Baby, I'm a Lost Cause.

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I held up both my arms, my cold palms reaching over my head. I was shaking. “Don't shoot me.”
Instead of answering, he appeared in front of me, and demanded answers. “What are you doing here? What are you motives? Who sent you?”
I began to feel like I was in the wrong place, and I suddenly, I feared death. Maybe this was the moment everything I had thought of, wondered, during the latest parts of night, and the brightest parts of day, would finally reveal. Where I would die, and death would catch me. Or, I would just fall endlessly, or maybe Jesus would be there, or another god, or another belief, and my heart would stop beating.
“Well!? Why are you here. . .” His foot was tapping against the dirt, and I had just now realized tears were running down his pale cheeks. His gun fell from his tight grip in his hand and landed on the ground. I began to realize the purpose of the gun was not for self-defense.
I swallowed to tried to speak. “Why did you have a gun?” I spoke quietly, but my voice echoed through the barn. I stared blankly at him, expecting a response. There was no answer. I bent down slowly, and picked up the pistol and laid it down behind me.
But I knew why he had the gun. And so did he.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to see through his eyes. Why would he be so determined to end his life? There was no possibility he had suffered so much; as much as me. And to do something as selfish as killing himself. . .In this barn? This was the barn Sylvester and I spent most of our time in. How fucking dare he?! It took nerve to ruin such a perfect spot! And suddenly, I began to feel very, very incompatible to this other human being who now stood on the opposite side of the room.
I wasn't sure what I should do, at this point. I stared at his eyes for what felt like a long time, until he said, quite softly, “I need to go.”
He hitched himself onto one of the broken standing bars that ran vertically and climbed up it until he reached the roof. He gave me one last look, his eyes on fire, and disappeared.
My emotions raged insanely. Despite my raw negativity toward him mentally, I wanted him back. I wanted him standing in front of me, again. I wanted him speaking to me, in the sour, quiet way he spoke. I wanted him to infect me with his problems and I wanted him to kiss me, in such an unyielding way that it didn't matter that we're imaginably both messed up human beings.
I realized I was so far off from my house that if I didn't start walking home now, I might not be there before dark. The barn was silent. I kept it that way, and left.
Walking home as the sun went down only made me think more of my spirituality. Was I fated to meet the boy in the barn? Did I save his life? Was he going to die anyway? Did any of it even matter? Would I get to see him again? All these questions boggled my mind as a preceded home solemnly.
I figured I should tell papa about him. I was unsure. He would probably get angry, though, and then begin a chain of questions as to why I was talking to a stranger, and why I wasn't in school. I scratched that idea off the list. Perhaps, Deborah? I despised her on a tremendous scale, but it seemed more likely she would listen to me rather than papa. But. . .it was Deborah.
Fuck it, I'm keeping it to myself.
I walked into a silent house. Hm, this was new. After dropping my bag on the floor, I heard talking from the kitchen. Deborah and dad were talking quietly, something unexpected from this household.
“Is everything okay?”
The way their eyes shot up to me was unbelievable.
“OKAY?” Deborah started. She stood up, just barely reaching my height in her red heels. “YOU SKIPPED SCHOOL FOR THE TWENTY FIRST TIME THIS YEAR, AND IT'S ONLY FUCKIN' FEBUARY!”
“Yeah,” I said.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU'VE MISSED TOO MANY CLASSES THAT YOU'LL NEED TO START OVER?! DO YOU REALIZE YOU'VE POSSIBLY RUINED YOUR CHANCE TO GET A GOOD EDUCATION FOR THE FORTH TIME IN A ROW?”
My Dad sat the the table behind Deborah, his head down.
“You're just gonna watch her yell at me, huh.” I said to him. He pursed his lips and stayed mute.
What I didn't appreciate was the way my dad allowed Deborah to say all these things to me, stuff he would never want me to be put through. Although, since it's “his true love, Deborah”, she can do whatever she wants to me. I waited until she was done ranting to try to mention the suicidal boy.
“I went to the red barn, you know. I was there, and-” Papa looked up, interested.
“I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE. GO TO YOUR ROOM AND THINK ABOUT ALL THE NEGATIVES OF WHAT YOU'VE DONE.”
Well, you can't say I didn't try. I walked up to my room without another word.

Later, I threw pajamas on, and just as I heard the late night fumbles begin from my dad's room, I groaned and opened my window, climbing out onto the roof of our house. I was glad I had done this many times before. I needed to be outside, where the wind blew cold and I could get away from my so-called “family.” I shut the window and sat on the roof above my room, watching the stars in the night sky blink and twinkle.
The rest of the night consisted of me praising stars, pondering “God's” motives today, thinking about Sylvester, adding scars to my body, and concluding how if the stars could aline the way they did, then maybe I could see him again.

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