I woke up. Disappointed to do so. Another thing I couldn't do right. I was on my bed staring at the ceiling. My head was pounding, my mouth felt dry and sticky. My body hurt to move to breathe. But I was still here. Still alive.

"Jake," Mom said softly from the other side of my door. She knocked and opened the door, "Jake, I am so sorry."

I didn't look at her.

"I didn't mean any of what I said," her voice cracked, heavy with tears. I kept my eyes on the ceiling. She sat on my bed, the mattress shifting under her small body.

"I didn't mean any of it," she said softly through sobs, "I wasn't thinking straight, my words didn't mean anything."

I looked at her.

"You meant every word."

"Jake, I was drunk. I wasn't thinking, none of it meant anything," she begged, her hand grabbing for mine. I pulled away.

"Drunk words are sober thoughts," I muttered.

"Jake, no. I have never thought that. I have never thought any of the terrible things I said. I would have never even thought of those things unless I was drunk. Which I was, Jake," she paused and wiped her face, "I swear, Jake, I never would have done anything like that."

"Yeah, but you did."

"I didn't mean to, I swear. I wasn't thinking, Jake, I'm so sorry," she wiped her eyes again, "I'm so sorry, Jake."

"No you're not, Mom," I sat up so I was eye level with her, "You're not."

She stared at me.

"Just get out of my room and leave me alone," I kept eye contact. She dropped her eyes first.

"Jake..." she begged.

"No, just get out, okay. Stop trying to talk to me cause I don't wanna talk to you."

She slowly stood up and walked to my door, giving me a sad glance back she left the room and I heard her footsteps wandering down the stairs.

I tried to get my mind to go blank again. Didn't want to think about anything.

"Jake."

Claire's voice.

"Jake, please."

I opened my eyes.

She looked tiny. Her hair was messy, clothes were wrinkled and slept in. She was tired, worn out.

We didn't say anything, just looked at each other. I tried not to look away, but I had to. Claire's eyes felt so sad, so heavy, they had seen more than any other fourteen year old should. And it was my fault.

"I miss you, Jake," her soft voice broke through the silence.

I wanted to comfort her, wanted to make everything better, take everything back. Instead of compassion, I just felt anger.

"Leave me alone, Claire. I don't care who you miss, or any of that shit," I muttered, "Just go away, Claire."

She didn't move. I sighed and slowly got off my bed. She was still standing there, still staring at me with her sad, blue eyes.

"Jake, please don't shut me out," she begged, just like her mother had.

I shut the door in her face.

Too late, Claire. I'm already gone.

Mom kept trying to talk to me. Kept trying to apologize, make things right. Claire didn't look at me. I stayed in my room, trying to ignore the world. A few times I wondered everyone else was doing, what my friends were doing. Were they going through the routines? School, sports, home?

I envied their normalcy.

Everything they did was normal. Go to school, see friends, go to class, eat lunch, go to class, go to practice, come home. They weren't strangers in their own houses. They were just normal teenagers.

My friends probably never even asked about me anymore. They wouldn't even recognize me. I hardly recognized me. They would go along with their perfect little happy normal lives and wouldn't even give me a second thought. Matt probably had probably signed to a college team, probably a full ride scholarship.

It was supposed to be me.

I was supposed to be the star. I was supposed to be the college freshman starting games. Coaches were supposed to want me. Who would want me now? I was worthless, weak. My right arm was thin, wasted, useless.

Useless.

I was getting used to that word.

My eyes seemed to always be focused on the ceiling, forever trying to find something to look at while at the same time never wanting to see. Never wanting to think.

I didn't want to think about wanting to disappear. I didn't want to know that the world would be better off without me.

Stumbling down to the kitchen I paused. Mom was on the phone.

"I just don't know what to do with Jake anymore," she sighed, "I can't reach him, it's like there isn't there. I just don't know what to do."

I stayed out of sight listening.

"Well, I don't want to push him even further away, my daughter and I don't want to have him leave-"

The person on the phone seemed to interrupt, and it was quiet on Mom's end of the phone for a while.

"It sounds like a good option, but how do I tell him? He hasn't spoken to us in days. He can barely look at us." She sighed again and I heard her sit down at the table.

"That easy? Right," she gave a fake laugh, it sounded pained and weary, "Well thank you very much for your time, Dr. Stevenson, I'm looking forward to meeting you in person."

A few seconds later I heard the phone click off and Mom sighed again. I stepped into the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" I asked coolly, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh Jake... it was, uhh, it was nothing, don't worry about it."

"It was something, don't lie to me, Mom."

"It was nothing, I swear."

"You've said that before, tell me what it was about," I stood at the sink, my back facing her. I didn't want to see her crumble further.

"I'm trying to get you help. I don't know how to help you anymore," she began to cry, heavy sobs, choking her words, "I want to help, but I don't know how."

I had nothing to talk to her about, nothing else to say to her.

"This place, it helps people like you, Jake, it-it's supposed to be good. They have a high success rate, they can make you better, they help people like you," she repeated.

I turned around. She was staring at me desperate, completely at a loss of what to do.

"People like me? What's that supposed to mean?" I spat out at her.

"I saw the pills, Jake. I didn't know how to help you. I sat outside your room and listened to you cry and scream. I didn't know what to do," she let her head fall into her hands, her shoulders shaking with each breath, "I can't help you, Jake, I don't know how to anymore. I'm your mother and I don't even know how to help you. I can't fix this."

"You weren't supposed to know, I was supposed to just disappear."

"You screamed so loud, it was horrible and I did nothing," she mumbled, "You were in so much pain, and I did nothing. I'm a terrible parent. How could I do this to you?" She raised her head and looked at me. Tears left trails on her cheeks.

"Because I deserve it. There is nothing you could do," I said quietly, ignoring her choking sobs. I backed out of the kitchen and up to my room, locked the door. I had to leave. I was doing more harm than good here.

I stayed in my room the rest of the night, waiting for the house to fall asleep, for it to be dark. And finally things were silent.

I dressed quietly, ignoring the ache from my withered shoulder. Shoving my feet into a pair of boots, I grabbed my backpack and threw in a few pairs of socks, a pair of jeans, and another shirt. I stood and looked around my room. It was still trashed; pieces of my life scattered on the floor. Shreds of posters hung from walls, there were piles of uneaten food everywhere. There was nothing I would miss, nothing that would make me want to come back.

Silently, I slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing a few packages of crackers and a couple bottles of water I gently placed them in my backpack. I took a few twenties from an envelope and shoved them in my pocket. I was never coming back. My family wouldn't have to suffer any longer because of me.

I closed the door and left.