GONER

34 • Pulling Teeth and Pulling Sweatshirts

A/N: I started writing actual books and shit (like in a notebook) when I was ten, started publishing when I was eleven, and (seeing as we're in present day) it's very interesting to see my writing and how much its evolved during that time period. I went from eleven to thirteen, and I think it's incredible knowing I don't write about happy shit anymore c: sounds morbid, but, you know.

***

This wasn't right of me. It wasn't right of me to do any of the things I've done tonight, and why Josh was condoning it was insanely beyond me. Then again, it shouldn't be his job to tell me what's wrong from right, but yet it kind of was. I hated it, though, and I didn't know how to handle it. The entire point of my existence in his existence, was to keep myself hidden from him. And, suddenly, I was so overwhelming exposed in front of him, and I wasn't even naked, but I might as well have been.

I didn't let him move his lips from mine since we got in his house. It doesn't ever take much to turn him on, and so, much to my relief, before I knew what was happening, my back was bouncing off of his mattress and my heart was caught in my throat.

The LSD had very much worn off, I honestly think it did the second I jumped from his car, and so everything was back to what it was before, if you add in the beers. I don't know why the two of us would rather do this than speak about our feelings, but here we were, and we were definitely ignoring the issues at hand. His mom and his brothers were home, but I couldn't process that, or chose not to, and instead opted for, once again, this.

"I don't," Josh breathed into my neck, his breath warm and comforting against my skin. "I don't think this is the way to resolve anything."

My small hand was weaved through his short hair, dragging his mouth back to mine to keep him from talking whenever I needed to. And, the goal, really, was to not have him talk at all. I didn't want to have to answer his questions or to explain to him why I was acting so stupid, because I really didn't even know. But I did know that everything that's happened up until now, was purely, undoubtedly a product of me being nothing but dirt. I swear to whoever's listening, that I will remain dirt until these chain of events completely dissipate from the overall tragedy my life turned into, and I can't make them go away. And I don't want to. Because one of them is Josh.

There's a lot of awful things that have happened to me, and it's because of the way I treat myself, because I'm setting my own standards. The world is all about trying to figure out what each person deserves, and then revolves around that. Whatever this person says you are, you are. Whatever they give you, is what you've earned. There's no way around it, and I don't know why I expect people to treat me decently when they can very obviously tell that I detest myself.

God, I have anxiety through the roof, literally no friends, and can't even stop myself from relapsing, but I'm still with Josh, and that's just not how things usually work for me.

"Why are you still here?" I asked lowly, working lazily on the buttons of his shirt. It was that stupid red flannel I adored on him, and my hands shook under my own gaze. "Why do you put up with me, Josh? I mean, can we have a moment of honesty here? I'm literally a trainwreck."

"I know that, but so am I," he answered, moving his steady fingers to trace my cheeks, and my jaw. "And you're the one misfortune that goes along with me absolutely perfectly, and anything else is garbage."

His lips fell onto mine without me having to silently ask him, and he laughed against my mouth, a sound that died as soon as it was born.