Plastic People & Fake Masks

Chapter 7: A Ball of Black Fluff.

Poke. "Tom?"

I groaned and made myself smaller under the covers. I was just getting comfy, I don't want to wake up.

Another poke in my side. "Tom? Your alarm clock is going off, does that mean something?"

Shit!

I threw the covers off as quickly as possible and ran to the bathroom while the blood was still rushing back to my head. I took a five minute shower, brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes, and ran out of my bathroom full speed to the front door.

"Uh, have a good day!" I heard Jordan call from my bedroom. Crap, I forgot to tell him I have to go to work.

"Going to work! Bye!" And then I sprinted out the door to my car. I should've told him yesterday that I had work tomorrow and I couldn't stay with him. Sonja and Tucker won't be back home until late tonight and neither will I, so he'll be alone all day. I hope he'll be okay until then. I mean it's not like a murderer is gonna come crashing through the front door and stab him.

Though we do live in a really violent neighborhood. Oh god.

I know it's dangerous to talk over the phone while you're driving, but screw that shit I'm calling him anyway. While I sped down the main highway I pressed his contact and put the phone to my ear, drumming my other fingers nervously on the steering wheel until he answered. Finally after many rings later, he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey! Uh, just wanted to ask if you locked the door after I left? Our neighborhoods full of killers and rapists and I just wanted to make sure you didn't, you know, die while all of us were gone?"

"Oh yeah, I locked the door! Er...should I have locked the windows too?"

I nearly snorted, but then I realized he was being serious. "No I don't think they'll be brave enough to try the windows. One time Tucker came after some guy with a golf club who was trying to rob our garage and we haven't had any incidents since. You should be alright. Um...so how are things at my room?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not in your room. Hey quick question, how big is your room? In square feet I mean?"

"I-...I don't know. Why?"

"No reason. I'll let you get back to whatever you're doing. Bye Tom!" And then he hung up.

I wouldn't know, I'm not in your room.

Where the hell is he then?

~

Six hours and forty five minutes left, I'm back in my car. I'm exhausted, hungry, and I really want to curl up into a ball and die. Putting up with idiots all day drains my soul and literally makes me feel like I'm on death row. I slid into the seat of my crappy car and started it up, but I didn't pull out of the lot just yet. Instead I leaned my head against the back of my seat and breathed in, closing my eyes and unclenching my fists. I need alcohol. I need it, I need it so badly.

I can't though. It's not the weekend, it's Monday and it's the first day of my five day survival. I promised myself and James that, no matter the circumstances, I will not drink unless its the weekend. If I break my habit, I end up killing myself with alcohol again and this time I won't be able to stop.

Instead I cry.

It's not sobbing or wheezing or the kind that makes your face swell up like a red balloon, it's the kind that trickles down your cheeks and reminds you how much your life sucks. It's easy to forget you're alive sometimes. When you step on a treadmill that keeps going and going, you forget that you're alive. I hate schedules. I hate time restraints. I hate time itself. What I would give to have the world stop for just day, just so I can gather myself up and put myself back together again.