My little pass-out moment probably didn't last longer than 15-20 minutes. I know this, because apparently I was carried to my car, and when I woke up, the first thing I do was glance at the car stereo which both displayed the time AND was blasting '35MM.'
I squinted my eyes at the unnecessary brightness that was the world (I was also surprised that it wasn't dark out yet, considering how eventful today went), and when my eyes came into focus, Jeremy was hovering over me, obviously panicked.
"M-morning." I nonchalantly whispered, scared to speak any louder in fear of it hurting. That, and my head hurt considering I probably bashed it against something when I passed out.
"Michael," He started, backing off of me. "It's almost 6, what do you mean morning?! What happened?!"
"Shh, calm yourself before you doubt yourself," I chuckled, sitting up. There was a sharp pain that was lurking in my spine as I did so, but I'm almost certain that it was just 'cause I was so stiff. "I'm okay."
I heard him sigh, yet, I still didn't look at him. I found it so hard to make eye contact with him — it was almost like a burden. Even when I talked to him yesterday, I barely looked him in the eyes.
Why?
I'm guilty. For once.
* * *
I ended up dropping off Jeremy at his house, abandoning my initial goal of talking to Rich. I honestly feel like my mind's gone blank — I can't really remember anything. Well, I can, so that's a lie.
What I can't remember is what happened to the people I did terrible things to.
For instance, I don't remember what happened to Christine.
I just know that something happened, because I remember Jeremy telling me about it.
God, this is such a fucking mess.
I pulled up at my Moms' house and parked my car in the driveway. I got out and went inside, heading straight for the basement. The house is vacant; I can't hear any footsteps or anything.
I plop myself down on the worn bean-bag of mine, deciding ultimately to just smoke, (cigarettes, because my fucking weed's at the dorm and I don't want to get back into my car), and force myself to remember something.
I pulled the fresh package out of my sweater pocket, opening the plastic and slipping one out of it. I lit it using an old lighter I found on the floor (shockingly it was still useable), and took a drag out of it; loving the disgusting, yet comforting taste.
The only thing I thought the entire time was, "God, nothing ever works out for me."
And I think I was right.