American Idiot

‘Dearly beloved, are you listening? I can't remember a word that you were saying. Are we demented? Or am I disturbed? The space that's in-between insane and insecure. Oh therapy, can you please fill the void? Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed? Nobody's perfect and I stand accused. For lack of an better word and that's my best excuse’

It was early. Seven. Which is amazing for me because I'm usually so hungover that I don't wake till ten. But I'm purer than I've been in years. I didn't intake not one drop of alcohol yesterday. Knowing it'd only make things worse. It's weird without the buzz clouding my head. Because I can think... It's clear. Dispite the sleep clouding my mind and keeping thr previous day's events at bay. I held them under. Didn't let them surface and ruin the clean feeling. And when I slipped up, they hit like an ton of bricks.
I took and deep breath and sat up in bed. My head didn't spin nearly as bad as it could have. So many today will be better than yesterday. Yesterday... My girlfriend cheated on me and we called it quits. And also yesterday, I got beat up by my life long friend and he's the one who was with her! They both went behind me and turned my trust to shit. Well that's not gonna happen again.
I thought back to 7-11. I'd totalled that bathroom. With all the writing on the walls, you'd easily mistaken it for the Underground.
The Underground... Last place I want to be today. I don't want to go back. Not just today, but ever.
I rose from the messy bed and stretched briefly. Then I made my way to the living room. Which was an mess, from the party I didn't start nor attend.
I dropped down onto the sagging couch. For once that damned TV is off. I could enjoy the peace for like five seconds until I mom came in. Looking hungover. Not an good start for an nurse going to work...
She hadn't left yet... Joy. This is going to be pleasant.
She sat down in the recliner with narrowed eyes. She doesn't leave for the next half hour. Now I dread getting up so early and not just going back to sleep.
I looked over at her. She could see everything just in my expression. Everything I was thinking.
“What's the matter with you?” she asked carelessly while taking an long drag from her cigarette.
I looked at her like it should be very very obvious.
“Yours face.”
“Oh, well. It must be nice. All high and mighty, the king of shit mountain.”
“Shit mountain? That's exactly what this fucking place is. This disgusting house that we live in. And do you know what the sickest part of it is?”
Her eye narrowed “Do tell.” she muttered sarcastically.
“You come in here every goddamn morning, and you look at me like I'm an loser.”
She raised her eyebrows like I spoke the truth.
“You sit there with your fucking scratch off lottery tickets and you say ‘Hey! Maybe tomorrow it's all gonna change.’ your never gonna get the right numbers.”
“Are you done?” she pressed.
“Who gave you the right to start shit? What are you now? Jesus sitting on that couch suffering from my sins? Well that makes you the son of a loser. You fucking moron.”
She looked triumphant until I flipped up the plate of food sitting on the edge of the coffee table from last night into her face.
I rose from the couch and got my jacket “Have an nice day at work mommy.” I called over my shoulder like and little kid as I shrugged into it.
“Fuck off.” she called after me.

Hell, I might as well. Just disappear from town for an bit. No one wants me here anyways. Not even my own mother. Who should be closer to me than anyone on this planet. Screw that. I've got better things to do than wait for her to say ‘I love you’ if she did, it wouldn't be real.
I got into my car. Drove around town until ten. Then I went back to 7-11. An 'do not enter' sign on the employees only bathroom. I peeked over my shoulder to be sure no one was looking, then slipped inside. An cleaning crew had already been through, fixed the sink, yeah, I broke that too. And a fresh coat of white paint on all the walls.
I shook an can of blood red spraypaint in my palm and walked toward the fresh wall above the toilet. Spray painting the words ‘Saint Jimmy’
I turned and saw the razor blade on the edge of the sink that they had probably used to get all the drawings off the mirror. I picked it up and revolved it between my fingers. Looking up at my blurry reflection in the mirror. Back down at my hand.
I positioned the blade between my fingers and firmly pressed into my palm and dragged it to the bottom. Blood came from the wound instantly. I turned back to the red words on the wall. Clenched my hand into an tight fist and blood squirted between my fingers as I walked toward it. Opened my bloody palm and looked down at it for an second before slamming it into the wet white paint. I pulled away to reveal an bloody handprint beneath the words. I dropped my palm back to my side and stared up at it. I grabbed some tissues and crushed them in my palm to absorb the remaining blood. Then turned and unlocked the bathroom door and headed out. Pulled up my hood as I walked out of the store. Across the parking lot and back to my car. Right where I left it and ready to go.
I climbed in. I know where I've got to go. I knew it this morning after my talk with my mom. I can't stay in this town. I'm leaving tonight. I lit an cigarette and let it hang from my lips as I looked down at one last picture of Mary-Jane. I grabbed it, ripped it up and started the engine and heading for the highway. I crushed the bits of the photo into my bloody palm. As I drove, I tossed them out and watched them skitter across the asphalt in my mirror. It felt good to let go. For me anyways.
I arrived home fairly soon. I wrapped my hand with cheap gauze in the small bathroom and exited. My mom worked an half day so I'd better be gone by the time she's home. I don't want anyone to know I'm gone. I just want to see how long it takes them to notice.
I turned off the TV. Sat on the edge of my bed and looked out the windows to the distant streets. The ones I'd be using to disaplead within the next hour.
I got my duffle bag out from under my bed and shoved as many clothes as I could into it. Not worrying about taking any memento items. If Im trying to forget, that's the last thing I need. I turned around to see my mom leaning against my bedroom door. Looking questioningly at my bag slung over my shoulder. It's none of her damn business. I grabbed my jacket off the corner of the door and shrugged past her.