Page 262 of Fragments
Oh, hey… Would you look at that.
I hate myself again.
Funny how easy it is to slip back into your default of sucking at life when you’ve lost your reason to live.
I’ve been in California for weeks.Weeks, all by my lonesome, with nowhere to go and no goddamn money. Not a single reputable skill to help get me by outside of prison…
Well, maybeone.
I don’t want to think about it.
Every second I spend conscious, I’m considering ending it all.
This urge isn’t just for pain anymore… The fresh new scars on my skin have given me that. I need something more permanent.
Maybe drugs… They’d be easy enough to find.
Or maybe I could throw myself off an overpass into oncoming traffic.
But it’s still too uncertain. In this day and age, people are desperate to help you. With any of those attempts, I could wind up in the hospital with terminal brain damage, and I can’t have that.
I don’t want anyone to save me this time. I want to let go,for good.
I need a gun, so I can blow my goddamn brains out and leave this miserable existence behind.
Honestly, Itriedto go the good route, I really did. I went into a few tattoo shops inquiring about jobs. But my guess is, because I have no employment history, no identification, and I look like a former model blacklisted for being too strung out, they all opted for the lie,“We’ll give you a call if anything opens up.”
Cool, yea. I won’t hold my breath.
California is more expensive than New York, and a lot more aggressively indifferent to its homeless, which I didn’t think was possible. I mean, technically, Idohave a home. My stolen ninety-four Caprice Classic. It’s got a roomy backseat, thank God for that. But after close-call number fifteen last week, breaking into people’s houses to take showers and eat is no longer a sustainable way of living.
I’m broke. Out of options. And worst of all, I’ve been at Sycamore Cove every damn day waiting for Lex to show up, and he hasn’t.
The voice is my head is too loud for even the strongest denier of reality like myself to overcome…
He’s dead.
Lexington Deon isdead, because of you.
The love of my life slipped from my grip, and now, even if I had a goddamn choice, it wouldn’t be one. I’m going to fucking kill myself, because I don’t want to live anymore.
Not without him…
He was the only thing keeping me breathing in the first place.
I’m skulking around underneath the overpass, because I’m starving and exhausted, and I need some fucking money… Either to buy myself food, or a gun.
We’ll see which one wins out with cash in hand.
I’ve watched plenty of young kids mulling about down here recently, getting into cars with strangers who drive away, only to return ten minutes later and drop them back off. So I think this will be a good place for me to do what I do best…
Because what does it matter when I’m all alone again, right?
I only have to stand here for five minutes before a car pulls up, and the window rolls down.
“Need a lift?” an older, heavyset guy asks me, smirking.
I cringe, glancing over his rumpled shirt and the cruddy state of his Honda Minivan with kids’ lacrosse equipment in the backseat.
