Eric

I’d acted like it didn’t matter. Like losing Hope was no big deal.

But inside, I shrivelled.

And then felt like an asshole, because the real reason I didn’t want her to go was because it meant I’d have to find money somewhere else.

I told her it was for food. She believed me because she wanted to.

I wished it were the truth. I fooled myself into believing that I went to see her because I missed her, but the reality was I needed my next high and Hope would give me the money to make it happen.

I didn’t blame her for leaving, though. She was smart to get out of this shithole. I should have gone when I had the chance, now it was too late. Hockey, my ticket out of Lumsville, was done. I’d sold my equipment months ago, using meth to burn away the hurt.

I couldn’t think about hockey anymore without thinking about him. The two were intertwined. I swear, I could even smell him on my gear. He’d infested it.

I wanted to kill the germs he’d planted in me, but I didn’t know how. They grew like dark, twisting vines, coiling through my insides. Suffocating me from the inside out.

“Fuck,” I mumbled. The meth was messing with my mind. I was starting to think like a fucking poet too. Spewing mental diarrhea, just like my sister.