Old Wounds Read Free Page A

the good stuff. The harder stuff. Where only a few shots would leave me warm and peaceful.
    I needed to stop fantasizing about getting wasted. Dinner was the most important thing right now. Finally, I found some frozen hamburger and a box of that shitty Helper stuff, so I went to work. It was incredibly unappealing and I would have to talk to Tom about getting actual food into the house.
    I ate, watched TV, and went to sleep. The house was quiet, but I still felt better when I barricaded my bedroom door with the wooden computer chair, wedging it up under the doorknob.
    The next morning, I was taking my blood sugar as Tom walked in the front door. I watched him as I sat at the dining room table. He kicked off his boots, and some of the mud splattered on the newly-cleaned tile. He looked around, eyeing the state of his house. He must have forgotten I lived with him now. “Sophie?” he called.
    “Right here, Tom.”
    He looked up and gave me a small smile. “You didn’t have to clean the house.”
    “I’m sorry.” My reaction was immediate and I hated myself for apologizing. I would clean if I wanted to.
    “What’s that smell?”
    “Breakfast, but it’s probably pretty shitty. You need more food.”
    He cocked his head. “Watch your language.” I bit my tongue and looked back down at the monitor, picking up my pen to record my results. “Everything okay there?”
    “111. Perfectly normal, Tom.”
    The rest of breakfast was silent, except for when he said it was good, to which I responded with silence. He handed me a hundred bucks to go shopping for the week before I went upstairs. It would definitely make scoring easier and seeing how well he stocked his pantry, I knew he would have no clue how much money was actually spent on food.
    I grabbed my bag and waited for him by the door. I was ready to get the show on the road and be finished with the awkwardness of changing schools mid-year.
    I wasn’t exactly nervous about my first day. To be honest, I really didn’t give a shit if I fit in or made friends, or any of that nonsense. I disliked being driven to school by my father. My license had been taken away and I had no vehicle of my own, so my other priority was to find someone who would give me rides to and from school.
    Tom made what I figured were typical “Dad” comments before I got out of the car. I was happy to be out of such a confined space with him. He was an okay guy, but being strapped into a moving vehicle mere inches from the man put me on edge.
    My first stop was the administration office where I picked up a stupid map of the school and my class schedule. I took a moment before heading back out to peruse it. At least Tom made sure they gave me some of the classes I wanted. I got into Photography, although it was a basic level class and I was already beyond that. U.S. History, blah, Calculus, whatever, Physical Education, was this a joke? British Literature. Okay, I could handle that, even though I doubted the reading list covered anything that would be new to me. Spanish. Tal vez yo pueda excavar mi cerebro con una cuchara. Horticulture. I was in it back in Tampa, so at least I could breeze through this class, and most of my others, with only minimal effort. Yes! My personal favorite, Study Hall.
    I located all my classes quite easily on the map and went back out into the hall. Students passed me left and right, casting me curious looks, their eyes moving from my feet to the top of my head. Apparently I was endlessly fascinating to the kids of Damascus. As long as none of them talked to me, I’d be okay.
    “You must be Sophia!” I cringed as I turned to the dark-haired guy with pimples and braces. “I’m Connor.” Good for you. Now what do you want?
    “It’s Sophie, actually,” I corrected, deciding that being nice, or at least not being so shitty to everyone, would help with my two priorities of scoring a little weed and finding rides to and from school.
    “Do you need help finding