Butterfly Weed

PROLOUGE: PETUNIA

tw : smoking addiction child neglect

He started smoking when he was thirteen. His friends weren't exactly the perfect role models, and seeing as they were all older than him, Gary accepted the cigar reluctantly. He didn't want to look lame in front of them. It took a while to get used to it, but the small rush if nicotine that flooded his body was worth the coughing. Now it comes as a second nature. In fact, now the older kid who offers the younger kids their first taste of nicotine, laughing when they bend over coughing. Sure, he knows that this shit could kill him and his friends, but it's worth it. He has it under control. He does.

His grandpa, his uncle, his teachers, you name it, they all call it an addiction. It's not. They're overreacting. He could quit if wanted to, he could. He's fine, everything is fine. He's got everything under control.

He brings a lighter up to the cigarette, the small blue flame flickering in the dark. He closes his eyes as the familiar feeling washes over him, a small relived smile making it's way into his face. He sighs, smoke puffing up in the air in front of him.

"Oi! Gare!" a distinctly male voice calls. It comes from above, probably the roof of the apartment building he's leaning against.

"What?" Gary calls back, voice raspy and annoyed. He looks up, face scrunched up in a sneer. Blue eyes, ginger hair, thin lips, and a face full of freckles. His friend, Seth. They met when they were nine, having gone to the same shitty school with the same shitty teachers and they shared the same opinions on said shitty school and shitty teachers. They followed each other through middle school and high school, becoming the known delinquents that people are scared of. Gary looks the part more than Seth, but if Seth hung out with Gary, then everyone knew to avoid him too. Gary bets if Seth didn't talk to him on that first day of the new school year, then the ginger could've been a regular popular boy who made all the girls swoon. Talking to him was probably the biggest mistake Seth has ever made.

"Oak was looking for you! Came by my apartment, asked if me or Maria saw you!" Gary groans, dropping his cigarette onto the floor. He stomps on it, twisting his heel when he makes contact, crushing it into ashes.

"What'd you tell him?!" Gary shouts back, rolling his eyes.

"That you were probably with Cass!" Seth says, looking over his shoulder. "Not sure if he believed me, though."

Gary grumbles. "Fuck."

His uncle, or Oak as his friends call him, is strange. Ever since his mom died Gary has been living with the old guy. Gary isn't sure if the guy actually cares or has some weird, freakish ulterior motive for taking him in. Oak is the only family he has besides Gramps who lives in a small town miles and miles away. Maybe Oak felt it was his duty to take the poor, orphaned seven-year-old Gary that hated everyone. It was determined that he would be better suited to take Gary in than Gramps, who was about twenty years older. Apparently they didn't want to send him far away from home and Oak lived real close to his sister. He doesn't care, though, it would've been bad if he was sent to either of them. Oak was a shit guardian, why would Gramps be different?

Gary stuffs his hands in his pockets and pushes himself off the wall with his shoulders. He runs a hand through his spiky brown hair and growls lowly, eyes glaring at the floor. "Dammit."

Oak never asks for him, he never looks for him. Something bad happened or the bastard is finally sending him away.

He bets on the second one.

***

He sees faces on the walls sometimes. Shadows transform into phantom faces, empty eyes mocking him as he lays in bed. They taunt him. They shout selfish crazy loner good-for-fucking-nothing orphan addict monster freak bully devil—To put it simply, the walls are mean.

Right now, as he packs his things into a shitty, beat-up suitcase, the walls are laughing at him.

About time, they say. Finally got tired of you,

Sometimes, only sometimes, the walls sound like his own voice.

The ghost faces morph into his own, empty eyes staring into his own, like a mirror. Eyes, once sparked with flames, worn down and lifeless. A snarl like a lion's, yet nothing else about him has anything to do with a lion. Lions represent strength, courage, pride, and all that shit. He's nothing like a lion. He's a fox, mischievous and greedy. He's a trickster and a liar.

Nothing good comes from him. He's bad luck; a curse.

A good-for-nothing, selfish, crazy, orphan with an addiction.

A failure.

***