Some Feelings Have a Habit of Persisting

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You can't stop thinking about how he still looked towards you, even after you tried to murder him. Even through fear of death, he listened to something you had to say.

You chuckle half-heartedly. Listening? To you? That's a first.


He shouldn't trust you that much.

You have barely been home recently. All you do is sleep there, now. It feels wrong in the house. The elephant is very comfortable in it, and your parents are in a different house. The problem is there, but hell if you're going to talk about it.

Instead, Kyle, another buddy, has decided to house you for now. You've designated him as the feelings-trashcan, with how much you vent and how he just sits there and takes it. It helps you think, and he sometimes helps you by offering up ideas or possible solutions. You guys are pretty close.

So far, neither of you have come up with a way to erase everything that happened from everyone's mind.


"Hullo. Whussit?" he says, turning towards you once again.

"I haven't told you why Troy and I started to grow apart, have I?"

"Uhm. Nah bro, nuthin'. I been wonderin' that, miself. Whatcha do? Or he do?"

You really think he needs to drop the slurring/try at an accent act. He sounds like a moron. He should start paying for your insurance. Every time he opens his mouth to say more than two words, your head mysteriously gravitates to the nearest hard surface. Repeatedly.

"He, uh. Troy started to do opiates," you mutter, looking away from Kyle for a moment. You haven't told anyone on purpose yet.

"What? Opiates?" And there Kyle goes, sounding like an actual American, "Whassat?" And there he goes, sounding like an idiot. Welp.

"They're like. Heroin. Pain killers. Vicodin? He does OxiContin. Feel-good drugs," you try to explain, waving your hands in the air. "Like the stuff they give you before they slice into your leg, or something."

" 'Kay, teach. Anythin' else on that lesson plan t'day?" he snarks, and you punch him in the arm. "Sorry."

"Better be. I... He's gotten worse recently. I don't want to try to help him anymore. I'm done. But..." You sigh. "I still want to help him. I'm worried. I don't want him to suffer, or go to jail for it."

"Hmn. Weeeell, do what ya' think is righ', an' don't let him go tha wrong way. I'm gonna do what I thinks righ', an' I wouldn' expect ya' t' do any less," He says, patting you on the shoulder.

"Maybe you're right."


"I don't think I should try to help him. Maybe he'd fare better somewhere else."

He nods knowingly, and passes you his Pepsi. You take a drink and pass it back, already planning on what to do. You can't have this get big enough to go on his permanent record, but you'd rather him be ok.

You really need to get over these feelings.

"Brah, nearin' nine-o'clock. Get goin'!" He says suddenly, ushering you out his room and out the door. "Help y'self t' tha back way, I unblocked it yest'day after ya' left. Stay safe."

"Yeah, I will. Get some sleep tonight, and I'll meet you at the tree in the morning," you say, and give him a weak salute. He gives you a perfect one in return.

You turn to the side of his house and pick up your skateboard, looking farther along. Yeah, it looks like the mass of sharp wood and rosebush is out of the way. You walk through, because its damn hard to skate through gravel, and head home.


You think Kyle is going to report the situation to a more anti-drug teacher. It'll go on record for sure that way. You fail to care.

It was his decision to do the OxyContin in the first place, anyways.

Maybe you're just lying to yourself. You sure are working hard to convince yourself that you don't care.

After getting off the gravel, you immediately get on your board and skate away. You don't want to be late, because your father is starting to get a little bit suspicious. He doesn't even fucking care about you guys, you don't know why he is suddenly *so interested* in your life.

You swerve out of the way of a bike, and nearly swerve right into the road. The ass was right in the middle of the sidewalk. Why the fuck was he in the middle of the sidewalk? You flip him off for good measure, and he returns the flip. Good. You hate it when they yell.

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