I realized as a small animal bit me that I had fallen asleep. As I opened my eyes, the circumstances leading up to my spending the previous night in a dumpster came back to me like a hangover. I groaned quite audibly. Sure, I had decided the previous night that the score between Zane and I was even. So why did it feel like I had lost? Something told me that the bastard had slept in a very warm bed last night. Thoroughly pissed off, I roused myself from the garbage that surrounded me and climbed out of the dumpster. A moment passed. I coughed. It was entirely possible that I had caught a cold.

Stretching, I considered where I could go; what I could do. My father was probably disgusted with me now; I couldn’t go home. Tyler was the one who turned me in. I would definitely be paying him a visit in the future; there were no doubts there. But that was lower on my list of priorities. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me: Stacy! There was no way she could have betrayed me. I even saw her leaving before I lost consciousness. She was just surprised. But I look normal now.

The hospital was still visible to me from the alley I stood in.  I had been there before, once, a few years ago. I knew where it was in relation to Stacy’s apartment. About a quarter-mile away. There were…two police checkpoints between me and there. But I was no stranger to finding detours. Life in the city teaches one how to work around the little barriers. I voiced the route in my head to make sure I was getting it right.
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Looking back on it now, it almost tickles me. The things I believed, the things I didn’t, the lies I bought and the truths I dismissed. Up until recently, I would have taken any opportunity I could get my hands on to go back to the way things were. Anyone would, I think, though I have been blamed for being myopic. One piece of wisdom I’ve gained since then is having learned how quickly we toss our innocence aside. And how quickly we wish we had it back. The thing that people tend to forget about regrets, though, is how they can be undone. It can take effort, though. I’m still working on a few of mine.

Eighteen. It began, as I remember, the day I turned eighteen. The history books will not mark it as important, but there’s no way anyone could know everything about what happened to me and what I’ve done. I’d rather they didn’t, truth be told. We all have some skeletons in our closet. I had school that day. I was rather disappointed. The year before, my birthday had fallen on a weekend. Continue reading →