Not A Soul

Living in a city full of alcohol, drugs, murder, disappearances, and parties isn’t exactly the best place for a kid to be. But it’s definitely the most fun. The influences are bad and hard to resist. But falling for the temptation is always the best. It’s no surprise that the things around me have only made me that much worse of a person, especially after 4 years.

I guess my parents decided they didn’t really like this place because just six days ago they informed me of a rather…annoying idea of their’s.

“We’re moving in a week. We’re heading back.” That’s what they had said. I had absolutely no say in the matter, not that I expected to, but it still pissed me off.

They want to go back to that hell hole? What is wrong with New York? It’s fun, full of action, drugs, alcohol, sluts, and parties. It’s the best place for not only me, but those two dumb asses I have to call my parents.

Why the hell would they want to go back there? What idiots…

“Are you packed?”

I flick my fag into one of the many ash trays in this poor excuse of an apartment. He stood behind me, fuming, I could tell by the way I could feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. “No. Why would I? I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m not surprised to find myself slammed against the wall after saying that. His dark eyes, which I sadly inherited, are set on me. He’s glaring angrily and he has my shirt fisted between his fingers. Although he’s snarling like a wild animal, my face stays blank, void of any type of emotion.

“Now you listen here you little shit. If you aren’t packed within the next hour I will beat you so hard you won’t be capable of walking for the next week,” he threatens, shoving me to the side, allowing me to stumble my way through the hall way.

“Fuck you!” I shout over my shoulder and I am positive that if this were another situation and he didn’t want me to do something, he would have dragged me to his room where he’d do exactly what he said he would moments ago.

The door slams behind me and I angrily pack my things. There isn’t much, clothes, CD’s, and my guitar. That’s about all I have since those two don’t give a shit about me.

Just like he said, he came in an hour later to see I wasn’t finished. Lets just say my lip isn’t the size it’s supposed to be and my eye is now sporting a beautiful purple discoloration.

“You’re moving! Aw man, that sucks,” James groans, passing the weed to me. I never do hardcore drugs, like heroin, morphine, or cocaine. But every now and then I’ll smoke a bit with James.

I rip the joint from his fingers and place it between my lips. I really needed to forget about this stupid little plan those two idiots have made. I am not pleased about this, not at all.

“How about we have one last party, for old times sake?” James suggests and who am I to say no?

~

I’ve always hated this place. It’s too down to earth for my taste. Everyone is smiling, laughing, and acting like there isn’t anything wrong with this world when in reality there’s nothing right with it. It’s just an annoying, fucked up place that I completely loathe.

I really don’t like this place. I really hate this trailer. I hate moving back to it. I hate knowing that I’ll be questioned by all those idiots who once thought we were “friends.” I hate all of this.

I hate remembering everything. I hate looking into this room and remembering my former self, curled up in that corner, crying and begging for someone to save me. I hate looking into their room and seeing myself lying across the bed, beaten and bruised and scared shitless of what Michelle has done.

I hate these memories. They make me feel weak and pathetic, which are two things I definitely am not.

I scoff and quickly begin to unpack. I think of other things, like James and what he’s up to. The party last night was insane, every said their good-bye’s, but promised to message me and even try to come down to visit. I would have said no, but they are fun to party with.

I think about anything, but this. I even begin complaining about the huge hang over I have and how I only got an hour of sleep last night thanks to those ass wipes who decided it’d be nice to leave at the ass crack of dawn.

Michelle, my mother, is unpacking while Gary, my father, is grabbing a back pack full of his things. I watch from my room. He’s slipping on his shoes and stuffing a wad of cash into his pocket. Michelle doesn’t even bothering watching, but I can see her flinch from the corner of my eye at the sound of the door opening and closing.

He doesn’t even say good-bye, not that I need him to. He’ll be back. He always comes back, sadly. He stalks down the drive way and gets into the car to drive off. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone this time, but I’m kind of glad he did leave.

I don’t need the stress of both this place and him. Then again, his absence means Michelle will be more of a than normal. She’ll take her anger out on me.

Sighing, I go back to unpacking. There’s no use thinking about it. It won’t change anything.

“You’re going to school tomorrow.”

“What?” My scowl must have told her I had no intention what so ever to go back to that place. The lamp she has in her hand though is what informs me that she is serious and expects me to wake up at 6 the next morning.

“You’re going to school tomorrow,” her repeating is not a good thing, especially when her voice lowers like that.

Groaning, I grab a cigarette and stomp out of that stupid trailer.

Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck all this.