Drunk.

Chapter Four

The next morning I was sitting at the kitchen counter at seven thirty on a Thursday eating some brand of cereal I could never seem to remember from a tiny bowl that was overflowing with milk and tiny light brown squares. I had managed to go to sleep at just past two in the morning that night, as my brain didn't want me to go to sleep and only cared about my situation with Vic, which kept me up for three hours later than I planned. I normally wake up at eight o' clock, if I had gotten up at my regular time I would have just barely managed to go through the day without falling asleep in a random place, but I wanted to wake up earlier to avoid seeing my father.

After I ate my breakfast, I grabbed my bag and walked my way to school, my head towards the ground as I walked past Vic's house in order to get to school the quickest way possible, as the long route would have made me late to class.

When I got to school, not many people were there, some were standing around outside talking to their friends about their weekend plans, and others were at there lockers gatherings the supplies they needed for their first period class. No one seemed to acknowledge the fact that I was there, which made the anxious feeling in my stomach slowly subside. I looked at my phone and saw that it was 8:16, meaning class started in thirty-nine minutes. I then walked past everyone, ignoring the occasional stares, to the outside of the other side of the school. Everyone seemed to be on the other side, and I figured there couldn't be that many more people here, so I figured no one would be over there, or at least less than the amount of people surrounding me. All I really needed right now was to clear my mind, and all of the people in the halls definitely weren't giving me the opportunity to do so.

When I got to my destination, my theory that no one would be there due to the amount of people on the other side was right; absolutely no one was there.

But the second I sat down on the ground, I got a text.

I unlocked my phone and saw that it was from Mike. As worried as I was to talk to him, I needed to know if he actually saw what happened. So I tapped on his contact name and read the text message.

Hey, it's Mike. I saw you walking past our house this morning, so I figured you'd be at school right now. Let me know where you are, I need to talk to you.

I sighed, my mind battling with itself, trying to figure out if it was a good idea or not. I had a slight feeling I would regret my decision, but I proceeded to text back anyway, telling him that I was at the back of the school. He was there in a matter of minutes, and sat right next to me.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Look, I'm just gonna say it. I heard your dad last night, Kellin, I know something's wrong. Just please tell me what's going on."

I stared at him for a minute, and I almost smiled when I saw his eyes filled with concern. My mind has managed to train itself into believing any type of positive words or feelings showed towards me were simply lies, and it was something I tried to stop doing, but it seems impossible with the words my own father tells me.

"He was just mad because I told him I would be home earlier, but my phone died so when he called me, none of them went through and he got upset."

"Then why didn't you look scared?"

Shit, he was right. I had gotten so used to my dad's screaming that I never looked affected my it, and I guess that when he saw me, the look on my face showed it must happen often.

I sat for a minute, head head against the old brick wall, my hair sprawling out around my head. I was trying to come up a lie - fast.

"I..."

"Kellin, just talk to me."

"Look, Mike. I didn't want to say anything, but my dad has had a drinking problem ever since my mom left, and he tends to yell at me all
the time, he has for a few years."

I was quite surprised that I could make up a lie as fast as I did, and how I managed to make it, I hoped, somewhat believable. By the look on Mike's face when I finally met his eyes, he had believed me.

"Oh, wow, I'm sorry Kellin."

I muttered out a soft 'It's not your fault' before the bell rang and we both got up and headed to our first classes.

The rest of the day was a bit similar to the day before - Vic's rude glares during 90% of any class I shared with him, random people, most I hadn't even said a word too, laughing at me whenever I made a slight mistake, and not having a single clue where half of my classes were. At lunch, Mike tried to talk to me about my dad, but I didn't want to hear about how sorry he was or how I should tell someone, so every time he tried to bring it up, I just changed the subject. I had also managed to meet a few other people, who I was introduced to by Tay. They're names were Jack and Alex, who were strangely too nice, although I never brought it up. I was lucky to manage to avoid Vic, although I caught him staring at me multiple times throughout the period.

