The first day I met him, I had a cut under my eye and a bruise in the shape of a hand on my arm. I didn't care about the fact that I had a minor concussion and could barely think straight, no. I didn't care that the people around me speculated and whispered as I walked past them, no. In fact, I didn't even care that I was on the verge of passing out in public from dizziness and nausea, no.

I kept to myself a lot so far, and I had no plans on changing that anytime soon. I don't like people, I don't trust them. I had no issue with ignoring people who approached me, and being distanced by people I collided with in passing. We're the worst species of existence, and I despise the human race.

Unfortunately, I grew up this way. The hatred for people was influenced by the works of my father and his ways of raising a child and punishing a child. He taught me that if you do wrong, you get hurt. He taught me if you do right, it's never good enough. He taught me to never let your guard down because at any moment, the very second you become vulnerable, you've already stopped breathing.

I had no doubt in my mind, that if my mother was still alive, I'd have a completely different perspective on life.

It's funny how much you don't realize that another human being can alter your whole outlook. Another human being can either make you, or break you.

And that was terrifying.

Through all of the things I was taught, and all of the built up anger in my body, through all of the reasons why I told myself that I would never care or bother with another person, I gave in. Pitiful.

There was just something about him. I've seen him around, once or twice, awkwardly rushing from place to place, never making any formal eye contact with anyone. He seemed to be unassumingly malnourished, considering he was all skin and bones and more pale than I was.

Something in me that day snapped. When I looked at his fragile body being crushed by two people twice the size of him, it made my blood boil. I saw nothing but red. I didn't care about any consequences at that time.

I'll never forget the day that I punched that guy who was even bigger than me, so hard in the face that I thought I broke every bone in my hand. I'll never forget the moment where his friend hit me back which made me come back at him twice as destructive. I was taught to be a fighter; I carry my fathers traits along with me.

The way that scrawny kid looked at me, was as if he's seen the light. I had no idea that by standing up for this one insignificant human being, that my life would change.

Ever since I met him, he'd follow me everywhere I went, even when I made it clear to back off. He was persistent which I almost admired, and he actually spoke to me, which no one ever really did. The way that scrawny kid spoke, was so intelligent, that I had to give in because I saw something deep in him. Who knew that I'd actually meet a friend.

The thing about him was that he was smart. We'd actually have intellectual conversations and discuss life issues. He'd always talk more than I did, which we both never seemed to mind. I think he was just happy to have someone to talk to. And I was just happy to keep my mind off of my home life.

He was sharp. He saw through my shitty excuses as to why I'd miss school or how I got this scar or how I got that bruise or how I got that cut. He knew as much as I did when it came to the underlying truth. But we both never said a single word on the exact topic. He knew better.

I don't know how I came to name him Twig, or why it stuck, but it just suited him so well. Shockingly, he didn't mind it even though it was quite offensive. He was so thin that he just reminded me of a baby tree. I don't think I ever really called him by his real name.

What I liked most about our friendship is that it was quiet. He'd be my little sidekick. If anyone were to fuck around with him, I'd be there to fuck around twice as hard with them. Though if people were to say shit about me, he'd kind of go along with it, telling people I'm crazy and they better watch out. It made me laugh and I encouraged him to continue on with his antics. He was so excited to have a friend. A friend that had his back.

The worst thing about Twig was that if he were to ever be bullied, picked on, or attacked, he'd let it happen. It bothered me so much that he had no drive in him to fight back. I would tell him all the time that he needs to stand up for himself. It's too bad that I never got to see it in person.

I remembered when he came to my house for the first time, I had strict orders for him to wait outside. He was uneasy with how rundown the neighborhood was and how everything around my place was falling apart. He'd never say anything though. He was kind.

We were going to some sort of event that he wanted to go to but he had no one to go with. I had no idea what it was about, nor did I have any interest in it whatsoever. But I wanted to make him feel significant, and that his interests matter. So of course, I opted in to going with him.

I remembered he was waiting outside with his blue backpack on with all his essentials, and he was smothering a book in his arms, against his chest, that had some sort of science title on the front.

I knew for a fact that he heard the screaming from inside the house. I knew for a fact that he heard arguing and loud smashes from various furniture being thrown around. There was no doubt that he knew I ran out that door so fast to avoid any physical confrontation. He didn't say a single thing about it. He only asked me if I was ready to go. I knew he saw the glossy fear in my eyes.

The convention was weird and I didn't fit in whatsoever. But he was so excited and pointing out all sorts of scientific facts. He blended so well. I was happy to go along with him and witness him be confident in a social setting.

I knew at that moment that this kid had such high potential. He could literally be a scientist, or a doctor, or whatever he wanted to be. He was going to make something of himself.

