404 Boys Their Cases

* Italics = thoughts

I clutched onto my backpack as another cold February chill ran through me. I adjusted my thin black sweatshirt and wrapped my arms around myself, attempting to create some heat. I've always hated the cold, mainly because our family was too poor to actually afford clothes that shielded us from the unforgiving weather. I looked down at the tattered and torn sweatshirt and made a mental note to sow it back together once I was home. My jeans were short due to an unexpected growth spurt last year, revealing my ankles. My converse were flimsy, and felt as if they would fall apart with every step I took.

My house was 4 miles from my school. I mentally have been counting down the days until graduation so I'll never have to make this damn walk again: only 3 years and 6 months left. As I turned the corner of our run down apartment complex, I picked up the pace as the sun began it's decent. My family lived in one of the worst neighborhoods in Seattle. The only reason why we lived in this city is because my mother insisted that I get a decent education. I made sure her sacrifice was worth it with a 4.0 GPA and a 1600 on my SAT, a perfect score.

I jogged up the steps to our apartment and shoved my key into the rusted lock. I pushed the door open, groaning when the door got stuck. I shoved it open with my shoulder and rushed inside, ecstatic to tell my mom about the A I received on my Computer Programming exam. She always enjoyed hearing about how well I did, and I always enjoyed seeing her smile light up the room.

My mother was the most important person in my life. She was everything to me, and I wanted to make something of my life, become successful so she'll never have to worry about anything ever again. She sacrificed so much for me, the least I can do is excel in school.

The apartment felt colder than it was outside. I shivered and looked at the stack of unpaid bills on the table scattered amongst the piles of empty beer cans and filled ash trays. I walked over and examined the overdue bills, confirming my assumption that our heat was turned off... again.

"Johnny, stop please, it's for Rebels college fund. I had to-" I heard my mother scream from the other room.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE WORTHLESS. SO FUCKING WORTHLESS." My father bellowed. "YOU WERE SUPOSTO BRING BACK EVERYTHING YOU MADE. YOU'RE HOLDING OUT ON ME AGAIN YOU BITCH!"

Fuck, not again. I ran to the other room, nearly tripping on glass shards and bongs that littered the floor. When I reached their bedroom, my mother was on the floor nearly unconscious. Her shirt was ripped practically in half and her skirt was torn off of her completely. Cuts and bruises were scattered all over her fragile body. Tears streamed down her bloodied face, and her eyes widened with fear as she looked in my direction. My father stood over her, his bloody knuckles barely grasping onto the half empty bottle of vodka.

My father stumbled before he turned around and faced me. A hideous smirk formed on his lips.

"H-honey, now is not a good time. Go." My mother pleaded, her words barely audible.

"Ah, Rebel. My little fucking know it all. Just the girl I wanted to see." My father said, sarcasm dripping off of every word. He jolted towards me while my mother screamed.

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I sat straight up out of my bed. My heart was racing so rapidly I felt as if it would burst out of my chest. My body was drenched with sweat and my breathing was ragged. I evaluated my surroundings and relief washed over me as I realized that I was in my dorm room. Nightmares were a regular occurrence for me. After 6 years, I thought I would be use to them by now. I looked to my left to see Stacy sleeping with a deep scowl on her face.

"She still has a resting bitch face even when she's asleep." I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes. Stacy was a roommate from hell. I hated the promiscuous, spoiled brat the second I walked onto this hellhole of a campus. She's a trust fund baby, and relied more on her daddy's money than her own intellect... scratch that, she doesn't even have an intellectual bone in her body. Her father must have some major connections and money if he was able to get this dimwit her calls a daughter into Stanford.

I glanced at the clock - 8:02 AM. I threw the sheets off of me and decided to get ready for my 9AM Philosophy class. I opened my dresser and looked at the small amount of clothes, it barely filled the drawer let alone the entire dresser. I changed into a pair of yoga pants, a baggy sweatshirt, and my converse. My laptop was on my nightstand, it was my prized possession. I grabbed a soft cloth from its case, and gently cleaned the screen and cover. I traced my fingers over the Whitman logo before I put it in its case, and gently placed it in my backpack.

I grabbed my toiletries bag and made my way to the group showers. I kept my head down as I walked through the hallways, not in the mood for useless social interaction. A group of girl in mini dresses and crop tops walked by me snickering and whispering.

"I didn't know they allowed the homeless to enroll here." One of the girls stated as she walked by and shoulder checked me.

"Nice shirt, where'd you get it? Baby GAP?" I looked back at her with a serious expression. She stood there with her mouth agape, staring at me in disbelief.

"You-you bitch!" She yelled back.

"Such a lovely vocabulary for such an unpleasant woman. I'm sure you used most of your mental capacity to think of such a dreadful comeback." I rolled my eyes and walked away from the fuming blonde.

I stuck out like a sore thumb at Stanford. Most of the students here came from wealthy families, never having to experience the "college struggle." The only struggle they ever faced was deciding which party they were going to attend or how much alcohol they can consume without killing themselves in the process.

But Stanford was a chance for me to make something of myself, of my life. Not to mention they offered one of the best Computer Engineering programs in the United States and paid for almost all of my expenses. Bitches were a small sacrifice when you look at it from that perspective.

After my shower, I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was 5'5 and 110lbs. I had a tiny frame, mainly due to the fact that I never could afford nutritious meals. My long black hair reached my waist, it's dark pigments contrasting with my pale skin. My hazel eyes looked tired and were accompanied by dark circles. My cheekbones were high, and my lips full. I was the spitting image of my mother, the only feature I inherited from my shitbag of a father was my eyes... the exact same color iris's that have haunted me for my entire life. I quickly looked away and started to head to class.

I put my headphones in my ear, pretending to listen to music to avoid conversation. Even if I wanted to listen to music, I couldn't. My phone was so outdated that it still used T-9 texting and I couldn't afford an iPod. So the end of the headphones were stuffed into my pocket, giving the illusion that I had the luxury of music.

I walked into my Philosophy class, and took my normal seat in the back of the classroom. I put my hood over my head as I sat down. I looked around me at the students laughing with their friends, looking so carefree in their designer clothes and exchanging numbers on their brand new iPhones.

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*Flashback*

"Mom, I was wondering." I said as I twiddled my thumbs on the messy plastic table in our kitchen. "For graduation, would it be possible that I can get a cell phone?" I looked up at her. Being 17 and not having a cell phone made me feel like more of an outcast than I already was. I asked with hope gleaming in my eyes, but I felt that I already knew the answer to my question.

"I'm sorry honey, but we just can't afford to get you a phone. The extra bill will put us further behind than we already are." My mother said as she looked down at me. Tears threatened her eyes before she walked out of the living room.

I sighed, grabbed my backpack and started my 4 mile walk to school. I needed to print out an assignment for my course, so I decided to stop by the library on the way there.