The first thing I felt as I slowly woke up was the steady pounding of my skull. A pain that only got worse as I attempted to sit up from the sprawled mess I found myself in. Yet the moment I did so, almost having risen out of bed, I was suddenly assaulted by an intense feeling of nausea, forcing me to slump back onto the bed, laying flat on my stomach as I groaned in agony.

  After a few minutes of just lying there, unable to even think due to the groggy and dazed state I found myself in, I eventually found the strength to warily sit up without fear of throwing up across my already disgusting bed. As I did so, I tried to think of what could have possibly happened to have left me in such a state, feeling far worse than I had the entire week. The only day that was comparable was Tuesday, when I had felt so bad I had literally passed out.

  Slowly, as I sat there, half focusing on what happened, the other half on keeping whatever meagre amount of food I had in my stomach to stay there, I started to remember bits and pieces of the night before. Meeting up with Clark and his friends, the drinking, the laughing, more drinking - it all came back to me in a blur. As I remembered what had happened, or at least parts of it, I was left in a state of shock. Shock at how I acted and what I did, not fully believing it, regardless of the memories I possessed saying otherwise.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, trying to remember all that had happened, before one sudden lurch in my stomach had me staggering rapidly across the floor to the bathroom. I wobbled my way there, banging into every wall and door in my way, giving me a feeling of deja vu. The moment I entered the bathroom, I all but threw myself onto the toilet as I proceeded to spew up litres upon litres of sick and bile.

  While I sat there heaving and spluttering into the bowl, regretting every life choice I ever made, I realised what people meant about how bad hangovers were. They truly sucked. Thankfully, after a few more lurches and heaves, my stomach seemed to finally settle, at least for a little while, allowing me to no longer feel like I was going to be sick with every breath I took. Feeling the small strings of saliva resting on my chin, as well as the filthy shirt I had fallen asleep in, I got up and decided to quickly shower, not knowing how long I had left before I suddenly felt like shit once more.

  I quickly got showered and dressed before stepping into the living room which was once more barren with no sign of my father. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I looked at the clock attached to the microwave and saw it was just past three pm. I couldn’t remember what time I had come in but it couldn’t have been past three in the morning. Meaning I had been passed out for at least twelve hours, maybe more.

  I rummaged around the kitchen before snatching an oats bar from one of the cabinets, one of the only foods we had in the house that didn’t prompt me to immediately start retching at the mere thought of it. As I sat down on the sofa while eating the oats bar at a slow pace, I tried to fully organise my memories of what exactly had happened. Yet before I could do so, suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I noticed my pill bottle resting precariously on the corner of the coffee table. Something that made me curious, being almost certain that I had actually left it on the kitchen counter instead. However, with how vague my memories were, I simply chalked it up as a misremembering on my part.

  Seeing how it was already the afternoon, I realised it was only the second day of being given these pills, and yet I had already ended up failing to take one when I should have. A thought that, while not funny, did make me chuckle in a self-deprecating fashion. And so, even though I had just eaten, I quickly took one of the pills anyway, thinking it was probably better to take one than not, before shoving the container into my pocket.

  It was then, just as I planned to get back up and get more sleep, already starting to feel sicker with every second that passed, a loud knock coming from the door resounded through the room. Wincing slightly from the noise, I slowly headed over to open it, not before, however, whoever was behind it got the chance to knock once more with even more force than before, leaving my head rattled. The moment I opened the door with a creak, I was left completely stunned as I was suddenly face to face with a very pissed off Sam.

  “Why the hell are you ignoring me?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked after a pause, still surprised at seeing Sam at my front door and my head hurting from the volume at which he spoke.

  “What do I mean?” He asked incredulously with a scoff. “It’s been two days, and you haven't responded to a single one of the messages, and I want to know why! Did I piss you off somehow when I stopped you from actually killing Matthew or something?”

  Hearing the mention of messages, I proceeded to pull out my phone. That was when I came face to face with a plethora of texts, all sent from Sam. Messages that started from all the way back to the evening of the previous night that I had somehow missed, no doubt due to being too drunk to even notice my phone buzzing.

  However, before I could take a closer look at the texts, I noticed even more waiting to be read. The vast majority I realised were from Alice and the others who had most likely gotten my number from Clark. I also noticed I had apparently been added to a group chat with everyone, which explained the continuous onslaught of new messages I was still receiving.

