she slipped ; malum

no-doz

                  

CALUM FELT HE WAS THE SMALL COUNTRY OF AFGHANISTAN, INFAMOUS FOR VIOLENCE AND WAR, WHILE THE OTHER COUNTRIES AROUND HIM DEEMED THEMSELVES INNOCENT. Innocence was bullshit, every country had a shitty past.

But it was him who made every country look like their past was just two drunk men throwing punches in the backyard. His past was full of making and treating wounds in a war against everybody around him.

He was doomed from the start. A rambunctious punk who used only bottles to speak the truth. His mother showed him how to fight before leaving him to go to the other side of the fence. She kicked him out of the house and out of his life.

He didn't mind. She was a stick of lit TNT in his hand anyway. It was only a matter of time before he had to throw her away.

The only constant he'd ever had in his life was Avery Wilde. She had been there ever since the beginning. Simple comradery turned into love a few years later, and on their day off from fighting losing battles, they explored.

Calum explored his city – his queen – Avery Wilde, touching every single inch of her in the backseat of a car one night. She decided she needed to see her country without less clothing around it. After really making their mark, they watched the sunset.

Avery insisted on dancing. Calum rolled his eyes, but agreed.

They were halfway through their third twirl when the cliff was a little too short for everything to be okay.

Avery Wilde died that night.

Avery Wilde is dead, Calum.

And it's all your fault.

The words haunted him every night for the next month while wars raged on. He wasn't at his best, and he ran out of ammunition constantly, so, for a week or two, he laid low. So still and immobile that everybody questioned if he was alive or not. During those weeks, Sergeant Luke Hemmings, leader of the opposite team said good riddance and told everybody to suspect foul-play in the death of Avery Wilde.

When Calum got up again, people shot him down, saying that it was for Avery.

He got up, and pretended he wasn't bleeding out. He stitched himself up, since nobody would do it for him, and looked on the other side of the fence.

His ex-best friend, Ashton Irwin, shakily held a gun in his hands, but had not shot a single bullet. His mother was wounded, slowly dying in the bottom of the trenches. Luke Hemmings stood front and centre, his machine gun bullets flying full-force into Calum's body. Calum didn't flinch.

An array of others that were Luke's loyal followers stood around, glammed-up guns in their hands, only waiting until he was close enough. They couldn't be bothered to go out of their way to shoot him.

Calum ran back to his trench, only two soldiers left in his. His sister, Mali Koa, was not cut out for fighting, but was willing to learn how to kill, just for her brother. The second lady in the trench was too shaky to hold a gun, diagnosed with Parkinson's a couple of months before. She was the perfect example of all bark and no bite.

"Cal, what are you doing on the floor?"

Bleeding out. "Just thinking."

There was a bottle of spilled water next to him, and a phone in his hand. He wasn't sure on what he was intending to do with his phone; he had no one to call anyway.

"Can you 'just think' somewhere else? You're in the way." Mali stepped over him, picking up the bottle of water her brother had dropped. She sat down in the middle of the kitchen like him, and smiled. "What are you thinking about?"

"I want friends again. The only people I talk to are you and Jersey." He said, referring to the girl diagnosed with Parkinson's.

"Me and Jersey are fine, what are you talking about?" She said sarcastically.

"Hanging out with my sister and her girlfriend kind of looks a lot sadder than my situation already is."

She rolled her eyes, looking at the clock. "It's midnight. You've got school in the morning."

She pulled him up and pushed him into his bedroom. But when he got into bed, he could still hear the gunshots. He stayed awake all night, hands in his hair, pulling at it and stressing it until it was three in the morning. It was then that he finally decided he'd had enough of listening to his head.

He got up, and bleached the ends of his hair with Avery's old dye. His hair was already curled and messy, so he only dyed a tiny bit at the ends in the front. The way he dyed it was horrible because he was tired, but he couldn't help it, the gunshots were too loud.

After another three hours, he made himself coffee and pretended he slept well. He put a navy blue sweater on and some black jeans, yawning as he did so. Luckily it was a 'casual day' so Calum didn't have to wear uniform.

He yawned again, clutching the coffee to warm his hands. He put his school bag over his shoulders, and escaped the security of his home. He sipped out of his travel-mug as he walked, his earphones in.

He pulled out a packet of tablets. No-Doz. He used them to keep him awake. But he was reaching his limit of them before it was dangerous. Eventually, he got to school and went into his homeroom, tapping his foot impatiently as the person with the locker under his was taking his sweet time. He put his bag on top of lockers and got his things out, pulling a hand through his hair.

He was so tired that he couldn't even read his timetable. The words were blurry. He rubbed his eyes, happy that it helped. Double English.

He grabbed out his books, knowing that the only thing they'd do in the lesson is read, and Calum wouldn't listen to it, so he'd have to read it at lunchtime. He didn't mind. It gave him something to do.

He made his way to the very back of the room in English. He opened his book and pretended to read it. He could do anything but read. He'd just put two shots of caffeine into his system, and was still fucking exhausted.

"Calum!" his teacher yelled at him, seeing the boy fast asleep in the middle of class. "Stay awake, please."

"Sicko was up all night planning his next victim." Luke said sharply, making everybody in the class laugh under their breaths. His army knew it was wrong, but they followed his orders.

Calum sat up, glaring directly at the blond boy. "You're it." He said quietly, only for the guy next to him to look at him, scared. He rolled his eyes, looking out the window.

He was so fucking sick and tired of people accusing him of murder. Why would he do that to her? He loved her with all his heart. She was all he had.

The bell rang for recess, but the teacher held him back, the sympathetic smile explaining it all. She sat down on the edge of her desk, her skirt riding up. Calum didn't bother looking. Just because she was young and fucking hot didn't mean it gave him permission to stare at her.

"I know you've had it rough this month and a bit, and I know you surely haven't been getting enough sleep. But, can you try to stay awake in my class? I honestly don't care if you're listening or not, it's your grade, not mine."

"I am trying. I took No-Doz and coffee just so I could walk to school this morning."

With that, he walked out into the lunch area, the year twelve's at the table that overlooked the handball court and the other few tables. Most people ate elsewhere, or hung around where the teachers never bothered to look.

Calum went over to the table that had been reserved for him ever since a month and a half ago, and took out all of the work he was behind on.

 

Then, he fell asleep.

What do you think? Is it . . . okay?