A/N: Omg! Yeah, I'm not dead. I guess this didn't take as long, but it usually takes about a month for me to find one night in which: 1) I don't have homework to do; 2) I'm not too tired; 3) I feel like writing; and 4) I do a decent job at writing. So I found my night! How exciting, eh.
I've yet to decide how many chapters this will end up being. I'm thinking not too many more. Altogether there probably won't be more than 15. So um, woo.
Just to let anyone who cares know, besides the first paragraph's information above, this fic is often delayed because I have several ideas floating around in my head, including 2 new multi-chaptereds. And I'm working on not failing school. So there you go. Enjoy el chapter.
I'm not really in the mood for that philosophical, what-does-it-all-mean bullshit. People think it's such a shame, to think in black and white, but at least you don't get caught in some unclear fucking gray area, where people sit around makes theories about shit. I don't think I could live with someone constantly telling me everything I think could possibly true, but might not be. How does anyone live like that? It's like you're living a half-truth. I don't go for that shit. There's truth or there's lies, and you deny it or you accept it, but don't make things out like they're questions that can't be answered.
Christ, I hate this. Thinking so deeply about this grander scheme' bull. And every time I try to justify myself, I just end up with another effing statement about what I started with. It doesn't make any sense. All I want to do is do what I used to do. Hang out with my friends or stay at home and watch TV. Everything was a lot simpler back before God decided he hates my effing guts.
I lay down on my couch with a blank frown permanently etched on my face, supporting my head with my arm. It was the couch where Sean had slept the entire week. He'd only been at my house for eight days, yet without him, everything went back to being peaceful. It wasn't that kind of silence that made my head hurt. Or maybe it would've been peaceful, if I hadn't felt like shit. Feeling like shit made the silence seem empty. Like after your pet dog dies, or something. You're so used to hearing him scampering all around the house or barking like hell, and then one day, it's all gone. You knew the day would come, and even if you're okay with his absence, it's still like... you miss the noise, and the chaos. It kept shit interesting.
I fell asleep, sprawled across the small musty couch, almost forgetting that the next school day meant school.
Without music blasting into my eardrums at 7:30 AM, I didn't wake up until 9:30. Pretty good, actually, considering I still felt like shit, both mentally and physically, when I picked myself up out of the dent I'd made and went through my to find acceptable breakfast food. Rice Krispies were all I had left, so I dealt with the blandness and got dressed soon after. I probably didn't go all-out like usual with the gangsta wear, and looking back on it, that was probably one of the stupider things I did that morning. It got much stupider, though.
I pulled into Degrassi's student parking lot around ten. Grudgingly, I walked up the steps, as slowly as possible. Maybe I was thinking if I walked slow enough, I wouldn't have to go to school. Then again, it's not like I had to drag myself to this hellhole. I admitted defeat halfway up and walked normally. The hallways were empty in front of me, but Miss Secretary Bitch was sitting there with her usual bitchy glare.
I'm impressed, she said, smiling with the glare and a smirk. You almost made it for the third class of the day. She sighed, grabbing a yellow slip of paper from the corner of her desk and turning back to me. I avoided her glare, rolling my eyes in defiance.
My alarm didn't go off, I said monotonously, lifelessly.
she said slowly, jotting it down with her little Bic pen. She didn't believe me, but I didn't expect her to. This was me, after all. Surely I was out robbing old ladies and jacking people's cars all morning. Because I was such a fucking welfare case, that I just had to steal people's shit every day of my life. Or I was just bored, so I thought to myself, I need some fucking excitement, I think I'll go steal that person's radio. People don't know the first fucking thing about me.
I grabbed the yellow note from her grubby fingers and walked far enough down the hall before shredding it up, piece by piece, dropping each one on the clean hallway floor, and heading towards the boys' bathroom. I wasn't worried about teachers finding me--not many teachers gave a fuck about me anymore--but I wasn't looking to stumble upon Alex and some retard with their tongues down each other's throats. Instead, I threw upon the door to the boys' bathroom to see the queer lovers flirting--Michalchuk leaning against a bathroom stall with his hand running through the little gay one's dark hair. I couldn't see the second kid there, until the door slammed back against the wall and he twisted his body around to see who had interrupted his precious moment of gay bliss. But Homochuk just nonchalantly turned his head to me and gave me the same little smile that he'd just been giving the other kid.
The dark-haired kid mumbled something, then smiled sadly and scurried past me and out the door. I kinda had to piss, but I wasn't about to do it with the homo in the room. I just rolled my eyes at him and scoffed quietly as I walked to the sink. I glanced up for a split-second while I rolled up my sleeves, and he was still leaning against the bathroom stall door, smirking. If I hadn't been so tired, I'd have kicked his ass, wiped that stupid smirk straight off his face. Instead I just watched my hands as the water poured over them. I glanced up at him again when I got some soap. He just wouldn't effing leave.
I started thinking about how long I'd known the kid. He wasn't in any of my classes until grade five. This isn't some sob story about how we were best friends and now we're torn apart by different cliques or some shit like that; I just can't believe I used to think this kid was cool. He'd share his lunch when my mom forgot to pack me one or give me any money. Which was often. And... shit, I don't know, he'd just, talk to me, even though he had all these athletic buddies. And he played hockey and... soccer, or something, and I remember a lot of girls giggling over him and approaching our table at lunch in packs. I remember being jealous. Looking back on it, it's fucking ridiculous. Jealous because I don't have flocks of girls walking up to me just for one of them to go making them erupt into another fit of giggles. But at the time, it was the ultimate ego boost. And what the hell does he end up doing? Throws it all away so he can date some little grade ten pansy. Becomes the smug egocentric prick who was still staring at me from the same spot.
I pushed the faucet down and I stared at him in the mirror. His smirk had faded a little. I hoped he realized he was losing this game. I put my hands down on the edge of the sink, leaning my weight against it.
You know, Homochuk, I said, glaring and giving my best impression of hate, maybe the whole world doesn't want to have to see your little queer escapades. I looked back up. His smile was completely gone, but he still looked pretty proud of himself. I just put my head back down when I saw him move from his spot, but I jumped when a pair of warm hands were placed on my shoulders. If he had given me a second longer, I would've knocked him to the floor.
And maybe you should practice what you preach, Jason, he said in his familiar arrogant way, breathing against my ear. Then, the warmth was gone, and the door slammed shut.
A/N: Just so you know, I, in no way, shape, or form, agree with the things that are said about Dylan (which, I guess, so you know, is a blanket statement for all chapters that have derogatory statements about gay people--I personally feel that Jay is an ignorant asshole, so, obviously, I don't agree). This story is from Jay's POV and as we all can tell, Jay knows absolutely nothing about anything. So there you go.