  Deciding to look into it later, I scrolled through my phone to look at the remaining texts, the last of which were from Helen, asking the same questions Sam had just asked. Why I was ignoring her and if I was alright. For some reason, the thought of Helen brought another onrush of memories from the previous night. Primarily the make-out session I partook in with Alice. At least who I thought was Alice; the memories were still a bit blurry.

  When it came to such a kiss, I wasn’t sure how I felt. On the one hand, I had my first kiss, and it was absolutely amazing, even if I can’t remember it all that well. On the other hand, I felt a weird sense of guilt towards Helen. I knew such guilt was moronic as it wasn’t as if we were together. Hell, it would have been a push to even call us friends with how little we had hung out. Yet after the few times we had talked during the week, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she had liked me too.

  ‘Not like it matters anymore.’ I thought with a sigh.

  “Well!” Sam suddenly said, breaking me out of my spiralling train of thought, his voice impatient and angry. “Why have you been avoiding me? What is up with you?”

  I didn’t know what to say. In truth, I knew my avoidance of Sam wasn’t only due to his reaction to the fight between Mathew and myself, though that did play a part in it. The truth was I just couldn’t stand any more looks of pity or sadness from him while I felt I could lose control at any moment. Something I knew I would have received from Sam by the truckload if I had messaged him back and met up. However, not wanting to tell Sam such a thing, especially not with how shitty I currently felt, I lied.

  “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just been busy these past couple of days.” The stare I received back told me how little he bought that lie.

  “Busy? Really? Busy doing what, exactly? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you’ve only just woken up.” As he spoke, he leaned forward, staring into my eyes with his own that were alight with anger. At least he did before his brows suddenly scrunched up, and he quickly pulled away.

  “Why in the hell do you smell of alcohol? Have you been drinking?”

  Not liking the accusatory tone of his voice, I found myself getting defensive. “What, are you trying to interrogate me or something? Fucking relax. I just went out last night with some friends and we went to a club.”

  “Friends!?” He said, even more shocked than he was at the mention of alcohol. “What friends? The amount of friends you have could be counted on one hand. Scratch that, one finger. Me!”

  “Yeah well, not anymore. I met this bloke called Clark a couple of days ago and we got along well, so we and his mates hung out yesterday.”

  At the mention of Clark, Sam got oddly silent. Looking down to the floor with his left index finger and thumb resting against his chin, only looking back up a couple of seconds later with eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Clark Daymond?” He shouted in question. “Tell me, for the love of god, you didn’t hang out with Clark Daymond and his crew. Even you’re not that stupid Adam!”

  Completely lost at what he was talking about and annoyed with the way he was talking to me, I replied in a clipped manner. “ What the fuck are you going on about.”

  “What did he look like? Did he have piercings? Long, shaggy brown hair?” He demanded as he stalked closer, closing the last small bit of distance between us and making me wince at the volume of his voice.

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.” The moment I finished speaking, Sam barged past me into the house, spewing a stream of curse words, each more inventive than the last. In response, I just stood there, mouth agape. In the whole time I had known Sam, I had only ever heard him swear a handful of times. Yet here he was now, swearing like a drunken sailor.

  “Bro, what the fuck is going on? You alright?”

  He instantly spun around to face me. “How have you not heard about Clark Daymond and his gang? Everybody in school knows about those psychos.”

  I looked him in the eyes, deadpanned, “As you so eloquently put it a second ago. My list of friends isn’t the longest now, is it?”

  Sam grabbed me by the shoulders, “This isn’t a joke Adam. Clark got expelled from Hills Cross just last year for stealing computers. I also heard that one of the guys he hangs around with got expelled for beating the shit out of one of the teachers during class just out of the blue while another got caught selling drugs to the other students. They’re bad news Adam.”

  I knew when he said what he did, he was trying to warn me, to look out for me, that there was no accusation or intent to hurt me. Yet when I saw the look of disgust he showed when talking about Clark and the others because of what they had done, especially regarding the one who beat the shit out of that teacher, in my mind he was no longer talking about Clark and the others anymore. Instead, he was talking about me, and so I lashed out.

  “So what! Just because they got expelled means they’re pieces of shit? Is that what you're saying!” I shouted, my body animated as I threw my arms to the side.

  Sam froze for a moment before he looked at me calmly. “That's not what I’m saying at all Adam, and you know it.” His voice was a low, soothing whisper as he placed his hand upon the top of my shoulder. Something that did little more than infuriate me further.

