I held the white letter shakily in my hands. My heart was beating louder than ever. I actually thought my dad could hear it while hovering over my shoulder. “You gonna open it or just stare at it?” He asked, looking at me and I could tell he was just as nervous as I was. I had to get in. I had to. This was my dream school. I ripped open the top of the letter slowly and carefully, making sure not to rip it before sliding out the letter. I studied it for a bit when I read the tiny bold words I would never forget. “…you have been officially accepted to Manchester college. We hope to see you soon!” I said with my voice full of excitement. The letter dropped from my hand as I jumped up, hugging my father. He was so happy. He didn’t say it, but I could tell. He knew how much it meant to me, and I knew how much it meant to him. I guess you could say 50% of the reason why I wanted to get in so badly is because of my father. To relive what was his best memories. I have to make him proud. I have to.
I placed the picture frame of my brother, mother, father and I carefully on my dresser. God, we looked so happy. Last year around this time we were so happy. Now, I barely even see my dad. Maybe once a year on my birthday if i’m lucky or worthy enough. It’s hard to even call him my dad anymore. Ever since he hurt my mum like that I just see him as this disgusting, horrible man I used to know. He lost my trust the instant he layed a hand on my mom. I was 14 years old. I blame myself. For all the times I let him hurt her and just stood by and watched, not making a single sound. Or when I ran up to my room and curled up in a corner, crying my eyes out, praying for god to help. I was such a spineless kid, wait, I still am spineless today. Any normal person would get help, but no, I just kept quiet while my mum got almost beat to death. I just don’t get why she doesn’t despise me for that. She said I didn’t know any better. She’s right, I didn’t, but I should’ve. 3 years later, we finally decided to leave. My mum took my brother and I, filed for divorce, pressed charges, and now we’re here today. In America. New York, to be exact. With a new house, new people, new everything, but yet the same haunting memories.
I dropped down, sinking into the big leather chair while clicking on the flat-screen that hung a few feet before me. Being the most stunning and richest boy in school is so hard sometimes. Parties every weekend. Vacations 24/7. Always getting everything I want on demand. Girls everywhere. Some people call it cockiness, but I call it confidence. It’s not my fault i’m blessed with money or good looks. School is very easy for me, maybe considering my dad owns it and I have outstanding grades. People always tell me i’m perfect, and I act like I refuse to believe I am. But secretly I just say that so people tell me more that I am perfect. Call me attention seeking, I don’t care. I’ve said it once, and i’ll say it again, it’s not my fault i’m better than you.
Lately, I’ve noticed my attraction to the same sex. I never really felt comfortable labeling things like that, but, the thing is, I have a girlfriend that I love very much. I’d do anything for her. I just haven’t been feeling the lust that I used to with her. I would never, ever, even dare to tell her this. I’d break her heart. Just like i’d break my parents. Ever since I was little my mum has told me being gay was wrong, which is something I never agreed with. My father didn’t really say anything about it, just kind of nodded and went a long with what she said. I personally think there’s nothing wrong and that you love who you love. You can’t control your feelings. If you love someone then so be it. Everyone always told me “Don’t let something as little as that hold you back and ruin your life.” They never told ME this, considering no-one would really expect something like, I don’t know, being gay from the class clown. I just wish I could tell someone how I really feel, without feeling like they’re judging me by every word I say.
Running from the cops isn’t as fun as you may think. Neither is being forced to live with your single mother who hates you but won’t tell you. A few months ago, some of my pals and I decided it’d be fun to jackass around and shoot a random bottle rocket into the sky, unaware of what would happen or who we could hurt. We thought we did nothing wrong until a small house down the road went up in flames. Us, being irresponsible and scared, decided to run. We wouldn’t have got caught if the street hadn’t had any video cameras and the cops had been dumb enough not to check the tapes. I guess it’s what we deserve. We took 3 lives, all because of a stupid move. So, here I am today, living with my mum, trying to get through each day knowing that I killed 3 innocent people, who didn’t deserve to die, when we’re the actual ones who should be dead.