Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
A ticking time bomb.
CHAPTER 5
Milo
Mondays were my least favorite days of the week. Especially the Mondays after I fought with my father. Those Mondays always sucked the most.
Last night, my father called me a depressed adolescent. I called him a drunken asshole who’d abandoned me. Both comments were true, but he only focused on my failures, not his own. I knew I was depressed. That was a given. My depression had lingered for over three years since Mom got her cancer diagnosis. It started with me crying in the darkness of my closet alone at age fourteen because I didn’t want her to hear my tears. I knew that would only make her feel worse, so I hid my pain the best I could. I performed my best when I was around her and others. Everyone bought my act, too, except for Mom. She’d always notice the cracked parts of me that everyone else seemed to miss. She’d stare at me the same way birthday girl had—as if she were peering into the depths of my soul.
Most people thought depression meant lying in bed or sitting in darkness for weeks, but it wasn’t that way for me. In the beginning, I’d laugh through my depression. And once I’d become sexually active, I fucked through the pain. I built a false sense of confidence that helped me find women who helped me forget for a little while. I moved through life as if I were a normal person, but it was in the quiet parts of me where the depression thrived. I only felt a crippling sadness or a complete indifference to everyone and everything around me.
Mom had me in counseling and on medication to help with my depression until she died. I stopped all of that after she was gone. The medication made me feel better mentally. It worked wonders, and I knew it sounded messed up, but I didn’t think I deserved to feel better with her gone. I didn’t want to feel better. I didn’t want to feel anything. For the most part, I’d also wished I was six feet under. Because what was the point of life if you didn’t have your best friend anymore?
Dad and I had that same mindset. We didn’t discuss it, but I saw it enough in his drinking. He was trying not to feel, too.
I thought about the dead more than I did the living. I blamed my mother for that. My mind was a toxic landfill of negativity, and my soul swam in those poisoned thoughts daily.
I deflated into Principal Gallo’s office chair, bored with his repetitive lecture.
His office smelled like chicken wings and protein powder. Not the most pleasant scent in the world, though it seemed the new norm every time I showed up for our weekly meeting. He’d remind me how I was weeks away from needing to repeat my senior year due to my failing grades.
Failure seemed to be one of my greatest talents. Just ask my father. He made sure to point out my shortcomings consistently. It was his favorite bedtime story each night. If only he knew my ability to zone out was at an ultimate high regarding his parenting styles. Besides, lately, he entertained the whiskey bottle more than me. He was never truly a parent—Mom took on that task. And now, with her gone…
“Milo. Did you hear me?” Principal Gallo asked, snapping his fingers.
I looked up from the coffee stain on his yellow carpet, the stain I’d focused on since being summoned to his office. No cleaning product could get that shit out.
“You should’ve soaked that up,” I muttered, unamused by…everything.
He arched a bushy eyebrow. “What?”
I pointed toward the stain. “That’s never going to come out. Your carpet is fucked.”
He tensed up at my comment. I was a professional at stressing out Principal Gallo. “We’re ripping the carpeting out in two weeks. Milo, are you—”
“Are you getting hardwood floors?”
“Milo—”
“A nice oak would do you good. Maybe some more paint on the walls and—”
“Milo!” he shouted, slamming his hand against his desk. “Focus.”
Why?
I was in a hopeless situation, anyway. What did it matter if I focused or not?
“We have one of the best tutors set up for you. You’ll meet with her each day down at the library after school. She’s been tutoring students since she attended school here, and everyone she helped has passed their courses. She’s busy with college classes, but I put in a good word for you.”
“No.” I began to rise from my chair. “Thanks, anyway.”
“Milo,” he barked. “Sit back down.”
I considered telling him to piss off briefly, but Mom would’ve probably lectured me about disrespect.
Why did I care what my mom thought? She was dead. Her opinion didn’t hold weight anymore. Still, I respected it.
Principal Gallo clasped his hands together. “You’re seeing the tutor.”