So What's One More Excuse? I Guess I Just Like the Abuse.

Without it I feel fucking horrible. Is it Monday? Fuck. School.

But I'll skip, of course.

I have better things to do.

Like drugs.

Drugs. I need some.

I get of this piece of shit that my parents call a bed.

My parents.

Fuck. I forgot about them. It's not like they matter anyway. But I should probably consider the fact that I live with them. I don't need more rehab bullshit.What I need is more heroin.

I grabbed some skinny jeans and my ac/dc shirt and got changed into them.

I should probably change my clothes if I want my parents to believe that I'm going to school.

I grab my school bag and pretend to act happy when I see my parents in the kitchen.

For once, they don't fall for it.

'Josh, sit down.' My father says, looking at me as if I murdered someone.

Who knows, maybe I did? But I doubt it. I can barely walk with the amount of heroin that I do. I act like I have no idea what he's talking about. Though I obviously do, he's going to tell me some more bull shit about how Heroin will kill me.

Hopefully, it will.

I don't say a word.

'We know that you haven't quit.' My mother said, slowly, looking at me worried.

I'm not giving up. She has no proof. She can't prove it.

I still said nothing.

'We're just worried. Heroin kills people.' my father looked at my mother.

'Josh, either you go to a rehabilitation center or you get out.'

That's it. My mother's done it.

I got up and screamed,

'I don't want to fucking quit!'

Just as my father got up, I stormed out the door. I don't need this shit.