Society Dysfunctional

1. Weed Hoard

“Hello?” I had heard my mother say into the phone in her tremulous voice. 

“Hello, Mrs. Jackson,” the warden, Mr. Hohn, had the honors of dialing my parents once again, “Unfortunately, I must inform you of your son’s continuous behavior at this home. He had gotten into a fight with a young man only a few hours ago. Would you like to speak to him?”

A pause. I had already known the answer. Hell, old Hohn even knew the answer. It’s the same each time and yet he still thinks it’s necessary to ask it. Just to add humiliation. Just so he can look at me with that stupid look of pity in his eyes again.

“No, but thank you,” my mom says softly.

“Would you like me to pass on any messages, then?” Mr. Hohn pressed.

Another hesitation. I hear two people discussing in the background. I can hear Dad, his baritone voice unmistakable. He doesn’t sound unhappy at all, but his spirits must be dampened a little after mentioning me. I wonder if Ian’s home. Dad’s always happy when Ian’s home.

“Hello?” Hi, Dad.

“Is this Mr. Jackson?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything you would like to say to your son? Anything at all? After all, it’s been a while since you have had any contact at all.”

Without skipping a beat, Dad says, “We’d like you to tell Thomas that we’re disappointed in him.”

After hearing those words and letting them sink into me, I realized that I had been leaning forward expectantly, waiting to hear their message. I realized that I had been gripping the armrests tightly and I relaxed, cursing myself for having any interest in that. Why should I have been surprised? Screw it, I had thought, tracing the wood patterns on Hohn’s desk, When are they not disappointed?

“Same,” I reply, wishing one of the cigarettes Eddy had stashed away was in my hand instead of these weak ones, “It’s a shame to have all those packs lying somewhere we’ll never find out.”

“No, we will,” Juan says firmly, “I think we should go out and search for ’em one day.”

“Probably confiscated,” I muse, scrolling through the thousands of songs on my laptop. 

“You never know.”

We sit in an awkward silence, him sprawled all over my couch and me sitting stiffly at my desk. I stare at him, trying to guess what he’s thinking as he inattentively, almost mechanically exhales the smoke before sticking the cigarette back into his mouth, inhaling and exhaling again. Maybe he’s planning out where we’re going to explore to find those lost Marlboros. Maybe he’s wondering if they have indeed been confiscated or if Hohn had smoked them all. After all, he’s a notorious chain-smoker. Maybe he’s thinking what I’m thinking, that these stupid excuses for cigarettes are getting on our nerves.

Juan suddenly shoots up out of his seat, arms curling around the arm rests and looking straight at me. His eyes are unusually bright and unusually wider. I grin inwardly. Perhaps he really has found a route for us to follow when we go exploring in search for our salvation some time.

But instead he says something completely different. “Hey, Tom, I’ve been thinking ’bout this for a while now. You seem all pent up and hush-hush when I get to it. But I’m dying to know. No secrets, remember?” I stiffen.

“What is it?”

Juan’s voice lowers and he leans forward. “Tell me what happened to Eddy O’Doherty last week.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Oh God, not this shit again. “Nothing happened. It was dark. I was stoned.” Oh, how I wish it was too dark for me to see what was happening. How I wish I had been stoned that night. I shudder at the images I had seen then. Even standing atop that little knoll, tucked farther away and safe, it’s still burned into my mind. Bloody. Gory. Terrifying. Mind-numbing.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t you also remember that we have to trust each other?” I say irritably. “I didn’t fucking do it, okay?”

“I’m not saying you did it,” Juan shoots back, narrowing his eyes, “I’m just saying that you’re lying. You do know what happened. No lies, too, remember?”

I roll my eyes. This kid just never gives up, never settles for what the slice they serve him. He wants the entire cake. That’s what makes him so different from those middle-class jackasses with their heads full of shit, strutting around thinking they’ve lived angst-ridden lives.

So I relent. After all, it’s not like I don’t trust Juan of all people. Juan is the only person I can trust, anyway.

Reaching into the duffel right next to my feet, I fish out a little plastic Ziploc bag that’s half-filled with white powder, holding it up triumphantly, like a trophy. Juan looks at it curiously, his gaze then flickering to me, trying to see how it relates to what I am about to tell him. 

“What? Why do you need to get stoned at two in the afternoon?” he tilts his head, puzzled.

“Aw, you’re too cute, Juan,” I reply, laying the bag of illegal substances on the table and removing my credit card from my back pocket so I can split it up evenly. “But I’m going to tell you a story.” I shred it open and spill out the powder as I speak, smiling yet dreading the coming hour, “And all stories become much more interesting when you’re high.”

    ~*~*~*~

A/N: Just wanted to note that there is coarse language and many drug references. Especially during Thomas's parts. Hope you enjoyed this first chapter xx

I'd also like to dedicate this to monsterinthemirrorx for making this amazing character banner (and the ones in the next four chapters). They're just so UNBELIEVABLY FLAWLESS  <33.