I wonder what's changed since the Prom. I sat outside his room every day while we waited to see if he'd live or die. I sat in the waiting area, watching his mother cry and worry and pace. I sat watching Debbie try to comfort her while Debbie herself was pained. I sat stoic and all I could think was 'get me out of here'. All I wanted was to scream and RUN.

So when they said he had woken up, I did. I ran.

I ran to Babylon, to Jim and José and all my first name friends. I ran to a bump and a line and a hit. I ran from the overwhelming feelings I had. I buried them and dulled them with illegal substances and worthless, meaningless fucks. I ran fast and I ran hard.

I couldn't deal with what was really hurting me. I couldn't deal with being ripped apart by watching him bleeding on the pavement. I wanted the memories out of my head. I wanted him out of my heart because he's in. He got in. I let him in, just a little.

And it made me run. Made me scream. Made me die inside.

Made me a victim.