i know i suck at showing my gratitude, every therapist i’ve visited has highlighted that. it’s almost as if i’ve disassociated myself from feelings, or whatever psychological term you wish to use for it. i’m fucked, okay, that’s not a huge secret. i’m thankful for you though, you’ve been there all my life — well most of it. that’s why i’m writing this letter, i want to finally tell someone the truth about the two years i went away. it’s strange, i’ve been home for eight years and never muttered a single word about two. i guess i should start from the beginning, it’d probably make more sense that way.
i arrived at my uncles in late may, school was just getting out so they agreed to allow me to do a sort of homeschooling program that year. what’s the point in attending school for only a week? anyways, school’s boring. across the street from my uncle there was this girl, she was beautiful i tell ya. she had long golden locks, pretty blue eyes, and a smile that could captivate anyone in sight. she looked as if she could be a model, actually i think she just might be now. god, she looked like an angel but was satan in flesh. mallory, the girl who was certain to ruin my life.
we began hanging out occasionally during the summer, my uncle and her father being good friends and often having poker nights. we’d hang out in her room while our guardians and their friends gathered to shoot the shit over cards. twenty-one pilots always played in her room, she swore one day josh was going to fall in love with her, who wouldn’t though? she radiated life but somehow brought death to anything she touched, and oh god did she touch me.
over the summer she’d dragged me to shows of bands i’ve never heard. she began introducing me to people and things, some good and others bad. i made a lot of friends through her, for the first time in my life i’d felt like i’d belonged somewhere. i wasn’t an outcast here, and people seemed to like me. i’m not sure if i genuinely liked myself, but they did, i guess that was enough for me.
one night after a show things got weird though. i’m not really sure how to explain this, or if i even can, so bear with me please. we’d all been hanging out in an abandoned field after the show, when mallory grabbed out a small ziplock pouch filled with a white powdery substance. i’d been aware of what it was, but i’d never come in contact with it myself. it got stranger though, i know as if a teenage girl with drugs isn’t strange enough. all of the boys in the group proceeded to drop their pants and beat their meat. now, keep in mind, i was a virgin at this point so i was confused as to what the heck was going on, but mallory insisted i do the same and fuck — i didn’t want to be the outcast again. so i did it, and once we were all hard she put a line of coke on our dicks and proceeded to go around the circle snorting it off and topping it with a blowjob. i’m not exactly sure how i felt about the whole situation, but god does she have the lips of an angel, perhaps that’s what hinder was singing about. two months into my trip and i was already half a virgin, that’s more than i’d accomplished sixteen years in amber, however summer was coming to an end and i was about to have to face school again.
i had the typical first day jitters, can you blame me? my last school experience was traumatizing. mallory seemed to notice though, and offered me a small white tablet to “take off the edge.” i’d been uncertain as to what it was, or what it even did for the matter, but i swallowed the pill without question. it had the opposite effect though, my teacher’s head had been replaced with a fucking frog — that wasn’t fully the drugs, i noticed the next day while sober he kind of looks like one, but he was a full out beady, red eyed mother fucking frog that day. i swear, he licked his lips once and i thought his tongue was darting out at me. i jumped and hid under my desk, like way to go declan, you’re really fitting in here. i survived my first day though without getting acquainted with the trash can though, so i guess i did something right.
i sat outside with mallory and her friends, most of them with at least one piercing and shitty, illegal tattoo. they all had fries because they claimed the rest of the school food was horse meat, it definitely wasn’t beef, but horse meat? i think it was just my messed up eight grade science project. none of them seemed to eat much, but after the meal one of the girls pulled out a bag with colorful tablets. everyone passed the bag around, closing their eyes and picking one, plopping it in their mouth without even glancing at it. when it’d been my turn i decided to up it, taking two at random. everyone cheered me on, but god i felt nauseous all night — i feel nauseous just thinking about it now. i wish i could say that was a one time thing, but it was only the beginning of the chaos that was mallory knight.
a couple months had passed, not much had happened, not that i can remember at least. i’d woken up in places i didn’t know existed, sometimes with people i hadn’t known as well. i’d started coming home later, sometimes not at all. the time i’d spent with mallory increased, ditching classes, secret sleepovers, breaking into the movies. she began to consume me, i was held captive by her lips against mine as our tongues danced, transferring the pill from her mouth to mine. god, how she simultaneously built me up and destroyed every piece of me.
it’d been about six months at this point. i’d popped a lot of pills and vodka burned the back of my throat, but i’d never tried anything stronger. that was until mallory knocked on my window one evening. she’d been carrying a small ziplock with coke, similar to the one from the night in the field. she’d rolled up a twenty and then passed it to me, god my first time snorting coke and it wasn’t even with a fucking hundred. like really? that’s probably my biggest regret in life. god, i’d go back and tell her nah, not unless it’s a hundred. but i’m getting sidetracked. basically that night she’d introduced me to pixie sticks of heaven, and kissed me in places i’d never been touched. we got tangled in the sheets and did things i swore i’d never speak of, and i hadn’t until now.
