hate me

7 | numb

his pov

-ding-

The sound of my phone echoes in my ears. I ignore it completely, focusing on driving. I didn't even know where I was going. I didn't know which time the clock drew or anything. All I could feel was my bursting heartbeat in my chest, assuring me that I was still on this world,
still alive.

While I sensed completely nothing, shutting the outside out, my mind screamed at me

you are a disappointment for your mother and me!

I gulped.

all you do is pulling the name hossler into the dirt!

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning pale, creepingly overtaking my hand's color to a faint white.

i am tired of seeing your ass!

"Stop it", I growled in a low voice.

your mother and i agreed together that you are going to finance your college on your own if we hear another scandal from your asshead.

"I said, Stop it!" I snapped furiously, running my sweaty palms through my hair.

you messed up big this time!

"Stop! Please just fucking stop!" I roared, forming a fist and crashing it onto the leathern passenger seat next to me, my Gin flask clinking against my lighter.

you are a disappointment!

I winced from hearing those words over and over again, blinking rapidly to suppress the tears from streaming down my features.

disappointment!

I sucked in a deep breath, filling my dry mouth with nothing but the cold black pitching air. With my hands trembling, I reached down to the half empty flask, gripping it ruthlessly, bringing it to my parched, swollen lips in a heartbeat. Meanwhile taking a searing sip from the fiery pale yellow liquor, I can feel it maneuver through my throat, chest and stomach. Almost seconds later, I sense an impulsive warmth flooding through my veins, igniting a sparkling fire in my body. Blinking the tears from my eyes, my vision blurs and sharpens in a constant alternation, which didn't disrupt my palms to find my lighter in a quick motion.

I lick my lips during the process of lowering the bottle into the gap between the two front seats, just as my other fingers discover the cigarette sticking behind my left ear. As I feel the demanding thoughts rushing through my head, I place the smoke between my light pink rims, tasting the tender aroma of tobacco. Itching the lighter closer to the roll of brown crumbles, my heart beating seems to fasten, signaling the close satisfaction hanging in between my lips. When I finally click the lighter, making the tobacco light up slowly, I inhale deeply, leaving no inch of my lungs free from the light gray wisps. A wave of calmness hits me almost immediately, letting me exhale heavily. While I watch the light curls intriguing the darkness without any cue to stop soon, I shift my focus to the red lights in front of my eyesight.

[...]

After an elongated hour of calming my mind, I drive my car into the driveway of my grandparents. Sitting there silently, when the motor growled its last sound of the night, I clutch my palms together tightly, having no intention to let this source of sedation fade away soon. Leaning into the leathern depths of the drivers seat, I can sense this kind of numbness taking over my corpse slightly, indicating my head to stop the rumoring. While my head ceases to exist for the moment, the world around me falls into utter silence.

Relaxing inside of the satisfying quiet, my right hand falls onto my phone, while my left hook pushes the door to its opening with a creeping squeak. Pulling my trancing body into a stand, I sense myself being surrounded by the shadowing blackness when I make my way up to the front door.

Three muffled knocks later, I decide to take a glance at the advanced time, letting me freeze right into my movement as I decipher a blurred 2:49 AM on my phone screen. My eyes widen and I inhale sharply while trying to convince my head to comprehend the aging of the dark night. Typing my code to unlock my phone, I see the last unread message pop into my sight.

Granma: The key is under the door mat, honey. Call us if you need anything. We love you, tiger.

Sighing my muted grateful prayers to God for giving me my grandmother, I pull away the door mat fixing my eyes on the silver-shining metal in the middle of the hollow marble tiles. With an ease, I quickly open the heavy gateway, which abruptly pollutes me with the familiar smell of apple and cinnamon, filling my numbness with a spark of the feeling that I describe as gratitude, because I am thankful that at least one place in this world feels like home to me.

Rounding the living room, I begin to walk up to the room that my grandma named the "guest room", but which should probably be called "Jaden's crash place", because I nearly live in those four grey walls. With a sigh, I let my corpse fall onto the unblemished, speckless white mattress, which consumes me in a matter of seconds.

Before I close my eyes, I take a last glance onto my electronical device inside of my hands, checking if anything interesting occurred, likewise a sign of regret from my parents or something. But instead I stumbled across a text from Mary.

Party at Zaid's, Friday 18th