GONER

27 • Drugs and Doctors

A/N: My mom thinks I'm recovered but doesn't even know what recovery is, and still doesn't let me use knives or scissors without her laughing about it.

Like, mom, please. Please shut your fucking mouth.

***

"I have to go to this stupid thing at some strangers house," I grumbled into my reciever, throwing on pants with one hand, trying as desperately as possible to not fall over. The shade of blue contrasted sharply with the lime green of my sweatshirt, and I tried to ignore my sudden smile, knowing Josh bought it for me. "I really, really don't want to go. I'm too anxious for things like this, Josh. What did I do to deserve this? I don't wanna go."

"Look, babe. Don't you think it's better to just do what she says?"

"On occasion," I replied, my nose scrunched in displeasure. "God, I swear, ever since she found out about that, she's made it her goal to make me do things I really don't want to do."

"Who knows? Maybe you'll have fun."

"I'd literally rather die than listen to people talk about organs and body parts for hours and hours." I whined. I was painfully aware of the fact that I sounded whiny and annoying, but he didn't seem to get as aggravated with me as I thought. Truth be told, I just got nervous a lot, and I didn't know how to deal with it. Or anything. And I knew no one knew how to deal with me, and that's why I refrained from telling most people about myself.

He snorted. "Too bad I'm not going to let you die."

"Too bad, indeed," I sighed, jamming the phone between my shoulder blade and my ear. Eventually, I was going to have to get my shoes on, and I could hear my mom slamming things downstairs, because she was mad at me for moving slower than we wanted. I couldn't tell what she was saying, but grumbles of my name, accompanied by heavy-handed gestures, could clearly be heard.

"Hey," he scolded. "Don't think like that."

"I can't help it." I shrugged. "I can't believe she's making me do this. On a Saturday. I mean, come on." One shoe was on, and another was still off. It sat next to my sock-clad foot with a look of such unimportance and boredom, and that's exactly how I felt. Bored and insignificant. "I don't want to do this."

"I wish I could go with you, but seeing as your mom already hates me, I can't. But I want to," he said.

"Tyler, if you don't get the fuck down the stairs, I'm going to ground you, and make you spaghetti every. Single. Night." My mom screamed suddenly, and my cheeks turned red in embrasssment.

"I have to go," I muttered.

"It's alright," he replied lightly. "Try and have fun, okay?" He said. "Keep an open mind." I groaned, and he laughed shortly.

"Bye, Josh."

"Bye, Ty."

I could hear her footsteps on the stairs, heavy with impatience and anger. Before I could even hang up the phone, she was poking her head into my room, and I was attempting to actually hang up. She shook her head indignantly, her ponytail swishing back and forth, walking towards me with her hand out. "Phone. Now."

"What? No," I protested. "Why?"

"I really just wish you'd listen to me," she said, yanking my phone from my grasp. "You know, I'm considering taking your phone for a week, just to see how you'd do without your boyfriend, or whatever."