The Rules of Life

I wasn’t too keen on saying sorry to the old man and was more than content to sit out on the porch until he passed out. Then I could climb back into my window the same I’d always done. My run in with the cops hadn’t affected my “breaking and entering” lifestyle in the slightest. But it wasn’t just me I had to worry about. I had a kitten now, a wriggling, mewing one who was no doubt hungry, just as I was beginning to be. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to feel hungry but now that things were slowing down, in a sense, it returned with a vengeance, an ache in my torso that felt too hollow to be real. Hunger was a real problem for me and I hated feeling that empty feeling of no food. Which meant that I usually ate a lot. I should be fat, pouring out of my jeans and shirts but my metabolism was good and my morning jogs helped keep my weight in check.

The jogging had been suggested by my therapist. I used to run with my dad in the mornings, back before everything was crappy. So the idea of running again was a little hard for me to accept. At first, we ran together again. A father-daughter team. That was right after Mom left, the beginning of my therapy before I’d really grown into my bitchiness. But eventually we could barely be in the same house together, let alone do something outside of required interaction. I’d gotten into running, as a defense mechanism, much like doing math problems was. So, without talking about it, Paul and I came up with an arrangement. He ran at night and I dragged my sorry ass out of bed each morning to run before waking hours. As I grew older, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about being up so early each day but it was routine and I couldn’t seem to break the habit. Not even when things had gotten really bad a year ago.

When I’d mentioned I wasn’t really a people person, I’d meant it. But something inside me still craved some interaction. It was still at a time when I’d merely pushed people away and not focused so much on bitching them out and my sophomore year, I’d received a coveted party invite from Dash Sheppard. Even hating the world, I could still appreciate a nice hunk of boy. Invitations to popular parties were rare, especially to someone like me. At first, I wasn’t going to go. I didn’t like them and they didn’t like me. But in the end, my curiosity was too hard to squelch. What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Well, that saying doesn’t just apply to cats.

The party was like every story I’d ever heard. It was unsupervised and came with bottles, and kegs, and cups of beer. People passed around joints. The music made the walls throb and people were grinding rather than actually dancing. I felt more out of place than ever and was constantly reminded of that. I didn’t really know these people and they only knew me by reputation. Most of them were upperclassman and had therefore never gotten the chance to see my razor wit in action.

A couple, both wasted behind belief, stumbled into me. I backed away, seriously considering my chances at getting the hell out of there. But before I could formulate my escape plan, a hand snaked its way around my wrist and I was pulled from the overly crowded and stuffy living room. That was the first time I’d really met Travis Elton. Sure, I knew who he was. He was popular. Even someone on the fringes of high school society knew his name. He wasn’t as cute as Dash Sheppard but still semi-attractive. Too bulky for my taste. But I didn’t really mind. I was being led away by a popular boy! Yes, I was naïve enough to succumb to such petty things, but this was Before. And now I was in the After.

But back to the Before.

Travis took me to the kitchen. It was less noisy but no less crowded. He hoisted himself up onto one of the counters and grinned at me. “Hey,” he said, talking loud enough to be heard over the pounding music. In the back of my mind, I wondered why no one had called to complain about the noise.

“Hi,” I replied, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. I still wasn’t sure of the motives in inviting me. Surely it wasn’t my winning personality.

“Loosen up a little!” He handed me a plastic cup filled with amber liquid. The strong smell gave it away as beer. It didn’t exactly seem appealing but I drank it anyway, just to have something to do. It didn’t occur to me to be cautious, but I should have been. I was so focused on being suspicious of the people that I didn’t stop to think about anything else. But as luck would have it, my downfall wasn’t in that plastic cup. “You know, you’re pretty hot!”

It wasn't the first time I’d been called this. I got it a lot in sixth grade, which seemed weird to me now since sixth graders seemed so little. It got more frequent in middle school, even when I’d alienated myself from everyone. I wasn’t exactly nice then but I wasn’t really a bitch either. No, that resentment needed to build some more. I was polite enough but it was a cold politeness, one that said I wouldn’t be outright mean but I didn’t want your company. Naturally, most people avoided me. Which had suited me just fine. But you couldn’t be alone all the time and apparently even I had my limits.

I blinked at Travis Elton. “Thanks?” My suspicions rose a little further.

