"What happened?" Phil asks, closing the door behind me as I shuffle into the hallway.
"I... don't know," I mutter, shivering a little, despite the fact that the house is almost too warm. I'm soaked through, it's about two in the morning and I ran out of weed maybe an hour ago. "It's raining outside, y'know?" I don't know who I'm talking to or why. I just need to fill the silence that's been swelling in my head for the last few hours. "All my joints got too wet to smoke before I'd even finished rolling them," the corners of my lips twitch up like that's funny or something. I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and pull out the wet joints, dropping them on the dining table. Phil watches as I flop into a chair. "Y'know, Kyle told me to go where I'm happiest, but I honestly don't know where that is. I ended up here, but I don't know if that means I'm happiest here or if it just means I know there's some smack here."
I look up at Phil. He stands there in his sweat pants and watches me cautiously. Just watching. Like I'm about to snap or something. I don't know if I am. It's not like it's something I'm very good at controlling.
"C'mon," he starts softly, "you need to get out of those clothes. You'll catch a cold." I stand up again, quick enough to push the chair over. "Damien," he says in a kind of worried tone.
"I need a hit." He shakes his head.
"I already gave you a hit for tonight."
"I need another."
"You really don't, Damien."
"You're not inside my head, you can't tell me what I do and don't need. Fuck you!" I yell, pushing past him, thudding upstairs to get the stash of drugs that Phil keeps hidden from me. I will find it.
He follows me upstairs, grabbing me from behind so my hands are pinned to my sides. I struggle against him, but no matter how hard I try, his grip on me is too tight. I hear my mom get up as I bend over, trying to twist my way out of his hold by being as awkward as possible, but it still doesn't work.
"What's going on?" she asks sleepily from the doorway, holding her fleece dressing gown around her with one hand, the other shielding her eyes from the light. "Damien, honey?"
"Fuck off!" I shout at both of them, "just fucking leave me alone. You're all doing my head in. No wonder I'm so fucking dependant on things that make me stop thinking or caring about all your bullshit!" Mom gets all upset at that, but I couldn't care less right now. All I want is to get my drugs and go.
Not that I know where I want to go. I just want to go somewhere else and be alone for a while. Probably til the drugs run out. If I ever get Phil to let go of me.
It takes maybe half an hour of shouting and a good few punches - both given and received - before I get my way. Nursing a sprained wrist and bruised ribs, he gives in and gets them for me, apparently realising I wasn't going to give in unless I was seriously injured. And I know he wouldn't be willing to do that to me.
Once I've got the drugs off him, I take the car and drive out of town, heading for... well, I don't know. Something else. Somewhere that I won't feel like a toy some kids are pulling in all directions.