Pills and Potions (DISCONTINUED)

Pills and Prozac.

Levi stared down at the medication in his hand. Prozac. Damn. 

He huffed, looking at the small pills in his posession. 

He had half a mind to just overdose, but he figured if he lived, shitty glasses would pester him to no end. Not to mention he'd then be put back on suicide watch. That was true hell within itself. 

Suddenly, 'Pills n Potions' by NIcki Minaj started playing on Pandora. How that monstrosity of an artist got on his Pandora he had no idea. He couldn't stand mainstream artists, espcially her. The woman seemed delusional. Hanji enjoyed her music, but Hanji was delusional too, so it made sense. But she wasn't screaming or saying weird analogies in this song, so he could tolerate it. Besides, it was perfect for a parody.

Pills like Prozac,

You know what, fuck that,

I hate this shit so 

fu-u-uck you,

Pills and Prozac,

God I hate Prozac,

Can't stand it but

I ha-a-ve too.

Never before had Levi been so grateful to Nicki Minaj for her musical talents.

Once he'd swallowed down the 'happy' pills with some water, he began getting ready for the day ahead. He had three classes today, Social Psychology, AP Statistics, and French. The only class he actually gave two shits about was French, and that was only because it came so naturally to him. He'd studied abroad in France for three years in high school, returning to America for his senior year. He nearly forgot (on purpose, of course) about his doctor/therapist/ supposed friend Hanji asked him to come to some dumb AA type meeting thing called 'Positive Energy'. Whatever the fuck that was. He wanted to ditch it, not really interested in human interaction, but Hanji treatened to increase the time he was taing that damned Prozac. So 'Positive Energy' it was. 

Levi stared out the window with the bored expression he always had during class. Nothing was different, nothing caught his interest. Even on Prozac, which was supposedly made to help these symptoms of depression, wasn't doing much. Probably because he'd formed a bit of a tolerance to it from the years of taking the shit. All the shitty doctors did was increase the dosage, not understanding why the ravenette never stayed on his Prozac happy high for longer than an hour, and that was on a good day.

Levi wondered as well, why he never seemed to be happy. It was like he was born sad,  uninterested in life.

"Levi, why don't you play with the other kids?" His family and teachers would ask.

Because. I just don't feel like it. Why can't people just leave me alone? I just want to be alone...Alone.....Leave me alone, His answers soon became, getting frustrated with the people around him. Always forcing him to go to these stupid birthday parties and gatherings, hoping that something would spark the interest. Nothing ever had. Levi just didn't see life the way others saw it. He was fine with that, but everyone else found it very concering. He'd never thought he was depressed or suicidal. He never considered himself emo. He was just uninterested in the things kids, pre-teens, teenagers his age were into. 

His adoptive parent, Kenny Ackerman, who he considered to be something close to his father, seemed to understand this, and left the boy alone to his own devices. Even if those devices were just sitting at home and doing nothing. Levi liked that. All Kenny required was that Levi know how to defend himself. He could deal with the seven hours a week spent in Kenny's basement, punching at a low hanging punching bag and old boxing equipment, going out to the shooting range and learning how to use a gun, the proper way to shank someone. Normal people found Kenny's teachings concerning, but Levi found them to actually be worth his time. That was the first time he'd found something that truly interested him. Violence. 

He spent his pre-teen years in and out of juvenille detention, getting into fights with everyone who would take him up on his challenges. After Levi was sent there for the three months for a particularly brutal fight, Kenny decided to rear the rough edged boy in, letting him direct that fighting spirit into boxing. His whole eighth grade after school time was spent inside the walls of a boxing gym that a friend of Kenny's owned.  Fight after fight, Kenny often teased the ravenette, saying that getting knocked on his ass would stunt his growth. The five-foot three Levi was now convinced Kenny had jinxed him.

Levi was dragged out of his thought processes when his professor, who didn't seem to like the ravenette's constantly bored state in his class, calle dout his name.

"What do you think, Mr. Ackerman? Since this topic is so uninteresting to you, perhaps you'd like to explain what is runnng through your mind instead," Professor Marianne asked him, her bitchy and pointed face glaring at him. Levi rolled his eyes, lazily dragging his face to face her direction.

"What the hell is this, high school? You're going to fail me anyway, simply because you're a bitch who clearly hasn't gotten fucked in God knows how long and you dislike the fact that I actually don't give a fuck about it." He said, his signature bored face staring her dead in the eye as her face reddened. Whether it was in anger or embarrassment, Levi didn't know or care. Probably both.

"Get. Out." The woman said through gritted teeth.

"Happily." Levi growled, grabbing his bag and getting out his seat. When he reached the door, he flipped off the entire class, turning to his professor and flying two birds her direction.

"And that fuck is specifically for you, sweetheart. You need it." He sneered, bursting the door open.

Never before had Levi actually been happy about anything in his life. But telling that bitch to go fuck herself was certainly something to be happy about.