FATE

1. Darkness

JONAH

Loud music.

A thumping beat strangely in sync with my own heartbeat.

One drink.

Two drinks.

Three drinks.

My punching bag.

A blue pill and-

-darkness.

What's wrong with me?

My eyes tiredly open. With a blurry vision and a throbbing pain in my head, my eyes skim over the freshly painted wooden ceiling- a product of one of my many insomnia episodes. When my vision finally clears, I turn to stare at the digital clock sitting on a stool next to my bed. It's just past 7am.

Good.

The morning breeze blows the white drapery window blinds into the room.

My head pounds as I roll out of bed and hit the wooden floor with a giant thud. I wish I could say I've learnt my lesson and I'll never drink again but that's highly unlikely.

My room is fairly dark with the only source of light at the moment coming through the large window opposite my bed. A desk stands in front of the window with nothing but a small book and a pen on it. An old chair that creaks whenever I sit on it is behind the desk. In the left corner of the room is the wardrobe and not too far from it is a door, leading to a small bathroom.

I manage to stand up and walk towards the bathroom, opening it and resting my back on the door once I'm in. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I scoff. I look like a mess. My dark hair is scattered and up in messy spikes, my lips look dry and there's a small scar on my right cheek.

My clothes are the same from last night, a pair of black jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, although the shirt has an unknown stain in its middle and I can't figure out where it came from. I pull it over my head quickly and toss it into the bathroom sink.

I bend to open the cabinet beneath the toilet sink, tossing containers around and searching frantically for some painkillers. Realizing I have none, I groan, standing up to walk out of the bathroom.

As I collapse on the bed, I notice my phone lying next to my pillow so I unlock it and scroll through my contacts to call the one person I know can help.

"Hey", she says after two rings.

"I need painkillers, I'm out", I try to say softly but the persisting headache makes it sound like I'm whining.

"Hangover?"

I reply with a frustrated groan.

Hailee chuckles lightly, "Okay, go shower and get ready for school, I got you"

I hang up the phone and drop it on the bed, sighing deeply and staring at the ceiling.

Hailee and I met one day when we were nine, my cousin Francis caught her peeking at us waging war on ants, on the lawn from her bedroom window. With knees full of dirt and smiles on our faces, we asked her to come down and join us but she opened her eyes wide in shock, gasped slightly before shutting her window and disappearing. 

I stand up from the bed and walk back into the bathroom. I hate school more than the average person does. I used to like school because my mom would always make it sound like going was such a good thing for me.

"You could go to school and get a good job so you can have money in the future Jonah", she would say.

The peanut butter and jelly toast she would put in my backpack was also a good reason to go to school. I only ever got those for lunch.