Saving Angelo

Twenty-Three - Escape

Unknown's POV

"How do you still get all this weed if you got thrown out the club then?" Alisha drawls, before taking a long drag of her blunt and then exhaling the smoke softly, tipping back her head at the bliss. She shivers.

I turn away from her to cup my hand over my spliff to relight it. "A stoner never shares his sources," I say.

It turns out we got lost trying to find somewhere to stay for the night, so Alisha and I were huddled together under a bus shelter, and unable to sleep, we resorted to this.

Escape.

About an hour later, Alisha is still trying to get me to tell her where I get my weed - at least I think that's what she's saying.

"Jesus, fuck." I manage to say to her. She's moving in and out of focus, and I'm no longer able to tell if she's a foot or a metre away from me. It doesn't matter. Everything is a blur but everything feels so fucking good, everything feels so fucking happy and Jesus, fuck!

"...and then I went to visit and old friend today and oh my god! I didn't tell you!" Alisha cries out. Mostly disinterested, I turn towards her but fuck - I accidentally bash into something hard and hairy.

"The fuck?" Alisha moans, and I realise I must have head butted her.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I have no depth perception." I curl up into my jacket a little further and close my eyes, relishing in the buzz that is overtaking my body, the high that courses through my veins.

And as I drift into a hallucination, or a sleep, whichever my brain chooses this time, Alisha launches into a story I'm sure she must have conjured up because of the high, because no one is retarded enough to confuse James Bond with David Attenborough.

Flynn's POV

"I'm afraid at this point, although you two seem to be Mr Greene's only visitors, we cannot permit you to see him."

"He has come out of surgery and he's stable for the moment but..."

"We estimate a 20% chance of survival through the night."

"What the fuck?!" Raven yells into her palms, her body convulsing with anger. I scoot closer to her on the pavement.

"I know it sucks. But you two didn't even know each other, right? There's nothing you could have done. It's not your fault."

I try to reason with her, I try to say the right things, I try to understand her, but I just don't get it. They've known each other for what, a day? I don't even know. And she seems so attached, so... I don't know.

It seems unreasonable to me, for someone to be so involved with someone after so little time, and somehow I find myself becoming irratated. Why?

Hours pass, and Raven finds herself falling asleep on my shoulder, her dark hair pulled over her face. I look at her through the darkness.

Perhaps my problem isn't with Raven or Angelo themselves. Perhaps it's just with myself.

Perhaps I'm just lonely.

I find myself wishing that I wasn't gay, so that it would be easier for me to find someone like Raven has. But then I realise what a sap I sound like so I brush that thought out of my head.

I don't need anyone. I'm okay.

Unknown's POV

Somehow, mere hours after my drug induced sleep, I wake up. No longer high. Alert, alive, and dangerously low.

That's the thing about it. You get tremendous highs, and then the first thing you know, you're soaring right back down, but further down than you started, because that's the price you have to pay when you get high.

The lows get worse. So so low. Too, too much.

I look over to Alisha, curled up against the bus shelter. I sit up. I hold my head in my hands. I stare into the darkness, and I keep incredibly still. So so still, for I'm sure if I were to move, the simmering in the pit of my stomach would tip over, and so would I, over the edge.

The high keeps his voice at bay, but now, when it's gone, it won't stop.

"You fucking waste of space piece of shit.

Why did your mother have to leave me here with you?

I don't want you anymore.

You're making my life a fucking misery, you really are.

You make me want to kill myself."

I can't stop shaking shaking shaking shaking and he won't shut up. Why won't he ever shut up? Why couldn't I shut up?

It really is all my fault.

I reach into my bag, searching desperately for a needle, and I take it out, I prepare it, and I inject myself with courage, to shut up the voices in my head.

That's it.

He's gone.

But

So am I.

Author's Note.

Sorry for this piece of shit, poorly executed hot garbage. I would say Im going to edit this later, to make it suck less, but let's be honest, I probably won't

This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. Actually. So im sorry, but i'm still posting this because i need to get something out. this story fucking sucks because i started it when i was what, 12? somehow my writing skills were better then ahah ahaha

anyway i'm just trying to get this book finished so i can somehow move on,

no ones going to read this anyway

bye