  “Yes it fucking is! All you’ve done since coming here has been to accuse me and talk shit about my new friends. You don’t fucking know them so why don’t you keep your mouth fucking shut for once in your life!” I screamed, throwing his hand off my shoulder and staggering forward towards him, jabbing my finger into his chest, hard enough to cause him to stumble backwards a few steps.

  It only took a couple of seconds for Sam to process what I had said before his peaceful and placating expression transformed into one of anger to match my own. “I came here because I heard that you got expelled and I was worried about you! But I guess that was my bloody mistake. It seems you're doing just fine hanging around your new druggie friends.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “At least they think of me as a friend! Not just a fucking minion they can use to show off how much better they are!”

  The moment the words left my lips, I was just as surprised as Sam at what I had just said, having had no intention to reveal such a deep-seated insecurity. A thought that had constantly plagued my mind on numerous occasions, whenever my self-esteem was at an all-time low and my envy at an all-time high. The idea that Sam was using me as a way to show off by comparison, both his wealth and good looks.

  “What the hell are you on about?”

  Blinded by rage and having already said such a thing out loud, I stupidly decided to continue, finally releasing one of my hidden fears that I had kept locked up. “You don’t think I know that you only hang around with me as a way to show off? To showcase to everyone how rich and well off you are in comparison to me, the fucking school pauper? Well I’m fucking sick of it!” By the time I finished, my breathing was ragged, my heart beat elevated as it beat wildly in my chest. My burning gaze locked onto Sam.

  The room was dead silent; the only noise that could be heard was me gasping for breath from my long tirade. Sam stared at me, his face no longer marred in anger, instead blank and impassive while his lips pressed in a thin line. Just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, Sam spoke, his voice just like his face, possessing zero emotion. “You know what, fuck you. Do whatever the fuck you want, I dont care anymore.”

  And with that, he abruptly turned around and headed towards the door, opening it and leaving before I could even say a word, not making even a squeak as he did so besides the heavy slam of the door as he closed it behind him. Displaying just how pissed off he was from what I had said.

  I stood there in silence, staring at the now-closed wooden door, a myriad of emotions still raging inside me that I didn’t know how to handle. I was angry, frustrated, sad, regretful and many more, anything but happy. I knew what I said wasn’t the truth. That such a thought was simply in my head. A nonsensical fear I had developed from my years of low self-esteem and from comparing myself to Sam at every chance I got. I had known Sam all my life and we had always been close, it was moronic and completely nonsensical to assume he did that just as a way to boost himself.

  Yet even still, that didn’t make the thought go away, with it always being present in the back of my mind, a little voice niggling away at my self esteem. How I wasn’t worthy to be his friend, that I was a loser, a failure. Making me question why someone like Sam, someone who had it all, even wanted to be my friend. And so I had finally released it, no longer keeping it bottled up inside me for it to eat me alive.

  Letting out a long sigh to try and calm my nerves I slumped haphazardly onto the sofa, staring up at the cracks that littered the smoke stained ceiling with a blank look in my eyes, wanting nothing more than to take a few more moments to just relax. Once I did, a difficult task when you felt one lurch away from throwing up and had a head like a beating drum, I pulled out my phone, remembering the group chat I had recently been added to.

  The moment I clicked on the chat a wall of messages instantly appeared, dating back from as early as ten am when I had first been added. Before I could even start reading the backlog of messages I was instantly bombarded with even more from the others as they saw that I had finally entered the chat. Seeing the sea of friendly messages filled me with a sense of warmth that, at the moment, I sorely needed.

  I spent the next hour texting them as I laid there on the sofa, mainly joking about the night prior, most of which I could barely remember. To my surprise, they asked if I wanted to come hang out with them again tonight. Something I immediately declined, feeling as if a single drink would have me spewing my guts onto the floor. Instead, I messaged them that I would be down to hang out tomorrow before deciding I needed to get some more sleep, feeling better than I did when I woke up but still god awful. Something, which to my annoyance, they all mocked me relentlessly for. And so I trudged my way back to my bed before wrapping myself into a cocoon of ratty blankets and immediately passing out once again, clearly desperate for more rest.

