Turncoat: The first chapter

Chapter 1: obediance

MALLORY:

Mallory was sitting on his couch—Well, not his, but his parents—staring blankly at the pill in his hand. He felt like crying his eyes out, screaming in pain, yelling for his mom so he could lay solemn in her arms. But, she wouldn't understand. She never did anything for him. Yes, she cared, but she would rather he got hit by his dad than protect him. His face had a small amount of scruff but not enough to shave. He never could grow a beard. He wore an old black hoodie which covered his shaved head. He always had long hair but acted on impulse that very morning and cut it all off. He was tapping his foot on the carpet which caused his gym shorts to ripple. The flowing fabric bounced up and down on his leg. He didn't have much new clothes, so he wore old ones from high school. He touched his black eye as if he was reminding himself of the punishment he'd get from his dad when he got back from work. He knew he'd get beat for shaving his head, but he got beat for everything, so what was the point of trying to be an ideal son.

So, he stared at the pill—the medication to be clear. The pain medication. Not his, but the ones prescribed to his dead neighbor. She had died last week, he snuck in and stole them straight from her cabinet on pure instinct. Ever since he cut open his knee as a child and she gave him one of her pills, he's been addicted. And now...the senile woman was gone and he didn't miss her. She was just an annoying cough from the other side of the thin wall, a gasping, a wheezing, a prominent burden in the back of his mind. He wished she would be dead so he could sleep in silence, in peace...without guilt. Once she was dead, he wouldn't have to feel bad for sneaking in and smuggling a pill or two each day as she napped. Her old ears couldn't hear a thing as she snored over every noise that could be picked up by her broken hearing aid. He remembered every night wishing, praying, hoping, begging that the coughing and wheezing would stop. That she would stop. That her heart would stop. That she would just...die. And one horrid night, he got his wish. A cough cut short by a gasp and then nothing—silence at last. He smiled in his bedroom as a tear rolled down his cheek. Was he happy or sad? Neither. He didn't even blink when he knew deep down she was dead but still felt the need to express his nonexistent emotions in the moment. He didn't know who he wanted to be right then, the selfish prick who was glad she was gone so he could steal her medication or the grieving neighbor who felt partially at fault for her....expiring.

Nevertheless, she is gone now. Had been gone for a week. His emotions then...or lack thereof, didn't matter anymore. Now he was face to face with the pill. Nothing holding him back from indulging in the pure delight. So, he dumped almost all the pills in his hand and shoved them past his bruised lips and into his mouth. He washed them down with water and waited, staring forward, knowing what he had done. Maybe he wanted to overdose. Heck, he was 21 and living with his parents. His father was destined to have him take over his failing business and his mom begged him to stay around. So, he stopped taking just one pill a day and decided to see if more would make him happy, find purpose, or maybe just kill him. He was fine either way. And in that fleeting glimpse in his mind of what might happen in the coming moments he felt the same. He wasn't at ease, his shaky breaths didn't stop. His addiction wasn't helping him, but making it worse. Still, he was too far gone to see. And as he collapsed to the ground, he kept convincing himself this would make it all better. That the pills would make it all better even though he knew it wasn't true.

CAROLINE:

A stroller lying in the middle of the road, flattened. A mother screaming and crying, being held back by the pedestrians on the sidewalk. A wad of cloth that was launched far from the stroller. A small being inside the cloth—still, lifeless. A truck driver in shock. His car still running. He was still inside rethinking his entire existence, feeling disgusting— evil. Caroline overlooking it all from a tinted glass in her mind.
BEEP!
A car horn wakes her up from her trance. She was staring directly at the stroller, but it was intact. The baby was inside, the mother was on the phone, and the light was green. Cars began to zoom by as the mom turned around, her hand off the stroller, her eyes not looking. The stroller began to roll onto the street. A truck was rushing forward. He was going to be late, he couldn't slow down. Caroline had seen this before. She hurried forward and grabbed the stroller's handle and pulled it farther onto the sidewalk. The woman quickly turned and ripped Caroline's hand off of the handle. "Get away from my baby!" She sneered at her. Caroline backed up and lifted her hands. She signed the word sorry to her. The woman scowled. "Is that a threat, lesbo?" Caroline sighed and shook her head no before walking off. She had learned early on that there's no reason to expect people to be thankful. She walked down the street, taking in the smells, listening to the conversations, and trying to shake her anger. She was wearing a thick navy blue jacket to combat the cold temperatures, skinny jeans, brown snow boots, and a cheap white scarf. She had recently moved out of her mom's house. She was nineteen and extremely intelligent, except she was homeschooled by her unqualified mother and didn't have enough money for college. So, now she was meeting her deaf friend Rebecca. She was the only person who could really relate to her. Caroline was mute, so she couldn't have conversations with everyone since the majority of the world could speak and hear. Except, Rebecca didn't need to hear Caroline speak to understand her. Instead, they'd sign back and forth and spend all day together on Saturdays when they didn't have work. Except, on Sundays, Caroline had to visit her mom who was lonely all by herself.