I hate my life, but why? It seems dumb to hate something without any reasons. I decide to make a mental list.
1. I have no friends.
2. My dad is an abuser.
3. My best friend is dead.
4. My mom is most likely in danger and she doesn`t care.
5. I`ll never become somebody worthy of attention.
That`s enough, I tell myself. I am pathetic, my life is nothing more but a sour joke. I still can`t decide if I`m tired of living, or tired of having no purpose to live. Either way, the world would be better off without me. I`d be better off without the world.
.......................................
We pull up into the driveway of my grandmother`s old, brown house, and she says,
"You can call your mom when you get inside."
"Okay," I say, a little too sharply. She turns the car off, and I get out and immediately go inside.
3 rings. No answer.
5 rings. No answer.
7 rings. Voicemail.
"Mom call me back when you get this." I hang up. Why would she not pick up? Why didn`t she answer? What could sh-
"She`s probably busy with work," my grandmother says, then adds, "Said she had a lot to do."
"Yeah... Right, right. Work." I say, unsure if that is even the case.
.....................................
That was a long weekend. I couldn`t even process anything that had happened in the last five days, everything is a blurred thought. This car ride back home doesn`t make it better, it only swirls the thoughts in my mind, like a tornado.
"When you get back home, you`ll see that your mother is just fine." my grandmother says.
A short, cold laugh escapes my throat, "And if she isn`t?" I say, glaring at her. She sighs, long and hard.
"Your attitude is negative all the time, focus on the positives." Positives? What positives? Is what I want to say. If she`s dead, you might get something out of it? Is what I don`t say.
"Yeah, if I had any," is what I do say. We`re driving down my street, and we`re about to pull up into the driveway, when I see that the front door is wide open.