When the day was over, I didn't even say anything to anyone, I just walked out the door and headed straight home. I didn't want my dad to have another reason to hurt me, so I tried to get home as soon as possible and hopefully hide away in my room for the rest of the night. When I got home, there was no car in the driveway, so I assumed he went out, most likely to the bar to get wasted again. I don't understand how he drink that much alcohol, I swear he doesn't consume any other liquid.

When I entered the house, nothing was different. There were various types of trash, bottles, cans, and wrappers all over the living room floor. There was a white blanket on the tan couch, heavily stained, and was about half way off the cushion. The remote to the television was stuck between two of the couch cushions, and the television was still running, playing some random news station talking about some celebrity's workout routine. Deciding I had some time before my dad came home, I started to clean up the house, throwing away all the trash (I'm pretty sure I used about five trash bags), folding the blanket and setting on the top of the couch, and putting everything where it belonged. I even pulled out the vacuum, which hasn't been used in who knows how long, and started to get rid of some smaller wrappers and trash on the carpet, although it really didn't make much of a difference, as the stains stood out more than any dirt to begin with, but I did it anyway, and was a bit surprised with how much nicer it looked. I was admiring the work I had done when my father burst through the door, slamming it behind him. He reeked of alcohol, and was an absolute mess. He was staring at me with a cold look in his eyes, and I feared that he would take any sort of anger he had out on me.

"Look at you, you're fucking walking around fine. I should have given you more, you deserved it," he slurred, obviously already drunk off his mind even though it was only three in the afternoon.

But then I managed to get a few seconds on insane courage, something that was both great and absolutely terrible. At the time, however, I didn't realize the cause that my words would make regarding my future.

"Oh really? I deserved to be beaten by my own father because I wasn't home all day yesterday, even though you constantly tell me that you never want me in the house, and that you wish I would never be home? Yet the one time I actually come home later than expected I get hurt? Makes a lot of fucking sense, Richard."

If anything I said to him made him angry, the last sentence infuriated him.

He always hated it when people called him by his first name. I have absolutely no clue why, I don't know if it brought up bad memories, I don't know if he just didn't like his name, but he just didn't like people calling him by his first name. No matter who you were, you would give me a nickname that does not give indication of what his name is. I don't know why it's like that, but it is. Although now that he's a complete alcoholic, he has no friends and no one in our family ever makes an effort to contact either of us, and I don't ever speak to him, he doesn't have anyone to call him Richard. But I guess it's been a while since someone called him by his first name, because like the old saying, if looks could kill, I would be dead.

"Get the fuck out of this house," he seethed.

"What?" I was beyond surprised. As much as he hated me, he has never kicked me out, or even attempted to, at least not on a school night two days after I started a brand new school. I guess the fact that I had finally stood up to him really made him mad.

"You heard me. I don't even want you in the same country as me, let alone the same fucking house. Pack your shit and get out, you're not allowed to even walk on the fucking street for the next two days."

His words honestly shocked me. Out of all the things that he has said to me, I think this was the most shocking. All of the rude insults he's thrown at me are expected now, but this is something I didn't think would happen for at least another eighteen months, when I could officially move out.

So in a feeble attempt to make sure he didn't change his mind and make me leave for a longer time, I bolted towards the stairs and ran into my room, locked the door, and slowly slid down the back of it. I spent a few minutes trying to gather my thoughts and see who I could stay with, I decided, after my mind was too jumbled to think of anything, that I would just get my stuff, leave the house, and figure that out later. I had plenty of time, considering the sun doesn't go down until seven or eight o'clock at night, and it was three thirty now.

So I proceeded to get up from the floor, pack enough things for the two days I would be out of the house, and walk out the door.

