like i can \/ nancy wheeler

i. beat it

"you better run, you better do what you can..."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

SOMETIMES, COLBY MARTIN REALLY HATED HIMSELF. He hated how stupidly cliché he was— the stereotypically popular athlete— yet the one that a lot of the other stereotypically popular kids couldn't stand.

Colby was sitting on his porch. It was eleven o'clock at night, a Tuesday night, in October. It wasn't cold, but there was a small breeze in the air that made the leaves on the concrete street rustle around. He leaned his tired head on his weak and blistered hand, cuts and scars reaching from his long fingers, covered in rings, up to his shoulder blade. They'd all faded from time. From the last four years.

Colby was junior in high school. He was a basketball player, hence why he was so popular, and could be deemed somewhat attractive to certain girls, depending on their type. He was a comic book nerd, especially for Marvel comics. His favorite pair of sneakers, the beat up ones he was wearing at that moment, were a pair of white Nike Conventions, old from use. His jeans had holes in them and the Nike lettering on his sweatshirt was beginning to tear. His hair was curly and had fallen over his eyes during the day— he hadn't bothered to fix it.

Colby seemed to be unaffected by everything in his life. He was teased relentlessly by that douche Tommy, the one person he couldn't stand, yet it seemed as if Colby hadn't cared one bit. Even when the two had gotten into brutal fistfights.

Now Colby was waiting outside his house. He'd forgotten the key, and he knew Laurie had locked the door at half past ten. He could imagine the grin on her face when she realized Colby was still out, his personal key laying on the kitchen counter. He wouldn't be able to get back in, and that meant her least favorite biological child was out of the way.

However, not all hope was lost for Colby, for Cassandra was working late that night. Cassandra, or Cassie as she preferred, worked at the grocery store, and had to work late most nights to support herself (and often her brothers). Colby couldn't keep a job, and Jayson hardly bothered to find one.

Cassie was a year older than Colby, and they were far closer than he and Jayson, who was two years older. Cassie still attended school, but Jayson had dropped out as soon as he possibly could. After that, all he did was hang out with his friends and get drunk behind comprehension. Then he'd come home and sit in his room until the hangover effect wore off. Colby wondered why so many of his relatives were alcoholics. Jayson wasn't abusive, and neither was his dad, but Laurie sure was.

Cassie was a good person and that's what Colby admired about her. She wasn't addicted to anything, and she could think for herself. She was the glue that kept the brothers from stabbing each other. Somehow, she made everything feel like it was going to be alright for Colby, and no one had ever made him feel like that before.

It wasn't long before he finally did see lights of her car come into the driveway. He blinked, the lights blinding him. He shielded his face, biting his lip. Cassie got out of her car, approaching the porch. She put her hands on her hips and sighed.