“I got Dash to invite you,” he said proudly. “Because I think you’re hot. And we should, y’know, hook up or somethin’.” More blinking. Travis Elton wanted to hook up with me? Maybe I would have been flattered, once I got over being disgusted.

He laughed a bit. “Right. You’re not drunk enough for that,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I can fix that.” He gave me another cup that I didn’t want to drink either but did anyway. Just to have something to do. He led me from the kitchen, barely swaying on his feet though I knew he’d been drinking for a while. Travis could apparently hold his liquor.

We entered a room filled with smoke. It hurt my eyes and had a strong scent but not necessarily a bad one. Travis took my hand and pulled me to a couch. It was otherwise full and I had no choice but to sit on Travis’ lap. I didn’t even realize it when someone placed a joint in my hands. Travis handed me a lighter and instructed me on what to do. I’d heard of people smoking weed but I’d never personally done it before. But like before, with the beers, I did it anyway. It tasted good and after a few hits, I’d felt better than I had in ages. Way better. I ended up hooking up with Travis in one of the bedrooms and two days later, I knew something was wrong.

My head hurt so bad and my body shook. I needed the weed. Which was dumb because as far as I knew, you couldn’t get addicted to weed. So why I was feeling this way? I hunted down Travis and demanded an answer but he just laughed at me. I sought out the druggies and begged for their help. They were more than eager to help out a fellow junkie. Because that’s what I had become. With weed that was laced with PCP. The more I got high, the more I was willing to try other drugs, too. Eventually I got addicted to other drugs, too. I was mostly a pill popper. I did E but before it got bad, I tried shooting up heroin. It was around that time that people started to take notice, especially my teachers and my dad. I guess it’s understandable that he’d overreact but really, I was too high to care about that. And when I got clean, I was beyond pissed off. Second round of therapy, with the new bitchy me. That didn’t last for long and when I finally got back to school, I realized I loathed them, those popular people. And everyone else kind of just got stuck with it too.

That’s why I’d stuck up for Amber, because I didn’t want what happened to me to happen to her. But no one listens to you when you’re a bitch, especially not if you want desperately to be popular, just as Amber had.

Soe gave a mew and nudged my hand. It had stilled as I’d gotten lost in my memories and for a moment, when I caught sight of my reflection, I jumped, because my face was so thin and gaunt, with smudged make-up and a hollow look in my eyes. I was Meth Addict Barbie. When I blinked, I was back to normal. Soe gave my hand a swipe with his paw when my grip tightened.

“Sorry,” I said. I needed to get him inside. I put him in my pocket and held him there with one hand. With my free hand, I rang the doorbell. If I was apologizing, I was going to do it my way. When Paul didn’t answer right away, I repeatedly pressed the bell until the door opened.

“You’re not on the right track for this apology,” he warned.

I cleared my annoyed emotions off my face and then worked at replacing them with a sincere, puppy dog look. From the raised eyebrows Paul was giving me, it wasn’t working. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said, sweet as sugar.

Paul rolled his eyes. He took up the whole doorway and there was no way I was sliding by him. “I said sincere,” he said, “not fake.”

Mock hurt was dancing along my features. “That wasn’t fake!” I said, pretending to be appalled. But he wasn’t buying it. I sighed. “Fine. God.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t exactly my best apology but I did mean it. Sort of. Okay, no, I didn’t. But I had to get inside so I put on a dejected face and hoped he’d take pity, for once.

“Sorry for?” he prompted. Of course he wasn’t letting me off easy. He’d thrown me in jail, for God’s sake.

Another breath. I wanted to fight. God, I wanted to yell at him some more. Fighting I could handle, but this apologizing bullshit? This wasn’t as easy. My mouth wouldn’t form the words and I was sure I looked retarded, standing there with my lips moving but no sound coming out. It was a wonder that, after everything, Paul didn’t just lock me up and throw away the key. “I’m sorry,” I said, but my voice was barely audible.

“Speak up, McKinley.”

I gave an indignant growl and stomped my foot. Not so mature but I was frustrated. “I’m sorry,” I repeated for the third time, “for talking back to you.”

Paul nodded, clearly pleased with himself, if the smug look was an indication. God, I hoped I didn’t look like that when I successfully made a bitch move. He moved aside and let me in. I wasn’t five feet inside when Soe decided to give himself away.

“McKinley… what was that?”