Before I walked out of my room, my eyes traveled to a picture of my mother and I when I was around five or six. We were at the carnival for my birthday, and it was during their annual firework show. We were sitting on a bench in front of the ferris wheel, the bright colors of the green, orange and pink fireworks casting a breathtaking shadow onto the two of us. We each held a stick on cotton candy, mine a baby blue and hers a similar shade of pink. This is one of very few memories I have of when I was little.

This was when my mom was still here, when my dad wasn't an alcoholic, abusive wreck.

When I was truly happy.

And honestly, true happiness is something I would kill to have.

"Hey, faggot! It's time to get out!" the disgusting, slurred voice of my father broke me out of my trance. I cringed to myself at his choice of words, but before I could even process what I was feeling, I was running down the stairs and out the door without a word.

But when I walked the door and into the street, I didn't get the feeling I thought I would. I thought I would be in full panic mode, trying to find
somewhere to stay for the night, worrying about what my father would do when I got back. Instead I didn't pay attention to that. I didn't even think about the fact that my father kicked me out, and I was, in a way, homeless for the next two days.

For the first time since I could remember, I felt like I was free.

"Hey, Tay. I know this is really short notice, but something just happened at my house and I kind of need somewhere to stay for two days, do you mind if I stay at your house?

Miraculously, Tay allowed me to stay with her, even after arguing with her parents (which I could clearly hear, even though I think she believed I
couldn't) that we wouldn't hook up in the middle of the night while they were sleeping. But after she told them I had no where to go, and that it was only for two days, they reluctantly agreed, and Tay gave me the address, which happened to be all the way across town. I didn't mind too much though, I needed something to do, so I didn't bother to ask for a ride and walked the twenty minute trip to her house.

When I arrived, Tay happily let me in. I could tell she was confused about why I needed somewhere to stay, but she didn't ask, which I was grateful for. The house was very comfortable looking, not the messiest, but it wasn't like a show house either. It was normal, and I liked it.

"Tay, is Kellin here?"

Tay's mother was in the kitchen, I assumed, getting ready to prepare dinner, as it was almost six o'clock. I didn't see her father anywhere, but because she didn't ask about my dad, I decided not to ask about her's.

"Yeah Mom!"

Tay and I then went upstairs so she could show me my room for the next few days. It was very simple, pastel blue walls, a white double bed in the far right, a nightstand next to the bed, a dresser, and a few area rugs on the wood floor. It wasn't much, but I was happy I was actually going to be in a bed tonight instead of using my backpack as a pillow in the park.

"Hey, Tay? Thanks for letting me stay here."

She turned towards me and gave a small smile before muttering, 'It's not a problem.' At that moment, we were called down for dinner, and I must say, it was a great change to smell a real dinner instead of the beeping from the microwave and making myself frozen meals every night. We then walked downstairs and found everyone her father still wasn't there), sitting at the table, two seats, both next to each other, open. There was a bowl of spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, and two others bowls filled with salad and slices of garlic bread, along with multiple types of salad. After we all served ourselves and began to eat, it was quiet, except for Tay's brother and sister having a small conversation, until her mother spoke up.

"So, Kellin, where did you move here from?"

I explained to her I was from Michigan and moved with my father because we had lived there for so long, all that stuff. She didn't question why I didn't mention my mother, which I was thankful for. She was very nice, her siblings as well, until she brought up an awkward topic.

"Now we don't want you two doing anything tonight, you understand?"

"Mom! Please!" Tay cried out as she put her head in her hands, laying it down onto the dining room table. I could feel the blood run to my cheeks as Tay's siblings laughed at the two of us.

"Oh don't worry Mrs. Jardine, I have a girlfriend," I managed to spit out without stuttering, my face still bright red, and my hands slightly shaky.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. Is she from this school?"

"Actually, uh, no. Her name is Alyssa, and she goes to my old school back in Michigan."

