Page 3 of Collided

Weekends were the worst. The three of us would be home and my parents would have more chances to fight. Money was the reason why my parents fought all the time. Dad worked as a receptionist at a small law firm that was on the brink of bankruptcy. What he earned wasn’t sufficient to run a house. Mom offered to help, but he refused and later blamed her for being useless and hit her. Every night he’d come home and release his frustration out on her, but never with me.

I wished he’d hit me, so my mother could be safe. Whenever he’d yell at her and raise his hand to her, my body became paralyzed, and I couldn’t move. I never moved. I never saved her.

Which is why I’m glad that he’s gone. What he did to her that night scarred me for life. It was the first time I feared him. I saw him as a monster and not as my father. That image of him still haunts me at night. I wonder if it’ll ever go away.

A two-story house surrounded by two months’ worth of herbs appears. I’ve asked Mom to cut them, but she always brushes off the topic to save the money.

I unlock the door and step inside. The hallway separates into three rooms: the living room, kitchen, and my parent’s—now Mom’s bedroom. At the end is a staircase which leads up to my room.

I open the refrigerator and find a plate of spaghetti. I put it into the microwave, which only half-heats because it needsto be repaired, but Mom has no plans to spend money on it, or anything really. When I have stuffed myself with food I go upstairs.

My room is a tiny, poor place with chipped cream walls, creaky wood floorboards, and a broken window. A study table rests next to the window with my stack of textbooks and stationery on top. In the center of the room is my iron bed. To the right is a huge wardrobe and the bathroom.

Nothing in the room means more to me than my book wall that’s across the foot of my bed. It’s a stack of twenty books that I’ve been able to buy over the years.

Removing my shoes, I slump onto my bed, adamant to finish the book tonight. Strangely, my thoughts fly to those mesmerizing blue eyes.

I’m intrigued by Heath. Everyone at school says he’s trouble. I don’t believe the rumors, there’s always more to a person. It’s one of the many things books have taught me. You don’t really know someone until you’re in their head.

Something tells me Heath is like that. A part of the ocean no one’s ever dared to dive into.

2

Heath

THE SMELL OF THE CIGARETTE LINGERS AS I STUB IT OUT WITH THE HEEL OF MY SHOE.

My chest should feel less tight, and my mind should be less crowded, but nothing changes.

I need one more. Then I’d feel fucking better.

“Where the fuck was your ass?” Sebastian approaches me with a scowl.

“Why? Are you fond of it?” I lit up my third cigarette. The prior two have been fucking ineffective at numbing the anger coursing through me. It never truly goes away, no matter what I do. Over the past year, it’s become a permanent part of me, and I want nothing more to get rid of it.

He smirks playfully. “Unlike you, I have someone who’s got afineass I can fond over for eternity.”

“Touché. My ego is hurt.” I exhale the smoke that fades Sebastian from view. But the sharp glare he’s sending me tells me he’s right here.

He’s fucking stubborn. He doesn’t know how to leave me alone—not that I want him to. He’s the only person who’s keeping me from drifting into the darkness. My best friend.

Sebastian clears the smoke with a wave of his hand. “Your ego should be the last thing hurting, considering, your grades are going to fall if you keep up this act. You can’t come to school toskipclasses andsmokeuntil you’re high as fuck.” He agitatedly paces in front of me like a mad father.

I sigh. “My grades are fine, and I don’t miss classesthatoften.”

He arches an eyebrow accusingly. “Really? Because this is the third time this week and it is only Thursday.” Annoyance covers his face. “You’re better than this, Heath. Inhaling poison won’t numb anything, and you fucking know that,” he says every word with a finger pointing at me.

He’s so wrong.Getting high helps to quiet my thoughts and numb my emotions. There is calm for a few minutes, my body stops vibrating with pain and anger. I cravethatfeeling. That’s what makes me smoke.

“Except itdoeshelp, Bash,” I say placidly, the chemicals start to work into my system.

There it is.The temporary calm to my relentless storm.

“One of these days you’re going to regret ever doing this. Like me.” The warning slips past his mouth like a bullet, but it doesn’t hit me. It never does.

My best friend thinks I’m afraid of death. That’s the best thing that could ever happen to me. Iwantit to happen to me. I’ve got nothing to gain or lose from life. Not anymore. Not since last year.

“I won’t.” Resenting the look of concern on his face, I throw the cigarette on the ground and smother it with my shoe. It’s already done its magic.

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