It Wasn't Meant to Be Like This

That cold, brittle morning had already wrecked my entire day. As my eyes struggled to stay open while I shovelled overfilled spoonfuls of Coco Pops into my mouth, the sound of crunching was loud in my ears.

I wearily stared out the window, as I was eating over the sink ( a fussy rule my room mate, also my best friend since the beginning of high school created) the top of buildings was all I could see, the view of block apartments just like ours. The bleak, white sky glared at me, as if taunting me that ‘Yes Today Is Monday’ vibe threatened me.

I couldn’t really say I hated my life, as much as I wanted to for dramatic hyperbole but I honestly didn’t hate my life. I had some complaints, but mostly nothing to worry about. As I finished my bowl of precious Coco Pops. I chucked the bowl and spoon in the sink with a loud clang, hoping it awoke my best friend: Jack.

Jack Hartford, a legendary prick. He was the most sarcastic, stubborn, obnoxious, clean freak of a person I have met; yet he was my best friend. I had met him at the beginning of my cruel teenage life and sadly, couldn’t shake him off.

Jack and I became friends in slow progress, in fact at the beginning of our sad story. We hated each other and I mean hated each other. We use to get each other suspended, beat the crap out of each other, make out with the girl that the other liked. Childish, but territorial stuff. It wasn’t till one Summer’s Day, I had detention once again and Jack had by this time become my long-term detention partner.

We were sitting, opposite sides of the room. I was in detention because of him, I was furious. The teacher hadn’t believed me when I said that Jack did in fact call Mr. Monroe, the most hideous maths teacher on the planet a “utter and complete fuck”. Somehow, I was blamed. I didn’t disagree with Jack, when he said it though. Mr Monroe. Is A Complete and Utter Fuck.

Anyway, Jack and I were silent, brewing in each other’s deadly hate. I was sick of it, the fighting, the punishments. Enough was enough.

“You’re a prick” I said full of rage and spite, wanting my meaningless words to hurt him. Fat Chance.

Jack laughed humourlessly, gave me a sarcastic smirk and replied “So are you” he said, the same way I had. I must have too many bumps to the head, or breathing in too much car fuel from outside. But, I laughed. Not a pathetic giggle, a full, blown out hysterical laugh. I couldn’t stop, it wasn’t even funny. I just laughed, and laughed until my stomach physically ached. Jack attempted not to smile, but failed epically. He too, laughed.

After that, we became friends, turning into best friends, being each other’s right hand man. 7 years later from the first day I met him, he was still best friend and I unfortunately had to live with the bastard.
Rubbing the crusty sleep from my eyes, scratching my dark brown hair roughly as I walked out of the kitchen, across the small living room and into my mediocre, moderate room. It had a double bed in the corner under the window, a wardrobe opposite and a desk the other side of the room, with my laptop and ipod docking station on. It was fine, for now.

I open my wardrobe, seeing little clothes left hanging, most of them at the bottom of my wardrobe, behind my bed or in the washing machine. I picked out some baggy jeans, with rips in them at the knee. I didn’t buy them like that. I slipped on a fairly clean white t-shirt, with some sort of fashionable logo on. I pulled on some black socks and shuffled quietly into the bathroom. Surprisingly, as two 21-year old men goes. The bathroom was very clean, but I can’t take any credit, seeing as Jack cleans it, I just make the mess.

I glanced in the cabinet mirror, above the sink and stared slightly. I wouldn’t call myself ugly, I’m not that depressed. I was okay. Brown hair, brown eyes, could do with a shave I guess but I wasn’t anything special. I had my fair share of girls, one night stands, meaningless flings but I’ve never been in a true relationship.

I washed my face and debated on shaving, I got my phone out my pocket and looked at it. It was almost 8, I didn’t have time. I quickly brushed my short, recently cut hair with my hands, too lazy to actually pick up a brush. I brushed my teeth in record time and went back into my room, to search for my keys.

I pocketed my keys, and phone and slipped on my black leather jacket, it was my Dad’s. I never had the heart to throw it away, so I just wore it.

I didn’t bother leaving Jack a note, he knew where I was and I left the apartment, locking the door behind me. It was cold today, then again it was November. It was winter time. I went to the elevator, pressing the down button and waited patiently.

I hated Mondays. I couldn’t describe why I hated them, it was just instinct to hate this day. It was the beginning of the week I guess, a week full of work, classes and more work. Yeah. I hate them.

The elevator dinged, I got in, pressing the ground floor button and the doors closed.
When I finally got to the ground, I left the building, smiling politely at one of the old ladies that lives nearby. I went round to the parking lot, and got to my car. A old, black jeep but I loved it. I got in, the iciness from outside sinking into my car. I frowned as I put the heater on and started the car. I sighed heavily, with dread. I had work now. I worked at Photo Palace. It wasn’t a career move, but I gave me money and easy hours around my classes. I was studying Photography & Mechanics, an odd combination but I loved them both. I guess I preferred photography. I had since I was a kid, but you see…my Dad was a mechanic and we use to work on cars together and it gave me another passion. When my Dad died, I promised myself that I would keep that passion (although, it was dying out) for my Dad. My Mom didn’t know this obviously, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

As I drove to work, content in my thoughts. I knew that my day wasn’t going to get much better…..oh wait. I’m stuck in traffic. This is awesome.