Status: NaNoWriMo - 21,112 words.
Exits and Entrances
cady grisham.
I sucked in heavily, the phone heavy in my hand. “Thomas Shannon, are you high?” I ask, forgetting what I originally called for. I was pissed, and my words were like ice.
It was just like when we were dating, Tommy, and you would get high and confess your feelings to me. At first it was cute, then it was slightly aggravating, and then it was annoying. You were trying to hit on me right now, despite it being almost eleven at night and I needed advice.
Tell me this, what if I really needed you for something and you just were allowed to blow off your responsibilities and get high? Because I wish I could do something as reckless as that, but I care. And right now, I care about you and what you’re doing to yourself.
You used to have dreams, Tommy. You used to want to go to college and be successful and have a life worth living. And I used to want to be a part of that life. But now? What am I supposed to do? It’s like you’ve given up. Have you?
Because weed won’t be there for you when you’re broke and alone, like I would have been if you simply kept trying.
It’s another reason we broke up, you know. You stopped trying. You stopped even pretending to try. You simply gave up on our relationship because that’s what was easiest for you. Did you ever think about what I wanted? About that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be with you, even if it meant the fight of my short life?
Of course not. You’re selfish and want nothing but your own personal gain. Do you know what that makes you, other than selfish? It makes you lonely and alone in your future, as well as pathetic.
I may not be proud, but at least I’m proud of something. You’ve taken pride in becoming nothing. Nothing but scum against the clean slate that I’ve created for myself. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. But I won’t be like you and give up, because that would make me just like you and I don’t want that.
I can almost hear the dopey smile in your voice as you finally answer me. “Yeah, baby, I’m high,” You say, like everything is a-o-fucking-kay. It’s not okay, and it hasn’t been since we left so many things unsaid when you simply walked away. And that’s it. I’m done with you and I’m done with all the things we left unsaid.
That’s actual why I’m writing these stupid freaking letters to you, Tommy. Because I need somewhere to write down where everything went wrong and finally get all those things I’ve been meaning to say to you off my chest.
But do you even care about what I want, about what I think? No.
I grind my teeth like cogs, anger rising up in my chest faster than my words can. “Call me when you’re clean, assbutt.”
Not my best choice of words.
It was just like when we were dating, Tommy, and you would get high and confess your feelings to me. At first it was cute, then it was slightly aggravating, and then it was annoying. You were trying to hit on me right now, despite it being almost eleven at night and I needed advice.
Tell me this, what if I really needed you for something and you just were allowed to blow off your responsibilities and get high? Because I wish I could do something as reckless as that, but I care. And right now, I care about you and what you’re doing to yourself.
You used to have dreams, Tommy. You used to want to go to college and be successful and have a life worth living. And I used to want to be a part of that life. But now? What am I supposed to do? It’s like you’ve given up. Have you?
Because weed won’t be there for you when you’re broke and alone, like I would have been if you simply kept trying.
It’s another reason we broke up, you know. You stopped trying. You stopped even pretending to try. You simply gave up on our relationship because that’s what was easiest for you. Did you ever think about what I wanted? About that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be with you, even if it meant the fight of my short life?
Of course not. You’re selfish and want nothing but your own personal gain. Do you know what that makes you, other than selfish? It makes you lonely and alone in your future, as well as pathetic.
I may not be proud, but at least I’m proud of something. You’ve taken pride in becoming nothing. Nothing but scum against the clean slate that I’ve created for myself. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. But I won’t be like you and give up, because that would make me just like you and I don’t want that.
I can almost hear the dopey smile in your voice as you finally answer me. “Yeah, baby, I’m high,” You say, like everything is a-o-fucking-kay. It’s not okay, and it hasn’t been since we left so many things unsaid when you simply walked away. And that’s it. I’m done with you and I’m done with all the things we left unsaid.
That’s actual why I’m writing these stupid freaking letters to you, Tommy. Because I need somewhere to write down where everything went wrong and finally get all those things I’ve been meaning to say to you off my chest.
But do you even care about what I want, about what I think? No.
I grind my teeth like cogs, anger rising up in my chest faster than my words can. “Call me when you’re clean, assbutt.”
Not my best choice of words.