  I next awoke to the slowly dwindling sound of a loud bang. As I opened my eyes in confusion, I noticed the light that had once poured through my window had been replaced by the dimmed rays of the moon as it began to emerge from the horizon. The room now cascaded in almost complete darkness. When I looked around, taking in my surroundings, marvelling at how much better I felt, I wondered what had woken me up. It was at that point that the loud noise from before began again, though this time, I was able to tell what it was. The sound of someone knocking from the other side of my door.

  Still groggy from my rest, I was unsure what to do. I obviously already knew who it was. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready for another talk with my dad, especially after the fight I had just had with Sam. Unfortunately, for me, it seemed the choice wasn’t mine to make as after he stopped knocking, the door immediately began to open, my father’s head peeking through the gap as he did so. Seeing that I was there, he quickly entered the room before closing the door behind him, saying nothing the entire time until just as the silence was beginning to become uncomfortable.

  “I wasn’t sure you were here.” He whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.

  “I was having a nap.” I curtly replied, to which I only received a grunt in acknowledgement before the awkward silence came back once more.

  “Did you need anything?” I asked, wanting him to just go away.

  My father just continued to stare at me, something which never failed to make me as nervous as a box of crickets. “Where were you last night?” He finally said

  “I just hung out with a few mates.”

  “Did you drink when you were with these mates of yours?”

  “Maybe. Yeah, I had a few drinks, so what?” I spluttered in reply, feeling agitated with what seemed to be my second interrogation of the day.

  “And how did you afford these drinks?” He asked calmly. Just as I opened my mouth to respond, he continued, “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the missing fifty dollars from the savings box now would it?” and with that my mouth closed.

  Seeing the guilty look I was no doubt portraying, my father’s face became consumed in anger, and any hint of calmness that was once there completely disappeared. “What the hell is going on with you! The fighting, the stealing, the drinking! This isn’t like you Adam, you're a good kid.”

  “And how in the hell would you know what kind of kid I am!” I shouted back. “ Like I said before, you don’t know me. Not my interests, my hobbies, my grades. You're my Dad and you know less about me than my fucking teachers do.” I stood up from my bed, working myself into an anger to match my father’s own.

  Instead of backing down like last time, and as I expected, Dad fought back, his anger not deflating in the slightest. “What? So this is your way of rebelling? To steal money, money we need to buy food and in case of emergencies? And for what? Throw it away on booze and alcohol?”

  To that, I had nothing to say. In truth, I was truly ashamed of what I had done. I had never stolen money from my Dad before, or at least nothing more than a couple of dollars at the most. I knew deep down how hard he worked for that money and how little of it we had. Certainly not enough to waste on frivolities such as expensive drinks and alcohol.

  My dad leaned in closer, placing his firm, strong hands on my shoulders, his weight pressing down on me as he got to my eye level, his voice, back to the low, quiet tone it was before. “Adam, please. This is your life. Stop throwing away your future by messing around and getting in trouble.” He spoke, his tone almost pleading in nature.

  Unfortunately for him, his constant reminders of the future, or more specifically, my future, had the opposite effect he most likely wished for. All it did was remind me of my reality. How I had no future to look forward to. Something that I had still not come to proper terms with.

  “The future, the future, the future.” I started to mutter angrily, throwing my father’s hands off my shoulders. “That's all you go on about is the fucking future!” my voice rose from a mutter to a shout. “What about now! Why are you so obsessed with the bloody future?”

  “Because compared to the possible future you can have, the now isn't important! Why can’t you understand that?” My father responded in frustration. “I mean, did you even bother looking at schools yesterday like I asked? Or were you too busy getting fucking drunk to do even that.”

  “What's even the point?” I replied while pacing around my bedroom in frustration. “My grades suck! It's not like I would have even been able to get into a college anyway.”

  “The point is for you to get away from this place! To have a great career, to be able to travel the world, have a beautiful house, anything you could want. Why can’t you fucking understand that? If you just put in some hard work now and stop acting like a petulant fucking child you can have that kind of future.

  My frustrations started to mount as it became clear we were never going to see eye to eye. Our viewpoints were just too different. And so, just like with Sam, in my frustration and anger, I let loose the secret I had been keeping hidden from my dad. “That might be alright for most people dad but I don’t have a fucking future! My life is over!”

  Immediately after I finished speaking, panting slightly, my Dad looked at me with furrowed brows, trying to piece together the meaning of what I had just said. Eventually, after a couple of moments and still unable to truly understand what I meant, he asked. “What the hell are you on about?”

