Page 7 of Inevitable Destruction

The bill of my hat bumps against the headrest and flips off my head, falling to the floorboard. The two Oxys I took this morning are wearing off, and I’m starting to fucking feel again. The pain lancing through my chest isn’t from holding my breath though. It’s guilt—unrelenting remorse for things that were out of my control, yet still my fault.

I should have known Mom was fucking that guy. With the way her and Dad had been fighting… I should have known. There is nothing else to it. But then Dad…

I slam my fist into my steering wheel as a sob wracks my body without my permission. I can’t help but to miss them, even though I know I shouldn’t. They don’t deserve it, especially Dad. But almost every fucking day, I have been there at their shared headstone, reminiscing about the past—when it was good, when we were good.

Before the pain. The lies. The drugs. Before it all.

Happiness. That’s what I miss.

Every day, I get in my car to just drive, to let the open road and the music blaring through the speakers… help me in some way. And it does—for a little while.

I don’t know. There is just something about loud music and an endless road that does something for me. It’s almost as if I no longer feel like myself. It never lasts, and I’m left feeling more vacant inside than before.

But every time, I somehow end up at the graveyard, over and over. Like I’m asking for the pain.

Maybe I am.

Scoffing, I flick the cigarette butt through the crack in the window and straighten up in my seat, grabbing my hat off the floorboard and adjusting it backwards on my head again.

“Dreams of You” by Brennan Savage and Killstation thunders heavily through the speakers as I pull away from the soft shoulder back onto the road. The pavement is wet, and rain spits in through my cracked window. I can vaguely feel the raindrops soaking through the sleeve of my hoodie as I drive with my left hand, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

My lids grow heavier the longer I keep driving. It’s now black outside without a star in sight—which is good. I can’t help but think of a certain someone when I see the stars…

My phone pings through the speakers because of the Bluetooth, and my eyes fly open at the sound with a jolt of my body. When I come to a stop sign, I grab my phone and check the text.

Jay: Yo, where you at? The party started an hour ago and you said you’d be here. I got your shit.

Ah, shit. I forgot about that. I run my hand down my face, sighing. I don’t have the energy to be around anyone right now.

But Jay has my pills. And I need my pills.

Tossing my phone on the passenger seat, I step on the gas. A car horn blares out, and I slam on the breaks, my tires screeching on the wet pavement. The air rushes from my lungs as my body flies forward, slamming into the steering wheel. My half closed eyes fly open to see a car already through the intersection, still holding down their horn.

My chest heaves as I watch their taillights disappear around a curve a few hundred feet east. I curl my fingers around the wheel, gripping it until my knuckles blanch and my joints pop from the pressure.

My heart slams against my ribs, the reality of what almost happened hitting home.

I was almost T-boned. I could’ve died.

Funny how I have no feelings about that right now. My body has its own reaction, but that’s simply due to the rush of adrenaline that I have no control over. My mind? The only fucking thing my mind is concerned with right now is the fact that Jay has a couple of bottles for me.

Oh, how I fucking crave the bitter powder of Oxy on my tongue right now. But I’m too low right now. I’ll have to snort a few lines before I pop a couple later tonight.

Coke isn’t my drug of choice, but when you’ve gotta keep yourself awake, it definitely does the fucking job. I hate the drip in the back of my throat—it makes me want to gag every single time, and just the thought of it right now does not sit right, but I can feel the way my eyelids keep closing on their own volition. I’m fading—and I’m fading fast.

Normally sleep is what I want. Getting so fucking high, I lose consciousness with the hopes of sleeping dreamlessly when I’m ironically plagued with nightmares. But right now, I know for a fucking fact that’s not going to happen, not with the thoughts swarming around in my head.

Essa. My parents. That fucking dude at the graveyard that looked so goddamn familiar but for some reason, I can’t quite place him. And the way he looked at me. That steely gaze locked right on me. I barely fucking noticed him through my own blurry eyes, but I could feel him.

Slipknot’s “Dead Memories” blares through the speakers, jolting me. I blink a few times, peering through the rain splattered windshield. My wipers swipe over the glass, clearing the beads before they reappear just as quickly. I release a breath and rest back against the seat, slowly pressing on the gas once more.

I pass through the intersection without incident, on my way back into town. I keep my eyes off of the overly familiar buildings, instead locking my gaze on the pale yellow lines. My phone pings again, but I ignore it as I take a left at the stoplight, towards the west side of town—where the campus is—and where Jay’s frat house is.

My jaw pops as I try to stifle a yawn. Fuck, I need a bump. And a couple shots.

A few minutes later, I pull up to the massive brick house. There are cars parked along the road and dancing bodies littering the yard, but I manage to squeeze into a spot a few houses down. I grab my phone from the passenger seat along with my smokes and pocket my keys.

I fix my hat on my head so the bill is at the front and yank my hood over it. I hunch my shoulders and shove my hands in the front pocket of my black hoodie as I walk down the sidewalk.

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