Lunch went just like I expected it too, and I thanked God I didn't have any actual food in my stomach; it would have just come right back up. Dylan Peters started business the second I walked up to him, shoving a slip of paper with an address hastily scrawled on it into my clammy hands. This purchase was already of the same caliber as the night of the dance, and I couldn't help but feel nauseatingly nostalgic. This whole thing felt so much like déjà vu, I pinched myself just to make sure I hadn't gone into the past. Unfortunately, my heart dropped with the realization that I was risking my entire life and reputation once again.
I sort of drifted through the rest of the day, floating along in my own personal storm cloud. Ben seemed to notice something was off during his class, but didn't comment. We had a test coming up soon, and he probably assumed I was stressing about that. It was no secret that English was one of my worst subjects—way too much reading and writing and not enough moving.
The end of the day came—just came. Not too fast, not too slow. Time is scary when it moves normally.
I was heading toward the locker rooms, looking forward to a much needed anger management session with the ball, when a crinkling in my pocket reminded me of my two detentions I had after school.
Fuck. My. Life.
Despite what I'd said earlier, I couldn't just not go to detention. Seeing how Dana reacted earlier, my absence would probably be enough to send him off the deep end and send me into an early grave.
I was nearly stomping as I made my way to the designated detention room that day, thankfully a teacher I didn't even know. Hopefully, I could just find a back desk and sleep for the whole two hour period.
As I walked into the open doorway, I was met with a sight that made me want to walk right back out of that goddamn room.
There was Dylan Peters, in the flesh, sitting there trying to break a peanut with his forehead. And here, we can observe the Dylan in his natural environment, performing his mating ritual so as to attract the Willow Academy female population. Needless to say, it was ineffective.
I found myself laughing out loud at my internal monologue, capturing the attention of everyone in the classroom.
"And you are?" a female teacher asked, nose pointed toward the heavens. Any higher, and I'd be able to see her brain. Yuck.
"Owen Kherrington," I answered uneasily, shifting my weight from left to right.
Her pink nail looked like a garden spade as it scraped its way down the roll sheet. Honestly, was she trying to grow her own pocket knife or something?
"You're on here twice, Mr. Kherrington," she remarked. "Do you know why?"
"No," I said, not looking her in the eyes. "Maybe they accidentally wrote me down twice?"
"It says here it's from two different teachers..."
All I could manage was a look of discomfort and a garbled response.
"I guess we'll be seeing you tomorrow, won't we, Mr. Kherrington?"
Did I say it already? If I did, oh well. Fuck my life.
Needless to say, I didn't spend the whole two hours sleeping as I'd hoped. Instead, we were instructed to write an essay about making good choices—come on, really? We were in high school, people! I also had the pleasure of Dylan Peters purposefully shaking my desk by jamming his chair into it. I think the detention teacher had instructed me to sit behind the brute on purpose. By the time the clock read 5:15, I was practically itching with the need to leave this godforsaken, four-walled prison.
"Detention is dism-" the teacher began, but I never heard her finish. I was already out the door. I'd never been so eager to go home before!
My eagerness to go home faded as I got closer to my "humble abode". I knew Dana would be there, and I'd gladly go on a dinner date with Dylan Peters before seeing him again. I had not a modicum of an idea what his reaction would be. Would he be angry? Would he send me to my room again without dinner? Had he told Ben and Cooper? What if they hated me now, too?
I had worked myself up into a nervous frenzy by the time I had reached the front door. I was contemplating ways I could make it up to my room unnoticed, but I knew it was futile; I had a feeling someone would be waiting for me the moment I got home.
Sure enough, I was right; I always am.
Dana was standing in the foyer when I opened the front door, but I couldn't tell if he was angry or repentant or anything. He just looked... emotionless.
I didn't say anything, just kind of stood there with the door wide open and my eyes looking anywhere but at him. I knew I was letting heat out, but couldn't bring myself to care. I liked feeling cold, anyways—numb.
"Come inside, Owen," Dana finally uttered, voice barely audible.
I cautiously stepped inside, giving my brother a wide berth and ensuring I was out of arm's reach. It was then I realized that I was scared of my brother. I was scared of Dana.
