CHAPTER SIX

CRAIG

MY LEG IS fucking  killing me as I hobble back to my room. I can hear them all before I even enter it. My stomach tightens. I push the unsettling feeling away.  “A welcome home committee?” I say. Ethan, always the one of reason in our group, hushes a crying Michelle. She can take her tears and shove them up her fat ass. I want everyone out of my fucking room.

“Michelle feels terrible.” I pause in my door less doorway.

“Get off my bed,” I tell Michael, who does so immediately. I lie down slowly.

“I’m really sorry, Craig.” Michelle’s voice is too close for comfort. Everyone really wants to know if I had reported it. I still hold the papaers, rolled up tightly in my hand; Pages that Virgin Mary keeps glancing at. I could put them all out of their misery but what would be the fun in that?

“I want everyone out of my room. I need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Yeah I was being a bastard.

 

Two Hours Previously

 

“Watch this,” Michael says. Ethan and I glance at each other, wondering what the fuck the dickhead is going to do now. 

“Yo Michelle.” I want to ask him, what the hell he is calling her for, but she stops walking. He looks at us, making sure we are watching, which we are. There isn’t a whole lot to do in this place.

“Yeah,” she says while coming to Michael. She smiles sweetly at Ethan, ignoring me before giving her attention to Michael. “If you can tell me which one is red, I’ll give you all your M&Ms back.”

I often make fun of her because she’s color blind, but never around others. What Michael is doing is shit. Ethan smacks both the blue M&M’s out of Michael’s hands.

“Don’t be such a bastard.” Michelle is red-faced, tears brimming in her eyes, and they spill over. She notices me looking at her and, horror fills her face, like she is waiting for me to point and laugh.

“You made him do that,” she says and runs off before I can say or do anything. One thing I don’t like is being blamed for something I didn’t do.

“Calm down.” I stand up, moving Ethan away from Michael. “It was a joke,” Michael says in his defence, looking utterly bewildered that we aren’t laughing. “He does it all the time,” he points at me.

Fucking rat.

“Not in front of everyone, and not all the time.” I say in my defence, feeling like a dick now. Ethan shakes his head. “Both of you are assholes,” he leaves. He’s been moody since seeing his mother. She wasn’t just his trigger, she was a fucking bullet.

I shove Michael hard. “What the fuck did you do that for?” I ask, lighting a cigarette.

“I was having a laugh. You and Ethan must be on the rag.” Michael’s red-faced as he sits down at the bench that I lean on. The rain starts. It’s the pissy kind of rain that gets everything soaking wet. I quickly take five drags in concession before flicking it on the ground. “Go and apologize to her,” I tell Michael while walking into the building. I don’t turn to see if he follows. I let the door go, his foot stops it from hitting his face.

“To who?”

Moron.

“Michelle, you moron,” I tell him.

“I’m not apologizing.” Michael doesn’t sound so sure.

“Why?” I stop walking and turn to him, folding my arms across my chest.

“Because,” he shrugs.

“Because why?” Michael’s a sheep in my eyes, he follows my lead or Ethan’s. So this little rebellion is new and pissing me off.

“You insult everyone, Craig. I don’t see you apologizing. So no, I’m fucking not.” He turns around and leaves the room, kicking the door open, it smacks against the wall, taking a good chunk out of it. I walk away before anyone comes to see what the commotion is about.

 

I go to my room and lie down trying to ease the pain that has erupted in my head. Fuck Michael. He’ll go and apologize to Michelle, I know he will. He better.

Sitting up, I look at my half-opened door. No one has passed since I came in and I don’t hear anyone. I flex my hands several times. My hands reach under my mattress then come back up empty. Standing up, I open my wardrobe and pull all my clothes out onto my bed, starting to refold them. My mind and focus is still on the stash under my mattress. Forcing myself to stay on task, I move quicker until all my clothing is back in the wardrobe.

No one moves up or down the hall as I step out into it. My stomach tightens, but I ignore the sensation. Going back into my room, I move to the bed and take out the shards of glass I’ve been storing. Before they cleaned up Virgin Mary’s mirror I kicked two pieces under my bed, before crushing the rest, making it look like it was all there.

I open my trousers and stand with my back to the door. If anyone comes in I will pretend I am taking a piss. I smile because anywhere else, that would make no sense, but here it makes perfect sense.

The glint of the mirror catches my eye, I find myself staring at the green-eyed boy. The one who has kicked heroin, the one who has been clean for nearly a year. The one who can never leave.

I throw my head back as warm liquid trickles down my leg. Letting out a heavy exhale, I smile at the ceiling. It’s like that first mouthful of water after a long thirst, or a cigarette after waiting nearly all day to have one. The release and joy is short-lived as pain soon burns my thigh.

“What are you doing?” I look over my shoulder at Michelle. Tears streak her face.

“Taking a piss.” I tell her and face the wall, expecting her to leave. But today is full of surprises. My body is slammed into the wall. The piece of glass falls to the ground. Before I can recover she has it and is getting up quicker then all that weight should allow. I don’t get to pull up my trousers but only jump sideways into the wall and away from the arcing piece of glass.

“What the fuck?” I manage to shout, but she completely ignores me and swipes at me again, a smile splitting her face. Mascara has streaked her face and she reminds me of something from Batman, like one of the Joker’s crazy cronies.

When she swipes lower I automatically cover my manhood, which has been dangling all this time. I hate wearing boxers; there is no feeling better than going commando. I let it go, ready to grab her the next time she swipes, but something changes with Michelle and she stops swinging. At first I think it’s my penis that has her shaking her head, but her eyes follow the trail of blood down my leg.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you.” I want to tell her she didn’t, but when God hands you a knife in the face of danger you take it, stick it in, and twist.

My hands automatically go to my leg. “Get out of my room, before I report you.”

With wide eyes and fresh tears, she takes a step back, the glass falling from her hands before she turns and runs out the door. I act quickly and pull up my trousers with a hiss as the denim scrapes the cut, before pushing the glass under my bed.