as the months passed things began to change, for me at least. i began rapidly dropping weight, my uncle thought it was because i was going to the gym, that’s what i told him and everyone else at least. this is the first time i’m ever telling the truth, i’m not certain how i feel about it. the truth is i’d never set foot in a gym, i spent most of my afternoons hanging out under the bridge with a couple of friends. we’d get intoxicated off whatever we had that day. alcohol, heroin, cocaine, pills, you name it. whatever we could get our hands on we’d indulge in and speak of how much we hate everything around us. i don’t think we truly hated the surrounding world, i think we were just inflicting our self hatred on others.
my relationship with mallory grew, if you want to call it that. she wasn’t one to be committed to anything, and i wasn’t too eager to tame the beast. i loved the sense of freedom she presented and the way her fingers traced down my spine. it hadn’t mattered whose bed i was in two hours ago or what guy she’d made out with under the bleachers, at three am she’d be knocking on my window and we’d do the unspeakable until the sun peeked through my blinds. there was no denying the adrenaline rush i’d got in her presence, but i know i was not the only one.
it’d now been a year into my time in la, i think this was when shit really hit the roof. mallory had found out she was pregnant, and was certain it was mine. we’d been so careless, something the “old” declan never would have done. i panicked, you know. i wanted to call you every day and ask you what to do, but i couldn’t move my fingers to dial the number. i was about to be a dad at seventeen, hell i couldn’t even do my own laundry at that time. i didn’t know what to do, and honestly neither did she. i knew i had to take responsibility, but before the opportunity was present she’d miscarried the baby.
that fucked with a bit, you know? i’m aware i wasn’t ready, but just knowing that this baby had lost a life it hadn’t even got to live, that really messed with me. it got worse when her friend later revealed she hadn’t actually miscarried but aborted the baby. i was enraged. my hand is shaking just writing this letter. she didn’t even give me the choice or the chance to be a father. sure, i’d be scared shitless and absolutely clueless, but she hadn’t even asked.
i felt like i’d lost everything that day. i’d been robbed the chance of actually being a father, the first person i knew and my closest friend here suddenly felt like a stranger, and for the first time i was forced to look in the mirror at myself. the pale skin and black bags hardly matched the person i once knew. the flabby skin from pounds shed rapidly disgusted me. i smashed the mirror, blood dripping into the bathroom sink as tears filled my eyes. i spent hours picking out splinters of glass and if you ever question the curse, don’t — i think my seven years just ended.
needless to say my final year only got darker from that moment forward. i’d disassociated myself from mallory, samantha fields taking her place under my arm. i hadn’t really felt much for her, and that was evident when she busted me sucking off her brother austin in the closet. austin and i dated for a bit after, but it wasn’t really going anywhere so we decided to just go our separate ways. we still had our nights though, mostly after our bloodstream consisted of three-fourths alcohol. it was strange you know, feeling nothing but their skin against yours. that’s all i ever felt, skin. i never felt any sort of connection or spark you often see written about or portrayed. it seemed as if it was borderline necrophilia, i was basically just dead inside. i think i still am.
everyone’s aware i’ve changed since my return, but i’ve never told anyone why. it was mostly a blur of drunken nights, some i can’t remember and others i’d rather forget. i think if i could redo it all, i would. i wish more than anything i’d never went to california, i’d never got into that fight, and i’d never became who i am today? am i even a who? i have a pulse, but does that really make me human? i don’t feel like i am. i haven’t in awhile.
this is getting long, i’m sorry i’ve written so much. i think i just wasted my time because re-reading this i can’t find the strength to send it. it was nice letting it out of my head though, maybe i’ll put in an envelope and tuck it under my bed to give the illusion of sending it. i think doctor phil or one of those self proclaimed life savers spoke of it once. i’m not sure, i can’t keep up with television, i’m still on season one of full house and that came out over ten years ago. it was nice though, saying all of this...well kind of. kieran, if you ever do by chance find this, know i am so grateful of you for always accepting me as i am, even as this messy, piece of trash the world now knows me as. you’ve never once tried to change me and i love you for that.
i’m sorry i didn’t keep in contact, i’m sorry i didn’t call, i’m sorry i never apologized, and i’m sorry i still probably won’t. i can’t, i can’t bring myself to admit i’ve done such shitty things to people who don’t deserve it. you’ve never done anything to deserve the way i walked away, and i don’t deserve you welcoming me back with open arms. you’re too good of a friend to me, you always have been. i wish i was better at showing gratitude, like i used to be. i wish i could say all of this out loud and didn’t need ten sheets of paper to do so. would you even be able to read my handwriting right now? probably not, it looks as if i never passed the third grade. my point is — i’m sorry. i’ve been so deep in my self pity i tend to forget to appreciate the things right in front of me. i’m sorry i didn’t call, i should have, i just couldn’t have you hear me like that. that wasn’t me, this still isn’t me, but someday i’ll be myself again.
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