Most nights end like this

Saturday Day

Reese slept deeply through the day, his dreams peaceful and happy despite the eventful nature of last night. 1pm when Dewey woke him by screaming that Malcolm hit him. 'Shut up Dewey, it's early,' 'it's 1.' Dewey responded, 'Shut up or I'll punch you,' Reese said getting up and pushing Dewey out of their room. Staring at Malcom in an annoyed look, 'Hey he touched my stuff!' He justified to Reese. He slumped back onto his bed, awake and bored. Standing up he was lazily getting dressed, not bothering with his hair.

'Who is this girl?' He asked at Malcom, Malcolm sighed, 'You wouldn't know her.' 'Oh really, tell me her name,' 'You're gonna scare her off!' Malcolm insisted, 'Is it Jessica, Cynthia, Lloyd?' 'What- no Lloyd isn't even a girl,' 'Yea but he's a total sissy,' Reese laughed in a mild deflection. 'It's Lindsay Jones,' he states, glaring at Reese, 'You scored,' Malcolm raised an eyebrow, surprised that Reese didn't mock him, 'so she needs soemone to copy off,' Reese laughed, Malcolm got up, trying to push him out of the room in an annoyed huff. 'Fine I'll go, I don't want to get in the way of your girlfriend,' he mocked, walking out of the room.

He grabbed some random stuff out of his fridge, and bounced down on the couch. Nibbling at a slightly out of date chicken leftover he watched MTV. Humming along to the songs, in an attempt to distract himself from what happened. He couldn't take it, the thoughts, swelling his mind. Music drifted in and out, his attention flashing. He couldn't stop the memorise, maybe everyone was right, maybe he was as fucked up as everyone said he was, he always thought he was worth more than what they said he was worth, but maybe he wasn't.

His eyes grew watery, his throat ached with the urge to wimper. Gritting his teeth down into his cheeks, blood trickles down his mouth, filling it with a warm metallic flavour. The events of last night ring around in his head over and over. Like a Las Vegas slot machine being pulled by an addict, the images kept rolling. 'Why? Why? Why me?' A cruel joke set upon him tortured his waking minutes, causing him to lose control of his anger. He stared at his gross hands. The veins covered by dirt and glass, the fingernails bitten and bloody. The regret passed over him, a wave of guilt and shame. 'Maybe they're right about me,' he admitted to himself.

Going off to the bathroom, his food falls on the floor, future trail mix. Malcolm tells him that he's going off to Stevie's. 'Geek,' Reese yells at a leaving Malcolm. He walks intot eh bathroom.

The tap stutters out water in a desperate attempt to get an even flow. His hands sting and burn when he rubs the towel over them. Grabbing the bandages from the cabinet he wraps them. Almost out, he finishes, this should tide over the next accident for this family, the it's down to lucky aide. Looking in the mirror he got pissed off, staring at the failure, the issue, the problem. Looking at the boy who isn't good enough. Nobody likes him, how could they, he's a freak.

No longer standing it, he went off to the garage. Slamming down a beer, cracking it in the same second he downed it. He kept drinking, half the pack gone in a matter of seconds. A slight relief waved over him, satisfying him for a short while.