20 dollar nosebleed } roger&stevie

stevie masinova ;

First few nights pass, I sleep on loose ends and the mechanical gears spinning in reverse and I swear - I swear - that I'm losing my mind a little at the cheap price of nothing.

Lucy and I, we're nothing alike and it's all starting to click in why. She has a reason, she has an ideal for why she's working on getting home instead of letting that pressing reality hold her by the throat down on the rough cement of the training center - and what do I have? It's all dysphoria. If I live, what's even the point? What am I going back to, and maybe that's why I left in the first place. 

Maybe it was this or sinking forever, hell if I know. And I toss my head back praying that kidney failure will take me before whatever mess I'll be after the bloodbath. Whenever I think of it it's always this; just some fucking drunk mess lost inbetween binaries and the fact that I can't possible care to change when I know I should.

Or I'm fine. I shove it down my throat and the pill dissolves and I can last four more fucking miserable hours. 

Shit I'm tired of this. 

And I'm nothing special, my mentor's been letting me in on that every small talk conversation we have. That I'm just another spoiled tribute of his that's going to die at the 'hands of sloth' than actually put up a fight, and everybody Tom and Diane like me hasn't made it back, not once, not ever. You don't just casually live through this, and sadly, that's my goddamn middle name: Stephen Casual Sodomy Masinova. 

I'm giving into it too, I know that. By wasting my time thinking about how I'm wasting time, it's just giving into a cycle of practical death wish but that's what this entire thing was wasn't it? Just a giant parade going away party into the afterlife? I fucking wanted this, so why does it seem so lonely now. 

Fuck that - I stand up from the roof and go back inside, my knees not feeling the greatest but that's the least of my worries. If I'm gonna let myself die, I might as well know the ones most likely, and I was practically seconds away from grabbing him by his collar to get his attention, half saying half screaming out the name Ronald. 

Ronald something-teach, dsitrict four - yeah. Career, big beafy guy can't miss him. "yo, Ronald," slipping out of some drunk grin and dry eyes. 

"You're like, a pirate right? Like that's you- hic!-r thing?"

The half empty bottle still in my hand with the cold air on my neck - where the hell am I going with this? "Uhhhh, no offense??" Yeah, good. 

Just interest.