You should all go watch the rules of attraction now. I love junkies and suicides.
My bones ached from doing absoulutely nothing. A simple product of laziness. The tiny burst of energy which had burned through me last week suddenly flickered out. Like life.
Death has been washing all over my mind too recently. Guess you can't help the deep thoughts when you're home alone every damn day and even your girl can't stand to talk to you. Maybe a little too much Saves The Day for me.
But really, who really gives a flying fuck about me anymore? I know I sure as hell don't. And if I don't care, and nobody else cares, why the fuck am I still breathing? She threw all of my pot away, so I couldn't even calm myself down with that. Cigarettes just get boring.
I curled my body out of bed, the bedroom spinning for a short moment. My eyes began getting all too misty, and soon enough salty tears were staining my face. There is no reason to live. My band? A cynical smirk sank briefly between my lips. Not good enough. My family? The smirk fell to the floor, but I thrived on, trying to think of anything else that might be good enough to stick around. My girl? My legs quit working. The tears poured just a little more, beginning the cycle of uncontrollable crying. If this would've been the question I was asking myself this time last year, I would've stopped and called her and told her how much I love her and these thoughts would've instantly stopped. But they're not. And I have no aching to call her. Ever again. Especially not right now.
I shoved a kitchen chair right below a silver hook that hung at the short ceiling. My eyes searched around the vacant room for anything that would work. Anything.
They lingered at an old telephone wire from a home phone we never use. I wrapped the thin wiring around my fingers, pulling it from the socket, and quickly tying it around my neck in a knot that forced me to breathe heavily from my mouth. I threw the cord around the hook, and tied yet another knot there. My legs went straight to the chair, where I stood for what felt like an eternity. I took my last shaky breath, and kicked the chair from underneath me. Pain shot up to my throat, my hands going straight to my neck. I began thrashing in mid-air, the pain unbearable, my legs kicking for the floor.
"Shit." The word wasn't even a croak; something weird and strangled. My body crashed to the floor, the hook and a piece of ceiling landing to the side of me. White powder rained over my clothes.
"FUCK!" Another strangled word. I pried the wire from my throat, desparate for anything else. I jumped to my feet, going to the restroom, my hands shaking as I angrily pulled apart drawers. A old shaving razor was the best I could find. My hands used it to scratch as hard as I possibly could against the sensitive skin of my wrist. Tiny, little cuts began appearing. More fucking pain, but nothing life-ending.
"GOD DAMMIT!" My first scream as I went to the cabinet, pills and a bottle of cough syrup spilling out. I instantly grabbed every last pill and swallowed them all, chugging the bitter tasting bottle of cough syrup to wash them down my dry, still pain-written throat. The world began dimming as if somebody kept flickering the lights off and on. I carried my body back to bed, falling onto the sheets, my sense of feeling numbing and everything darkening.
My body began shaking, but instead of bliss coating me, nothingness did. The flickering stopped, and somebody turned off the lights.
I laid curled up next to Slade's disheveled but oh-so comforting body. Smoke blanketed the air around us as he took heavy puffs of the joint that sat steady between his fingertips. Slade has always been the worst influence on my life. And Max has always been the parental figure since our dead beat parents were just that. Maybe that's why I purposely date Slade. He's just so bad. And Max just hates him so much. It's been amusing up until this point. Now that I know my own brother does the same things my boyfriend does. Kind of takes away the thrill, doesn't it? Slade's shaggy dark hair touched my cheek lightly as he arched his face toward me. Fingers brushed my hair away from my face casually; warm and lazy. I watched a smirk that always seemed to cause goosebumps to roll across my skin skid across his familiar lips. Puppy-dog yet still bloodshot eyes studied me like world geography.
"Carolyn, you're a beautiful girl. Have I ever told you that?" Each word was a little hazey but nothing short of a kind of sweet you could only get with Slade Echeverria half-baked. He gently placed the joint to my easily parting lips. The smoke filled me, easing my tensing body, and then was released to join the rest of the calming cloud.
"Only million and one times." I fell into a fit of hiccupy giggles that proved it wasn't only his corny lines that were making me overly amused. That's some potent shit. Slade's smirk fell slightly ajar, those dreamy dark eyes staring right into mine.