I'll never forget when he told me that he was excited for us to go off to college together and get away from all of the high school drama. He said that we could go off to a faraway college, in another country, as far away as we could get. I think he knew that I needed to get out as much as he wanted to get away. He told me that I could make something of myself once I'm free. I never believed him though. He always told me, Maybe one day we can look back and see how far we've come.

I'll never forget the hurt in his eyes when I told him I was leaving and never coming back. He was so confused, but I knew deep down, he knew.

Remember when I said that someday you'll need to fight your own battles because I wont be here? Well, remember that. Don't let people push you around, okay? Stand up for yourself. Fight back.

The last words I ever spoke to him. The last glimpse I have of him before I left and never came back. Before I dropped out of high school instead of following through with our college plans.

*

I picked up my cell phone that has been sitting on the floor of my bed for a few hours. I'll never forget his parents number from the amount of times I had called it to go over for a spontaneous sleepover to get away.

I wondered what he was doing nowadays and what he turned himself into. "Hello?" I heard a soft spoken voice on the phone from an older woman. I hadn't heard her voice in years.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, hello. Is Colson Isaacs there?"

"Who is this?!" She demanded, a sudden rushed tone in her voice.

"My name is Eli... Elias-"

"Elias Kingsley! Is that really you?" She excitedly cut me off. "Oh my goodness, I haven't heard that name in years. Honey, it's Elias Kingsley!" She yelled away from the receiver.

"It's been a very long time," I agreed in a low voice.

"Oh, wow. My Colson used to talk about you everyday. You were such a good thing in his life, Eli, wow. He would've been so happy to hear from you."

"Is he around?" I asked.

I was anxious to hear from my old friend. To see what he has been doing, to know if he followed through with our college plans without me. Even to know what science fact of the day he had for me.

"Oh dear." Her voice expressed sympathy.

"Is he there?" I asked again, suddenly nervous. Perhaps he really did get out of the country, or he hated me for leaving him.

"Eli, hon... He uh... Hon, He died... A little over five years ago," A shake in her voice gave away her grief.

A wave of emotion hit me; Suddenly I felt like I was choking.

I couldn't comprehend the feeling. My mind completely blanked.

"W-what?" I whispered and took a seat on my bed. "He's dead?"

"He committed suicide two months before graduation," A tremble made it through her mouth.

As she continued to tell me about how he was bullied at school and that he just couldn't take it anymore, her voice was growing distant. As she told me that he was in a better place and that he was finally happy, I only heard muffles.

The thought of him actually being gone, was indescribable. I felt a suffocating feeling in my throat. Numbness made its way through my body and took over my vision, my hearing, my taste, my feelings.

"I'm very sorry for your loss..." I whispered.

"Thank you, dear. You were always so good to him," she continued.

I hung up the phone, unable to hear anymore of it.

He was dead. He was gone.

I stood up from my bed, unsure what to do with myself. Rage boiled in my body, and my hand balled up into a fist. Very hard and quick, I punched a hole in my wall.

Fuck.

Nothing felt right anymore.

The constant pacing around my room caused a dizzy feeling to wash through my head. From clenching my fists so hard, blue risen veins shot up my arms and pulsated through me.

It was about now that I could really use a fat line of cocaine.

I wanted to fucking kill them. I would take my chances and go back to that disgusting place I grew up in, just to see those motherfuckers drown in their own blood. Take them all out, one by one - each time, making the murder more gruesome until I made it to my last victim.

It'd be the perfect vengeance for him.

I took a swig of my Jack Daniels, immediately feeling guilty for doing so. I whipped it across the room and let it smash against the wall.

Dark liquid sprayed against the wall as it clashed with the hard surface. My eyes fixated on the shattered glass crumbling on the floor, a sound similar to rain echoed through the room.

Fuck.

It's all my fault.

Deep breaths that I had learned in treatment finally calmed me down. In for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight.

Repeat.

Glancing down at the phone that I let dropped on my floor, I picked it up in an impulsive manner. I was all alone in this quiet house, but I didn't want to be around my friends.

Searching through my contacts, I desperately looked for one of my old dealers numbers. Maybe I could contact Tony...

Fuck.

I found the one phone number, the one person that I wanted to desperately talk to. The urge just took over my body.

I only wanted to talk to one person.

There was silence over the phone, but I knew she answered by the sound of low static. "Aria..." I whispered. "Can you come over?"

She was oddly responsive toward my admitted lifestyle when I confided in her about it at the diner. She was strangely helpful because she didn't judge me. And I wanted that.

If I didn't see her, I'm afraid I'd do something that would get me in trouble. I would kill them. I would get stupid high and fucking kill them.

She was the only one that I figured would calm me down because she was calm herself. She had a forgiving soul, filled with kindness.

I didn't hear a reply, maybe it was because I didn't want to hear anything but the screaming in my head telling me that this was all my fault and I fucked up. This world failed him.

I failed him.

I needed to prove I could right my wrongs.

I hung up.