Prologue
It started with the sweet, high release of weed...
No, no it didn’t. Not even in the least bit.
Maybe it started with ecstasy...
Fuck, no, it didn’t.
It started with cheap beer and cigarettes, my mother was an alcoholic and smoked a ton of cigarettes when she was pregnant with me...it was a wonder I was even born without so much as alcoholic fetal syndrome. Have you ever heard of it?
Signs and Symptoms of Alcoholic Fetal Syndrome:
Low body weight...check.
Poor coordination...double check.
Hyperactive behavior...okay, sure.
Difficulty with attention...sure, I lose my focus.
Poor memory...shit...
Maybe I do have it, or maybe I’m just really, really high all the time. I consider it predisposition by my mother for my addictions. You know she brought this on herself, onto me as well. She’s the reason my dad came in one day and swooped me off the hard tiled kitchen floors and dragged my ass off to the big apple of New York city, perhaps the worse place a person like me could be taken to. Like I said...predisposition by my mother for me to fail in life. I supposed it could be worse, Skylar’s dad is a cop, and she always has these thoughts in the back of her head, morbid thoughts, of the different ways her dad could die.
Death by gun fire.
Death by stabbing.
Death by speed chase down I-90 resulting in a major crash and explosion.
I feel sorry for her, truly, I couldn’t imagine sitting there thinking all those things all day long. I mean, I think about my own death all the time but not the death of a loved one. I haven’t spoken to my mom since I was 3 years old, not that I could remember speaking to her anyway. She pretty much just left me alone to cry in my crib until I fell asleep while she got drunk, snorted some coke and fucked a stranger for some quick money to help with her addictions.
Life was simpler in those days, at least I think so. My dad lives in some sky rise building in downtown New York City...like I said, worse place for somebody like me to be. Imagine being me and glancing out your fifty-fourth-floor building to your own death on the pavement below. Wonder if I’d hit anybody on my way down, of heard the stories of people un-aliving themselves and hitting others on the way down. What a way to go.
My father can’t handle my attitude, he can’t handle my addiction, he can’t handle my tantrums or my weird sleep patterns or the way I grew up, he sees my mom in me, the woman she was before, and he can’t handle it.
He can’t handle me.
So that’s where Wolfbruck comes in and what the Hell is Wolfbruck you may ask? Only the most prestige school for the wealthiest college students around. It’s private and it’s downright expensive. And let me tell you...it’s a fucking wild ride.
