Fame Over Demise

You promised me.

And do you know what you said?

I would never hurt you. I would never leave you. I would never make you regret it.

And do you know what I said?

I believe you.

Because I was stupid and naïve. I was a child. I didn’t know any better. I was only seventeen. Ready to get out into the world and become independent, leave behind my parents, and I gave up everything I had for you.

Four months into living in an apartment with you,

you left.

You left me to fend for myself. I wasn’t even eighteen yet. I wasn’t a legal adult. But you just walked out, without even saying a word. Not even a hint. Just the night before, you were kissing me, nuzzling my neck, giggling, telling me how adorable I was (like you always did), and I was lying on your chest, giggling right back, tracing your tattoos all over your chest. I thought everything was perfect. We were going to live like this forever. We were going to be together forever. I thought in sixty years, we would be little old men who still loved each other and cared about each other.

That is, until I woke up the next morning, you weren’t in bed with me, there were no notes, there were no smiling faces and good morning kisses.

It was as if you were never there.

Maybe I was hallucinating. You never were there. I started to question myself. Maybe I was schizophrenic. Maybe I thought that I had run away with you, but maybe you were just a figment of my imagination. Everything was in its proper place, except you. You and your clothes, shoes, electronics, your books you loved so much. All gone.

I started blaming myself. It was something I must’ve done. I was stupid and maybe you were just fed up with me leaving the tap on sometimes. Or maybe I burned our dinner badly, or maybe I didn’t fix my side of the closet. You were just so fed up you left me.

But I knew that I didn’t do any of that.

It was you who had a problem.

Or maybe back to my original theory. I was going insane. I ran away with no one but myself.

I was jobless (and soon to be homeless), alone, scared, in a different state than my parents (who begged me to stay), and I had no money in my bank account.

I started searching for jobs. I found one. T he only one that would hire a broke, seventeen year old boy. It was a tiny corner restaurant. The tips weren’t horrible, but I could barely pay for bills and food. I was starving because most of my money went to paying bills. I resorted to saving leftover food from guests at the restaurant.

How disgusting is that?

But what choice did I have?

Only a week ago you had been bringing in the money, feeding me, clothing me, giving me a place to stay. The change was so abrupt I couldn’t do anything else.

I was always so stressed out, tired, alone, angry, and frustrated. I found myself crying uncontrollably for hours on end. Other times I would just sit on the couch and stare at the old, rustic television that never was on anymore. But most of the time I would find myself being angry at myself. Myself, you, the world, I hated it all. I was just an angsty, moody, seventeen year old boy for the most part. Maybe that was why I was always so alone. Why I never made any friends. Not even at work.

I dropped out of school to work extra hours.

I had just started adjusting to my comatose lifestyle when someone had knocked on the door one night.

Do you know who it was?

Of course you know.

It was you, silly.