7 Days to Another Life

My Own Worst Enemy.

My Own Worst Enemy 

~~~For all my fucking failures, might just end my life~~~ 

Nick walks up to his door on shaky legs, dried blood hiding under his nails. Way had made him wipe off with a rag and even proceeded to give Nick a new shirt, but he still felt like he was covered in blood. Chris's blood. 

His fingers brushed the goldish colored doorknob, the cold numbing his skin. He doesn't want to be here, not even on a regular day. But everything stacked up with Chris's death felt so... surreal.  Nothing felt like it actually happened. But did, and it was real. And that hurt. 

Nick twisted the handle and pushed the door open, golden light flooding the porch in the darkness, and he stepped through the door of his parents house. 

"See ya around, Nicholas!" Way calls from his car and Nick flinches. He hears it drive off, leaving him here. Doomed. Again. Funny how life did that. 

He hesitantly took a step into the house, wincing. No. He can't do this. 

He tries to walk back out but he can't move. 

He's trapped. On one side is cold winter air, on the other side is his relatives. 

No, no. He can't go in but if he leaves he's screwed. Why couldn't this just be easy? 

Tears well up in Nick's eyes and before he knows it, he's crying. And then he feels something he hadn't felt in a long time, as it was always replaced with discomfort or sickness or disgust. It was none of these. What Nick felt could only be described as genuine anger. 

He stepped entirely in the house, shutting the door behind him. His eyes swept the house, finding everything to be normal. Like he never left. His hand trembled, and he glared at no one. Which brought up the next question, where was everyone? 

Nick held still, and listened. Any possible sound. 

Faintly, he heard a knocking from upstairs in the corner where the adults he lived with had their bedroom. 

Disgust. 

Hate. 

Anger. 

Bitterness. 

Pain. 

Pain. 

Chris was dead. 

Nick had been kidnapped, and no one cared, and Chris was dead, and there had been so much blood coming out of Chris, and he should still be alive this shouldn't be happening, someone should've cared, someone should've noticed-- 

Nick stormed up the stairs, b-lining straight into the bathroom and flinging the cabinets open. He grabbed the adults-responsible-for-him's old painkillers. He spotted an empty water glass still sitting on the counter right where he'd left it last week when he forgot to take it downstairs, and he filled it with sink water, downing the pills. Next, the Tylenol. A handful. Then allergy meds. Was this enough? 

Nick had to refill his water, swallowing 5 pills at a time as he took the rest of the Tylenol bottle. He took a breath and leaned against the counter, not feeling any different. He began to doubt whether or not this would actually work, so he rummaged through the cabinet again, this time finding prescription sleeping pills. Lucky Nick. Half the bottle was gone within a minute, and Nick pushed out of the door and went straight into his room. 

He put his back to the door, breathing heavier than normal. As he looked around, the more uncomfortable he got. 

He didn't belong here anymore, but it's not like he ever did anyways.