why we fall apart

fourth ; why we fall apart

The door slammed shut loudly. Alex had come in.

This became the norm. He would storm in each evening after dinner, nowhere to be seen during the afternoon, stalk the room angrily, then carry out his bathroom routine before crawling into bed.

I didn't know why. But I couldn't bring myself to care. I didn't have emotions right now. I didn't know how to feel sympathy.

You see, we're all in here for a reason. Lara was a real party animal with a penchant for everything that went with that connotation. Drinking, drugs, you name it. But she ended up here, at Crawford Private Academy, instead of behind bars for underage drinking and driving and other illicit activities because her parents are loaded. Like mine. Like Alex's.

But you learn to stop thinking so much about other people. About their lives and their stories and who they were before Crawford. It simply didn't matter. We knew that we were all here so that we weren't a burden to our hugely important parents.

What did I do? Yeah, that's a story for later. It made me think about Brandon and I bit back curses.

The conception that rich kids were brats? Half true. Only a handful were like that. And all the ones at Crawford basically knew they'd hit rock bottom, so nobody had the energy to be have cliques and social classes. It was odd and sad at the same time.

But Brandon and his friends? Normal as the sky being blue each sunny day of school. They didn't feel like me. I craved that kind of centered feeling. Being anchored to a fixed point and knowing who I was and where I was.

Too bad everything always falls apart.

"Stop that." Out of the darkness, Alex's voice broke our mutual silence.

"What?" I didn't even say anything.

"That snapping noise. It's irritating."

"I'm interrupting your beauty sleep, am I?" I rolled my eyes and rubbed my wrist anyways, tugging the rubber band farther up my arm.

"Yes, actually. It takes more than a few hours to get to this level of perfection," came Alex's deep, humorous retort.

I snorted, in such an unladylike manner that my mother would pass out onto a lace chaise, a diamond studded hand over one elegantly drawn brow, if she saw me now. "So your thing is narcissism?"

"My thing?" Alex sounded so insulted that my heart almost skipped a beat.

"Everyone here's got issues," I sat up, staring into the darkness where he lay. "Why else would you be here?"

He was silent for a moment. "So is your thing annoying people by snapping rubber bands?"

"I'm a sociopath, Mathis. That's just the beginning."

"I'm guessing we won't get along then," he replied nonchalantly.

My own tone devoid of emotion or want of care, I said, "What else is new?"

The next morning, I got up to run, and so did Alex, ignoring me all the way.

If I was being perfectly honest, I preferred the cold shoulder. It made me less guilty about the one I showed to him.