Sitting on a couch, surrounded by high strangers, I feel the most depressed I've ever felt. A couple minutes ago I was acting just like them, laughing in a state of high bliss. But just now I realised how miserable my life is. I'm with three other guys, whose names I barely know. I know the owner of this room is called Dave and that his parents are out of town for the weekend. His room is your typical teenage stoner room, a musky scent irritates my nose, there are black thick curtains keeping out all the light and the biggest part of his trash can, hidden in his closet, is filled with empty plastic bags once filled with weed.
My name is Jack by the way, and I'm a loser. All I do is drink, blow and hang out with people who do the same.
I disappoint my mom and my little brother every day.
I don't have a job and I finished school last year, but I never continued my education.
But why is it this moment? Why does the depression decide to hit me like a ton of bricks right this second?
Something snapped, my blindfold finally fell off.
I've not always been like this though. It's all to blame on Carla, my ex-girlfriend. Most guys would call their ex a bitch if they dumped them like Carla dumped me. Dumping is the wrong word, I think finding her in bed with your best friend is considered cheating. We had been together for two years, she was the joy of my life. I've never felt truly happy after that day. And the worst of all is, I can't make myself hate her like I should.
I still love her.
I don't even know how this is possible, but she had this allure to herself that no other girl seems to have. The harsh truth is that I would've probably allowed her to run back in my arms if it weren't for the fact that she left me immediately after my unfortunate discovery.
That was the day I started drinking and hanging out with stoners. I stopped caring for anything.
But suddenly it all comes back to me, and I think about her. I think about her face, her hair, her scent, her nude body on top of Tyler. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and leave the room quickly. I manage to keep it together as I leave through the back door, they've probably not even noticed my departure. The fresh air does me well, and I start walking in a random direction. Unfortunately, walking forces you to do one particular thing, thinking. And my thoughts are not the happiest or most optimistic right now.
The truth is I'm not sure if I'll ever love again, if I'll be happy again, or If I'll ever feel anything again.
I keep walking, until I am completely alone, until I've lost the buildings of the Amsterdam suburbs out of sight. Sometimes I wish I could get out of this city, or at least out of my mom's house. She's a sweetheart but I am 19 years old, I've graduated, I should have my own life.
I then recall that I still have a joint left, and I want it, right now.
The good thing about smoking weed is that it stops the endless thinking, which is just what I need now. I've been told that I have a few typical features about me when I am high. Apparently, I tap my foot, like, all the time. I thought that I only tapped my foot when I am extremely irritated, but apparently, I do it more often. Another sign that I am high, but a less obvious one is the constant throwing back of my head as I giggle softly, like a child. I know this about myself, I just hope other people don't notice it. Some people retrieve their child-like innocence when they get high, It seems to be that I am one of these people.
I have made it back to the front door of my house at the dawn of morning and walk inside. The hallway is dark, no one appears to be up. I check my appearance in the mirror which hangs on the left side of the door to see if I look somewhat high. My silver blond hair is all over the place and needs a good wash, I would love for it to be real, but it's hair dye. I liked it a lot better than my natural honey blonde almost ginger-like colour. The only feature left to reveal my real hair is the array of reddish freckles on my nose. They don't fit the rest of my look at all, I try to look tough, but these freckles make me look young and innocent. I don't like it all, but there's not much I can do about it.
'Where have you been all night?' Mom asks me as I am still staring into the mirror.
'Same old thing, you know.' I tell her as I sit down on the couch next to her.
'When is it going to end, when are you going to get it all together?' I wasn't quite expecting this question now, his head is still buzzing from the last night. Honestly, I hoped that she would never ask but it was unavoidable after all.
'I don't know mom. I know something has to change, but I haven't been able to take the step yet.'
'Don't give me that crap. We all know that you can, you need to want it. If you don't do it for yourself, please do it for me and for Tim. He needs you to be in his life.'
'Fine, I'll get a job or something.'
YOU ARE READING
Lost BoyTeen Fiction
Jack's life is at an all-time low after a harsh break-up with his girlfriend. He drinks, smokes and not much more. But Jack wants to make his mom proud, so he gets a job and his life starts to shift. But can he keep this up? Or is he just doomed? C...