"I need to talk to you," he said again in that same quiet voice, eerily slipping out of his tight lips like it was physically painful for him to say them.
I only nodded, gripping the strap of my backpack with white knuckles, legs shaking underneath the khaki pants.
"I want to apologize," Dana nearly bit out, arms crossed so tightly his shirt was straining against the flexed muscles.
I nearly blanched, eyes going wide and mouth dropping of its own accord. Dana? Apologize? For what?
"For punishing you at school today," my brother continued. "It was inappropriate—although your behavior warranted it—and I should have waited until we got home."
What in the hell was I supposed to say to that? Sure, it's okay that you beat me in public? Let's go skip off into the sunset and live happily ever after. I was too bitter and this apology was too unauthentic for me to even consider forgiveness.
"Okay," I answered, speaking for the first time since I'd entered the household. I went to sidle past him and up the stairs, but a hand reached out and stopped me; I couldn't keep myself from flinching.
Dana was looking at me as if I'd grown three heads or something. He removed his arm quickly, returning it to its place against his chest.
"Aren't you going to accept my apology?" he inquired, sounding slightly agitated. What in the hell did he have to be agitated about?
I shrugged, neither an affirmation nor a negative response, and looked carefully at the buttons of his shirt. I wouldn't look into those black pits he called eyes.
"I expect you to do the mature thing and accept my apology, Owen. This childish behavior is what I've been talking about all along!"
"You don't even think you did anything wrong, do you?" I asked instead.
"Well no, I didn't—not at first. But then Ben made me see why it may have been a bit harsh, even though it was well deserved!"
So, Ben had made him do this? God, this situation couldn't get any fucking worse could it?
"Then no, I don't forgive you," I told him, experiencing a surge of bravery. However, I was sure it would pass momentarily.
"You! I! I can't believe—" Dana spluttered. "Just go to your room, Owen David! You clearly will never learn because you are so incompetent!"
His words didn't hurt, though. How could I feel anything when I was already so numb? I simply followed his directions, gladly seeking the comfort of my four walls over my own brother. Maybe this was what being on drugs felt like. I was starting to see the appeal of wanting to escape.
~*~
Now, I finally understood why paper beats rock. Because this singular piece of paper felt like a boulder in my pocket. It was weighing me down, and I wasn't afraid to go six feet down under with it. When had I become so morbid?
Google Maps had told me the address was only about two miles from our house, scarily and surprisingly close. I was able to leave with little trouble, claiming I needed to take a walk down to the library to check out a book. Ben had let me go without question, sending me off with that strangely sympathetic look he'd been wearing for the past few days. I hadn't spoken a word to Dana since his failed "apology", and I knew the family tension was really eating at Ben; he was the termed "head of house", after all, and took personal responsibility for anything wrong.
I was sure every person I passed on the street knew I was carrying 30 pills of ecstasy in my hoodie pocket, knew I was throwing my life away for some schoolyard bully, knew I didn't care about my life, regardless. I wanted to tell them all to just take a walk in my shoes, see how it feels to be unwanted. God, I sound so pathetic. Toughen up, Owen; the world doesn't hand you life on a silver platter. No, obviously mine had ended up in a garbage can.
I arrived at the obscure address before my customers, and settled for leaning against the wall and trying to look like I belonged. Who was I kidding? I didn't belong anywhere.
I tapped my foot anxiously, just ready to get this over with. The longer I was here, the greater chance I had of being caught.
"A-OK?" a voice asked to my right, causing me to jump and painfully scratch my back against the brick wall. It took me a moment to recognize my designated street name. Trust me, I hated it as much as you do.
"Y-yeah?" I spluttered, hastily standing up straight, sticking my hand out, and jerking it back just as quickly. Honestly, shaking hands? This wasn't a business deal; well, not a traditional one, anyway.
"You got the concert tickets?"
Oh, this was so familiar...
I reached into my pocket carefully, fisting my hand around the packet of pills. "You got the money?" I questioned, finally looking my customer in the eye.
I froze, suddenly paralyzed in fear.
Holy. Fuck.
It was—no, it couldn't be. Could it?