Noxious

12 | bury my body

Kyle 

two days later 

I fucked up and I wasn't sure how. 

"Get out!" My Dad screamed, his face was red, "Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house. Don't ever think about coming back because I never want to see your face again and I'll call the damn cops on you." 

I stood at the front door, my empty backpack resting in my hands. 

I don't know why my arrival had triggered him. He had hurled his bottle of whiskey at the wall behind me and I knew he was intoxicated. Even drunk, and that made him very violent. 

I had been out way past dark doing business on the streets and I think he knew that. 

I think he knew I was drug dealing. 

I wasn't sure how he had figured it out, I kept everything hidden, but I did know he cared more about his public image than his own son. For a second, Charly's words resonated in my head. If only she could see how fake everything was. Sure, my dad was rich, but nothing would be more important than money. 

"Dad, please--" 

He rushed me and I felt the impact of his fist before I ever saw it coming. Stars exploded in my vision from the force of his anger. I don't know what I did to deserve this but metallic blood filled my mouth. 

I stumbled away from him, fearing a second strike. 

I shouldn't have been surprised. He would hit me from time to time but these past few weeks I had gotten used to him being nonviolent or absent from the house. He had been normal, to an extent.

 I shouldn't have let my guard down. 

"Out of my home, now!" He snarled, his eyes were bloodshot, and I knew he wouldn't want any kind of explanation from me. "You're eighteen, take care of your fucking self. I'm done dealing with you and your stupid shit." 

I wasn't eighteen for another twelve hours. 

Still, I knew there was no point in arguing. I would never win, and frankly, I had had enough of the fistfights these past few days. From Charly, to getting jumped, to brawling with stupid kids on the street, I was growing tired of the fighting. 

It might have been fun at first but as I grew more dependent on drugs to numb my body, I knew I couldn't keep living like I was. 

Everything was fucked up. 

In less than five minutes, I packed my life away into my backpack, and then I left the only place I ever knew as home. 

My dad didn't even spare me a glance.

Asshole. 

It was past midnight, the streets were dark besides faint streetlights here and there. I had no idea where to go, or what to do. How was I supposed to plan for being dumped on the streets? 

I began walking down the middle of the street with no real destination in mind. There was nobody around, not a single house light was on. I stuck my hand into my sweatshirt pocket and I dug around for my cellphone. I hoped it still had enough charge. 

There was only one person I could call. 

x

I watched the late-night traffic. 

Cars and trucks zoomed back and forth on the highway, their taillights and headlights smearing like acrylic lines through the abyss of night. I sat on the bridge with my legs dangling over the side. My backpack was slumped beside me.