Rachel Dyken: Toxic

Wes laughed out loud. “Wow, a little freaked out that your opinion of me is that high. Do I really need to make a list of all the times I’ve screwed up in life?”

“It would help,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.

A few seconds of utter and complete silence went by. I didn’t mind though. Wes and I were like that. We didn’t always have to be talking or arguing or laughing. Sometimes silence was what I needed most and he knew that about me. He knew more than anyone — even Lisa. And I had a sneaking suspicion he knew every damn part I played was an act.

“What’s really going on?”

“The weight.” I cursed. “It’s wrapped around my legs, pulling me deeper into the darkest depths of the ocean and for once, I want to let it.”

“Why?”

My head snapped up. Wes’s eyes didn’t hold judgment, just concern. “Because I deserve to sink.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, you don’t get it.” I got up and started pacing. “You know how you always felt like nobody understood? Remember when you said you’d drink shitty coffee the rest of your life if you could just live? Remember all those talks about people just walking through life without a damn clue about your pain? Your journey?”

Wes nodded.

I started to sweat. I gripped the locket harder until it had to be making an imprint onto my fingertips. “How does a person deserve life?”

“Trick question,” Wes answered softly. “We don’t.”

My phone simultaneously buzzed and sounded in my pocket, interrupting our talk. It was my mom’s ringtone — she’d called at least five times in the last hour. I knew I should probably talk to her, but it just brought up too many bad memories. And, I was officially late for class.

I stabbed at the ignore button and grimaced at Wes. “Listen, I gotta go. Can we talk later?”

Wes waved me off. “Of course, just don’t go jumping off any buildings or sleeping with the entire swim team again and we’ll be good.”

I rolled my eyes. “Later.”

“And don’t forget Taco Tuesday!” he yelled as the door slammed shut behind me.

My reflection was foreign… I didn’t even remember myself — the guy I was. I’d been living with that damn mask for so long that I’d completely lost it — all of it. Thank God. —Gabe H.

Gabe

I made my way to class. It was a bit of a trek — UW was a huge school and on any other day I probably would have ridden my Harley, but I needed the walk. I could only hope it would clear my head.

As I crossed the street, a prickling awareness wrapped itself around me. I stopped walking toward the business building and looked behind me. Nothing. Just people walking back and forth, talking, smoking, laughing — all of them in their own little worlds. I liked it that way. Really. I’d only had a few close calls over the course of the last few years, and now that I was graduating in a few months, I was almost home free.

I’d wanted to go to school — I’d needed normal more than I’d needed money, excitement, all of it. My parents hadn’t understood. Then again, they didn’t understand anything that didn’t have to do with what they wanted for my life. How could they not get that the reason I almost died and ruined my life was because they wanted me to be something I wasn’t? I laughed out loud and stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets to caress the cool metal locket. Each year I’d gone back to LA with a different tattoo. The next more offensive than the last. When I pierced my nose I think my mom about had a heart attack. Dad all but disowned me.

Pity. I would have liked to be disowned.

Lisa always warned me not to push them too far — she was afraid I might be tattled on. All it would take would be for my dad to announce my secrets to the media and I’d be done for. The secrets? My past? Front page news. The life I’d built? Changed forever.

I swallowed the fear and continued walking toward the building. Two months until school ended, and then I could start my own life, away from my family, away from the painful memories, and away from the man I used to be.

I felt better once I stepped into the old building. Homework was something I could focus on… I might look like I was part of some punk rock band, but I had straight A’s for a reason. I needed to be successful in order to get the hell out from underneath my family’s grasp. I could almost feel their hands wrapping around my neck, choking the life out of me just like before.

I jumped when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I quickly answered it and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes as my heart clattered against my chest.

I needed to get it together — fast.

“Hey!” Lisa said from the other line. “What’cha doin?”

“Going to class like a good boy. Why? Are you in trouble?”

Lisa rarely called me during the day unless she needed a ride… or food… or… Okay fine, so she called me all the time. It just felt lame that she was one of my only friends.

“Nah.” She cleared her throat. “I, um, I just thought you should hear it from me.”

“Hear it?” I repeated. “Hear what?”

“My mom called.” She paused.

“Lisa, what the hell? Just spit it out,” I growled, trying to sound annoyed, when really I was terrified of the news Lisa was going to tell me. I hated fear. It made me feel weak. And weakness was a close second on the list of things I never wanted to feel again.

“Your father… he’s…” She took a deep breath then finished in a rush. “He’s gotten into some financial trouble… nothing huge. I mean, he can’t touch your trust found, but well, my mom talked to your mom, and she’s worried he’s going to sell your story to the media for money.”

My heartbeat roared in my ears, adrenaline surged through my body as I looked wildly around me — for him, for cameras, for reporters. Shit, I was going to be sick. My hand started trembling so bad that the phone clamored against my ear. My entire body went cold. Shaking, I scanned the area again and stepped into the shadow of the building. “Sorry, Lisa. Thanks for letting me know, but I gotta go, I gotta—” I hung up and started running. I wasn’t even sure in what direction I was going. I could have hit a tree for all I cared. My legs pumped harder and harder as the cold air hit my face. I could still feel them chasing me. I could taste the blood in my mouth from biting my tongue.

“Was it an accident?” the reporter asked. “You’re over eighteen. Do you think you’ll be held responsible?” She lifted the microphone in my face and waited.

I looked around for help.

No one.

Who was I kidding? Nobody was going to help me. She was gone.

“Um, no, no comment,” I stuttered.

“Is that your answer for everything?” a male reporter fired out.

I stared into his cold black eyes and nodded. “For now it is.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I ran my hands through my hair and slowed down as I made my way back toward the dorms. What the hell could I give him to keep him from going to press? I had money but couldn’t access all of it until I was twenty-two, which wasn’t for another four months. I got a monthly stipend of five grand a month. I could take my money out of all my investments but would that solve anything? Would he ever stop? I could give him everything I had, which was roughly ten mill, and he’d probably still find a way to spend it all and come after me. It wasn’t the money. I wasn’t stupid. I was his cash cow. He was still pissed I’d walked away.

Funny. Dad hadn’t been upset that my squeaky clean image had been wrecked by drug usage, drinking, and the horror that followed. He was pissed that I’d run, that I’d given up what was, in his estimation, a gold mine.