  Still fueled by anger, and no longer seeing the need to keep it a secret any longer, I took a deep breath, my hands clenched tightly into fists. I looked into his deep, usually unfathomable eyes, seeing the worry that had started to form due to the pause I had taken, before saying, as calmly as I could, the truth.

  “I’m dying.”

  Silence. Not a peep was made by my father or myself. I just stared as I watched his eyes move erratically from side to side and as his brows furrowed even more. As he tried to come to grips with what I had said.

  “This isn’t a joke. The doctors have said that I don’t have long left. Definitely not enough to be worrying about the future.” I continued, plastering a smirk on my face in an attempt of false bravado. To hide behind and not show the fear and worry I truly felt.

  I would have liked to say that it brought no small amount of satisfaction to see the way his face slowly turned from its bright red to an almost ash grey. The way his eyes enlarged, almost comically, from shock. The way his mouth stumbled over itself every few seconds, attempting to say something but unable to get the words out. But that would be a lie.

  Eventually, he was able to get his mouth working once more. “What, what do you mean?” He asked. His voice warbled with terror, a sound that I could never have imagined coming from my father.

  “I said what I said, it's pretty straightforward.” I shrugged nonchalantly, as if we were just talking about the weather. “I’m suffering from something called chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. It’s a condition that affects my lungs, and apparently, there’s no cure.”

  It was clear my father was becoming frustrated. Whether that be to the shocking news or my purposefully relaxed attitude, I wasn’t sure. His steady breathing started to become ragged pants. I saw how his hands were screwed so tight together into fists they had turned a pale white. A manic look in his eyes that if I wasn’t his son would have petrified me.

  “Adam, please, you’re not making any sense. This is a sick joke, right? You’re just trying to fuck me around?” He all but begged.

  Seeing that he wasn’t going to believe me without any sign of proof, I took out the pill bottle I still had in my pocket. I threw it towards him, something he wasn’t expecting, based on the way he stumbled and fumbled for a few moments to catch the container. Finally, with the container in a death grip in his hands, he looked down upon it. Yet something I noticed was how he showed no look of surprise at the appearance of the pills, not even bothering to read the instruction label found on the side of the container. Something that I found peculiar. He just looked at the pills with a look of horror and sadness, an image that became ingrained in my mind.

  “I saw these pills last night on the counter,” He said in a hollow whisper, answering my unasked question. “I thought they were just like ibuprofen. Something for a headache or cold or something. Shows what I know.” He chuckled without an ounce of humour, sounding almost broken.

  I had assumed in my anger that seeing my father like this, in a way I had never seen before, would have brought me some sort of sick enjoyment. Appease some of the burning rage I still felt pent up inside. It did not. All I felt was heartbreak looking at the appearance of my father so defeated and lost as well as an unfathomable amount of disgust directed at myself for what I had done, what I had caused. Unsure of what to do and not wanting to see my dad for even a moment longer looking like this, I all but ran towards the door, my heart beating wildly in my chest, my breathing rapid and short. Only stopping when I felt an iron-tight grip on my shoulder.

  “Where, where are you going?” The timidness in his voice made me want to throw up. Only making my desire to escape even stronger.

  “Away from here. Like I said, I have no future, so I’m going to go and enjoy what little life I have left.” And with that, I yanked my shoulder out from under my father’s hand, something only possible due to his loosened grip, before heading out of my bedroom and the house as a whole, ignoring his desperate, almost silent pleas for me to stay. Pleas, which did nothing more but spur me on, feeling on the verge of throwing up again. Only this time, it wasn’t due to the hangover.

  The moment I got outside, I took a deep breath, feeling the freezing winds course through my body and chilling the frantic emotions I was feeling before beginning to simply forward with no direction in mind. Just a goal to get as far away from my father as possible. I didn’t know what to feel. On the one hand, I felt free, just like I had after having spoken with Sam. One more secret no longer chained down inside me. On the other hand, I felt disgusted with myself in a way that put all other times to shame. I knew there was a better way to say what I did, a calmer, softer way in which I didn’t use it as a weapon with the sole intention of hurting my father.

  Letting out a long sigh and not wanting to think about it for even a second longer, I pulled out my phone. Instantly I brought up the recently joined group chat, asking where they currently were, remembering how they mentioned they were going out again tonight and wanting nothing more to forget about everything and get lost in a sea of alcohol. And so, once they gave me directions, off I went into the night.