He didn’t mean to get mad. I mean, wouldn’t you get mad too if your parents just fucking decided that your brother was going to go to fucking college and you were gonna stay home and work?
I mean, maybe that was your plans anyways. But still. The concept of it. And it was not a good concept. So he was mad. Fucking pissed off. And when he’s mad. He’s not rational. So he dropped the plate. No, he threw it. Threw it at the fucking wall, heard it shatter and turned around. Ran out of the kitchen and shoved his feet into his shoes uncomfortably. He just knew he would get blisters. But he didn’t fucking care. Because he was out the door. He was out the door and running before his brother, his fratello, could follow after him. And he was running before the cold really hit him.
Up the street. Left. Straight for three blocks. Cut across the park. Downtown. Keep running. Don’t let the cold hit. Don’t slow down. Fuck. It was cold. He slowed. Cold was starting to seep into his jeans and thin sweatshirt that he had thought was warmer and the cold was seeping into his bones. Keep running. Keep going. Headlights. Fuck. Dart to the left, dumbass. Tumbling. He was fucking tumbling. Snow soaked his sweatshirt and jeans and down his shoes and socks. Fuck hills. Fuck snow. Fuck the cold. And fuck his parents. And his brother too.
Fuck it’s cold. Laying in the snow. At the bottom of some fucking hill. Shivering. He moaned in pain. His head was pounding. Faster than his heart. He vaguely wondered what hill he had fallen down. The thought didn’t stay in his head long. It was soon replaced with the swimming images of faces. He saw his brother, his parents, his friends… Another moan. His head hurt. And he was so cold. Fuck… Fuck… everything… He gripped the snow and lifted it above his face and let it drizzle between his fingers and land on his face. Wait. No. He hadn’t moved. Had he? Fuck. It’s snowing. Fuck this shit. His head was pounding and his body was dumb. The sky was mighty dark. Was he still shivering? He couldn’t hear the chattering of his teeth anymore. And his muscles were aching and tight. But he felt nothing more. He was numb. Just achy muscles and a pounding head. His heart beat slow as his eyes closed and images swam through his head. No. Nothing more than colours. He never knew he knew so many different shades of red. Or yellow. Or purple.
The slow beating of his heart and the fast pace of his head remixed into a hazy lullaby. He slowly, slowly fell asleep. Fuck the cold. He was tired. He could sleep wherever… and… when…ever… he… felt….
(Source: jadeharleyquinn)
