The Wings Of A Caged Bird | First Draft

side-stories | george; edgar

|GEORGE'S ADDICTION|

"Why are you here again?" George asks, his burning rage further intensifying at the sight of that bastard.

"Oh, you know, I fucking love seeing the guy who ruined my brother's life twice suffer," Eden Conway replies with a grin on his face. He sits on one corner of the bed, making himself comfortable. "So, how miserable do you feel today, little guy? Hopefully more than the last time I visited?"

George grits his teeth and tries to keep his fists to himself. Ever since he has been dragged from the school back to his cramped room in this stupid rehab center or whatever, there has been a hot cyclone stirring inside his head. Each and every vein of his body is restless and shaky. He just wants to break something, or someone. He just wants to scream till his lungs come out of his mouth.

But more than that, he just wants something to make him numb again.

Taking a deep breath to slightly cool himself, George says, "Shut your hole and leave before I cut your head off and throw it out the window, you hear me?" He finds himself internally cringing at the involuntary your hear me? that slipped out. It's a phrase he only used when bullying his juniors to come off as threatening.

"Oh?" Eden looks around the room. "Don't see no knife in here."

"Ughhh!" George bangs his fist down on the bed. "Go away! I'll kill you!"

"Really? But I have something you might want." He reaches into his pockets and takes out a small plastic packet. George's eyes pop out at the sight of the white powder.

"You- you brought drugs inside a drug-addiction rehab center?" George couldn't believe his eyes. His throat begins to ache, a deep crave clutching it.

"You'd be surprised at how damn easy it was. Do you want it?"

Every muscle, every nerve and every limb of George's body aches with the effort of not snatching that packet away right now. Tears appear at the corner of his eyes, so he closes them. "G-get out. I said get this out!"

"Oh, looks like you want to get better. I didn't think you would." Eden holds the packet in front of his eyes, regarding the powder inside. "I want this drug as much as you do right now. But this baby has been in my pocket for the past two years. Everytime it gets intolerable, I tell myself, the drug's in my pocket, I'll take it when I can't restrain myself anymore. Then I take it out of my pocket, and stare at it for a while, and then put it back. Every time I put it back, I want to fucking kill myself, but as you can see, I'm still alive and swell."

"That's just torturing yourself." But George has to admit, he himself would have never been able to restrain that much.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I do it." He lets out a dry laugh. Then he looks at the younger boy and asks, "Say, why do you wanna get better?"

"I don't. I don't wanna get better."

"Then why aren't you having it?" He holds out the packet again. George closes his eyes again, swallowing saliva through his dry, thirsty throat. And he realizes how he doesn't have an answer for that question. He doesn't want to get better, but he doesn't want to take more drugs either. It is a loophole; a paradox.

What does he want, then?

"Wanna know why I wanted to get better?" Eden asks, and George opens his eyes.

"No. I want you to leave."

"Bold of you to assume I give a fuck about what you want." George shoots him a glare, but he pretends to not see it. "The reason why I wanted to get better, is because my father almost died because of me."