Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Won't You Please, PLEASE Help Me?

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"Layla, wake up!" David giggles while shaking me. "It's been twenty minutes and

you already passed out on me?"

My eyes flickered open and I grew very confused. What just happened?

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I mumbled with sleepiness.

"Maybe you should go home, you look really beat," he admits.

"I think I should. I feel funny," I yawn.

"Well, before you go, take this," he hands out a piece of paper with his number on it. "I was thinking, maybe if you're up to it, we can go to the movies tomorrow afternoon. My treat," he winks.

That's when it all came together. I had just witnessed another vision of Billie Joe, a day in the life. He had a dream of me being kidnapped by this man at the movies, and he was trying to warn me about it! He was in distraught, restless and worried...I need to go to sleep, I need to tell him its okay. I'm not going to go.

"Thanks," I lie. "I better go, bye David!"

I get up quickly and began walking fast to where my car is.

"Text me!" he yells from afar.

"Yeah," I scream back as I rip up the number and throw it in the grass. "Definitely."

The drive home was rather depressing. It was like voluntarily trapping myself into this ditch and not doing anything about it. Part of me wanted to just run a way for a little while, but I had nothing on me to go off. I knew I was going to have to face my parents. After that little experience with David and my vision of Billie...there was nothing I could say to sound normal.

Eventually I got home. My eyes had teared up on the way back thinking about everything that just sort of fucked itself up. I tried my best to put on a stoic face, but as soon as I walked in the door and saw my parents, the tears resurfaced.

"Layla? What's wrong?"

My mom was too sweet for this world. I've been such a bitch to her, and all she's tried to do was help me. My father was obviously a lot harder on me than her, but within good reason.

What could I even say as a reply? I actually started sobbing and freaking out. This Adderall was a piece of shit, shouldn't it numb me stone cold? I remember when I never worried about a thing. When I was the tough one with a smile on my face...look at me now.

My father walked me over to the couch and patted my back.

"Come on Layla, stop crying," he tried to calm me down. "Talk to us."

My mom brought me a glass of water with worried eyes. I wanted to tell her everything. But I couldn't. I couldn't tell her the truth, not without being sent to the hospital.

Soon my breaths got deeper and my tears began to subside. They still expected me to talk. I couldn't just be like, "thanks for the comfort!" and walk away, I had to say something.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for being so cranky all the time. I'm sorry for leaving you two without a reason. I'm sorry for showing you a side that neither of you deserved to see. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I feel horrible. I'm sorry."