That was a complete lie. Alyssa Renkins was the girl I tried to convince myself I had a crush on in the eighth grade. She was definitely attractive, with big green eyes, wavy light brown hair that reached her lower back, lovely tan skin and a smile that lit up a room, but I was trying to find a girl I liked to try and push out the thoughts that I might be gay, which I've finally come to terms with. But I know for a fact I definitely would have liked her if I wasn't gay.

"Oh, well that's nice. So now that that's out of the way, Kellin, you will be sleeping in the guest room, Tay will show you around more after dinner."

After that, Tay lightly nodded as silence fell over the table while I picked at my pasta, my mind not once calming down.

When dinner ended, Tay and I went upstairs and into the room I was staying in. After the situation at the dinner table, there was quite a bit of tension between the two of us, so I decided to try and break the ice.

"Can I use your shower?"

Apparently it worked, because Tay laughed a bit and turned away from the light brown wooden door and towards me, a smile on her face.

"Yeah, of course. Follow me."

**Very slight mention of self harm at this point. Don't read if it may be triggering.**

She proceeded to show me the bathroom and gave me a towel as well before shutting the door and leaving me alone. I dropped the towel on the edge of the sink and slowly walked over to the shower to turn it on so it would be warm when I went in. I then stripped out of my clothes, put them in a somewhat neat pile next to the toilet and hopped in the shower. Upon first glance I saw that this definitely wasn't the shower Tay used, as all there was was a bar of blue soap, shampoo, conditioner, body wash (which, according to the label, was not meant for Tay) and a razor. Upon seeing the razor, I feel a small knot in my stomach, a knot that always led to bad things. I looked down at my wrists and thighs and let out a sigh. Most of the scars on my wrists had faded; I haven't self harmed in almost three months, but it's been longer than that since I did it on my wrists in an attempt to get people to stop asking questions regarding the amount of bracelets on my arms or the fact that I would wear long sleeves in the summer. The scars on my legs went all the way from the top of my thigh to the top of my knee, and many were raised and clearly fresh, some a pure white color and others a more pink toned. Many scars, however, were not very easy to spot as they were covered with black and blue bruises that were on my arms, my stomach, and a few on my legs. I looked away from my skin and to the razor again, grabbing it in my shaking hands.

Do you really want to do this?

Do it, Kellin. Look what you did to Vic, you deserve it.

I tried my hardest to block out the voices until I heard a different voice in my head.

Kellin, you've gotten so far. Don't ruin it now.

It was Austin, and hearing his voice was enough to make me put the razor down and turn the water off. I then dried myself off and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but not before looking through the cabinet Tay had underneath her sink, and found a brand new razor, not even out of it's packaging. I slipped it into the pocket of my sweatpants, gathered the clothes I had worn to school, and left the room.

I could hear Tay's brother and sister talking down in the living room as I walked towards my room. I wasn't the type of person to eavesdrop, but I heard her sister say something that made me stop dead in my tracks and listen.

"I don't know, I just don't think I really trust that Kellin kid."

I found myself to be a bit aggrivated at her comment, as she hadn't even made an attempt to speak to me at all since I got here, and I didn't say too much either, so she barely knew about me.

"But why not? He seems nice, I think he's just shy, that's all." I recognized that voice as her brother's, as he had actually started a conversation with me at dinner about art.

"Yeah, I just feel like he's hiding something, and I have a feeling that something isn't good."

What I was hiding wasn't good, but by the tone of her voice it sounded like she thought I was a drug dealer or some shit, when in reality, my secret wasn't my fault.

"Like what?"

I didn't even want to hear her response after that, so I just walked past the stairs that led to the living room and into the guest room, stuffing my clothes into my bag. I then shut the light off and climbed under the white duvet, turning on my side away from the door. I couldn't
stop thinking about what happened in the shower, and how it was the first time I had ever put the razor down, and I felt proud. I knew it was when I heard Austin's voice that I felt the need to put it down; I'm not too sure why, but it did.

And I was grateful for that voice.