This Was Never Gonna Be Simple

I didn't argue the next time Shay asked me to pop round to the shops. I was tempted to refuse, but in the end, I decided against it. See, I can be a nice person sometimes.

"Oi, Ian! D'you fancy heading down to the market later? We're out of milk, again, thanks to someone and their unhealthy obsession with cereal intended for primary school kids," he explained, shaking his head at the same time. I couldn't help but laugh, though. This is the number one reason we have to go shopping almost every day; Aled and his bloody breakfast.

I smirked at him. Of course I wasn't going to just agree and go along with it. What kind of person do you take me for?

"Is Aled here?" I grinned, using my usual cheeky tone, and holding back the urge to wolf whistle.

Shay scowled at me, looking very much like he was imaging various ways of doing me in, without being given life in prison for severe torture and brutal murder.
Now, hopefully he wouldn't do that, because like I said before, being murdered doesn't sound like the most pleasant of experiences. He has been in the nut house before, though, so I wouldn't put it past him. I think I'll just watch the way I speak around him.

"Ian," he warned, his tone light and conversational, yet somehow threatening. How was that even possible? "That was once, and it's not going to happen again. You're just jealous because you've never been laid."

With that, he sprung up from the couch, and sauntered into the kitchen to fetch himself a drink. He thinks he's superior to me, just because he and Aled have had sex, whereas I'm still a virgin. Yeah, twenty years old and virginity still intact. If anyone asks, my excuse is that I spent four years locked up. Try losing your virginity there, I dare you.

"Oh, and Aled's out. Visiting family or something today. I'm not entirely sure - I wasn't really listening," I heard him call from the kitchen, along with the clinking of a couple mugs and glasses. That better mean he's getting me a drink.

He returned a couple of minutes later, a steaming mug of what looked like tea in one hand, and a packet of digestive biscuits in the other. Looks like I'm not getting a drink, then.

He picked up the TV remote, flipping through the channels, stopping to laugh at the names of some of the programmes, and eventually settling for South Park. I'd never seen it, but I can't see it being anything amazing, so I concluded now would be the best time to head out. If I left now, I'd be able to avoid the crowds.

I muttered a quick goodbye, before retrieving my keys from the hooks at the front door, and slamming it behind me as I left.

I didn't always enjoy shopping, but it beat having someone else dictate what you ate every night of the week for four years. They told me I'd actually have been eligible to check out by the end of my second year there, but my parents had no wishes to see me again after that, so I was left there. Obviously, they couldn't keep me there forever, so they settled for having me stay until I was eighteen, and by then, a fully legal adult. It astounded me when I found out. Firstly, what kind of parents refuse to have anything to do with their son simply because he had some sort of mental illness? Even though there was nothing wrong with me whatsoever. And secondly, shouldn't I have a say in this? I was perfectly fine, and could have had two whole years of my life living normally, but instead I had another two years trapped there. Living Hell, if there ever was such a thing.