"Are you sure Max has extreme social anxiety?" Each word was strung out and seemingly floating out of his mouth as if they each carried some sort of secret answer to the unknown. I had to process this semi-serious question. The only one that really stuck to me was Max. I honestly didn't know. I'm no movie buff, so I couldn't compare it to what Hollywood has wrote it off as. For all I know he could have bipolar disorder or some shit.
"I don't know." The sentence hung there to dry. Slade's eyes finally left mine and went to the ceiling; as did my own.
"Me neither, baby, but something doesn't feel right." I'm far too high to worry about his words and he's far too high to really be speaking anything rational. So instead of taking meaning to what my half-way sober boyfriend just said, I tucked my head against his chest. My cheek pressing to the warmth of the skin of his bare chest, and my eyes drooping shut at the last thought of maybe some good munchies. Being a junkie with an extremely sexy boy pays off.
Pimples gathered in small armys across the teen's bright and nicely tanned face. Peach fuzz grew like grass in a harsh drought above his plump lips. The Dunkin' Donuts imprinted hat that hung loosely on top if his thick, bushy hair shifted slightly to the right as took a thoughtless look at the cell phone I was sure had to be hidden in his pocket. He didn't notice. For some odd reason I did. Why am I so damn alert?
"Can I help you, ma'm?" The boy behind the counter finally spoke, his twilght eyes bored and drowsey snapping me back to reality.
"Just get me two coffees, please," I said, as sweetly as I could. I had to make this quick. Surprising Max with a half-day of work and a coffee is nothing life-changing, but my messiah complex whispered that it was the best I could do.
"Here you go, Miss." The boy gave me something of a smile, and handed me two cups. Steam curved up at the tiny drinking holes like little cylinder factories. My thank you came out a little too fast and money hurtled out of my pocket; exact amount of course. I have my cheap skape moments. The cold air hit as a gust of freezing city breeze. I almost felt like I had to watch Max like a little kid. Has to take his medicine everyday. Goes a little crazy if given the wrong 'treats'. I almost couldn't take it. And Gabe's countless offers were getting more and more overwhelmingly tempting. My key lay limp in my palm once I reached my imfamous door. You got him a coffee Natalie, don't expect him to run to you with open arms. At best he'll look at you in maybe a slightly softening way. But god, that would be great.
I gave the key a squeeze, the metal pierecing my skin for a brief moment. Fuck it. The place was too quiet. I stumbled through darkness, warm liquid spilling over the little factory hole onto the frosty skin of my hand.
"Max," I called out, the panic that had started rising showing clear in my voice. A dim light shined through from our bedroom. Pieces of white ceiling dripped to the floor, and a silver hook dead on the carpet. Our telephone wire on the ground. My eyes crawled up uneasily to the bed where Max laid there, something bright and red and..
The drinks slipped from my fingers onto the carpeted floor, joining the white, ashy ceiling. My vision began bluring. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.
"BOO!" Max instantly sprang up, a sickening, scary smile on his face. A cynical, mocking chuckle filled the room. You've got to be kidding me. The fake blood stained his chin and neck.
"WHAT THE FUCK, MAX," I screamed, the tears moving to the corner of my eyes, ready to spill.
"I figured if I failed at killing myself, I'd at least see what'd happen if someone thought I did." His sloppy words were only in the backround of my thoughts. I realized his pants, specifically the area of his crotch were damp. Wet. He must had noticed my wandering eyes.
"Yeah, nobody told me od'ing also means you piss your pants," he said, nonchalantly. Like if he were talking about the weather. I can't take this. He has gone insane. Before I knew it, I was outside on the streets, walking nowhere in particular. What just happend?
This is a short chappy, I'm sorry.
Pretty much everything Max did was based/straight up taken from scenes from The Rules Of Attraction. You know, that one scene Sean tries to kill himself multiple times after he realized Lauren hates him. And fails all three times. And wakes up from almost od'ing to wet pants. And decides to freak someone out with pretending he's dead.
Hope you liked this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Ps- I love writing about drugs.