet I groan. His words keep echoing in my head like a broken record that just can’t stop. It keeps repeating, repeating, repeating, until it’s all I can hear.

No…I’m not like them. I’m nothing like my parents! I’m not…

I force myself to change and prepare myself for the day. I can hear their screams from the kitchen, which is only feet away. I wish I could avoid them, but there’s really no possible way so I leave my room only to get a good scolding.

His words are slurred and make no sense, but they still feel like arrows to my heart. Even if he is a bastard, an alcoholic, a drug addict, he’s still my father. And it still hurts to hear him call me worthless, useless, nothing, but I keep on my stone cold act and pretend it doesn’t bother me.

I stomp out of that trailer and slam the door shut. My door is already off to a poor start and I know it’s going to get worse.

~

What the fuck is he doing? Having his arms around that kid like they’re…they’re together or something. I scowl and look away. I don’t care. He can do whatever the hell he wants. It’s his life and I’m obviously not allowed back in it.Not that I blame him.

I keep my eyes on the sheet in front of me. I actually begin to do my work, just so I won’t look back over at him, but I just can’t help it.

“Want a pretzel?”

“I know I said I wanted something salty, Curt, but I think we both know what I meant.”

I stiffen in my seat and glare. I glare at that bastard, at least I do for a while, until Curt catches me staring. I scoff and quickly turn away, putting my focus back on the worksheet. And I keep my eyes on it until the end of class where I grab my things and stomp out of the room…while formulating a plan to kill that ass who dares to flirt with my Curtie.

How dare he! That little shit, having his arms around him, flirting with him. He isn’t allowed to do that-Wait a second.

I stop in the middle of the hall in pure shock. My eyes widen to the size of saucers and suddenly I realize what I had just thought.

My Curtie. Since when was he my Curtie? Never. He’s never been my Curtie. He isn’t even my Curt. Fuck, what the hell is the matter with me? There’s obviously something wrong. Maybe I should go see a doctor, just to make sure?

I continue down the hall, running my hands over my face. I really have no idea what to do. His words are still the only thing in my mind and I find myself scribbling them in my horrible chicken scratch during English. They’re written all over the page and I growl.

Quickly I scratch them out, angrily.

No. No. No.

I’m not like them. I’m not like my parents…right? I’m…nothing like them…Than why do I feel, so much like them?