When my dad comes back, I'm high on Xanax. I've gotten good at hiding it though. I have to be, seeing as I'm high during most of the school day. It makes it bearable. But it seems a few things have reached my dad's ears. Not about the overdose, though he probably wouldn't care less if he'd heard about that. He'd only be mad that he had illegal substances in his house.
"When were you going to tell me you're failing two classes?" He asks, voice aggressive and demanding. "Failing history is bad enough! Now English too? Are you trying to be a disappointment?"
I don't answer. Answering never really works. Of course, silence doesn't either.
"So you've nothing to say for yourself? You're my son! You should at least have something behind that thick skull of yours! Or do you want to be a useless failure the rest of your life? I spend years of my life raising you and now you just fail. Why don't you just try harder?"
He didn't spend years raising me. He spent years working while I was slowly dying inside.
"I'm trying," I whisper. Too quiet. My voice is too weak. Not the voice of a real man like he was supposed to raise me. He continues his shouting.
"Not hard enough! When I was your age I was getting straight A's! You know why? Because I wanted to do something with my life! I didn't want to be a worthless failure!"
"I don't either. I've... been going through a lot," I let the confession slip through my lips. A mistake.
"You're a child! What can you be going through other than puberty? Whatever your problems are its just you being a dramatic teenager! It'll all be fixed! What won't be fixed is your grades. If you think you have problems you aren't ready for the real world! Everything you say is a stupid excuse, just like you're just an excuse of a human!"
I'm holding back tears. Tears a real man can't shed. That a real man has to hold in. Tears representing the emotions real men shouldn't have.
"Maya broke up with me," I say before I can think better. He looks bewildered.
"So this is all about a girl? Oh my god, teenagers are such crazy romantics! Useless! Forget the damn girl! You need to man up and think about your future, not some girl! All girls are just trouble, like that bitchy mother of yours who left us! If I see another bad grade then I don't even know what I'll do! Fix this! Now out of my sight!"
I quickly scurry away, not looking back at him. I go to my room and lock the door. My breathing is heavy as I shakily grab some Valium and down it. My breathing stabilizes as my head clouds. I feel numb. Not good. Not anymore. Just numb. Nothing is working.
Tomorrow we have another history test. But I don't want to study. Chances are I'd still fail. I'm just a worthless failure. Instead, I text Logan. After some drunk talk at a party a while ago, I found out he cheats on most tests. This time is no different. He has an answer key for tomorrow's test. It's just one test. One test to save myself from my father's wrath.
Just one test, like how it was just one hit then just one pill.
Logan agrees to give his key. The next day he slips me a copy of the answer key. When the test arrives, it's so surprisingly easy. The teacher doesn't catch me. I get every question right. He looks surprised when I turn it in, but let's me go without a word.
Next period is math with Ms. Renyolds. She's only been looking at me more and more over the past few weeks. Like I'm some sort of enigma. Around halfway through the class, she tells me to come outside.
"Adam... I've noticed you look different the past few weeks," she says gingerly, as if I'm some bomb that could explode if she says something wrong.
"I'm fine," I lie right through my teeth. Lying comes naturally now. I lie all the time.
"Are you sure?" She asks. I nod. She pauses, then begins a story. "When I was your age, I wasn't doing too good. I was depressed. My father had left me and my mother we had to juggle a million jobs each to make ends meet. Other students bullied me. My teachers never cared or help. That's why I became a teacher. To help students going through hard times."
"So please, tell me if there's something wrong," her voice is pleading.
"I'm fine," I reply. I don't let my facade fall. Because I am fine. I am fine I am fine I am fine. I go back into the classroom and sit at my seat. I'll be fine.