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***
Leaving a bookmark for the first time was exciting. Emotions lingered all the way home, and for days afterwards. I wanted to forget the crime I had committed like a bad dream.
- I guess I'm not so tough. - lying in an old, crumbling tree house, as I used to sag.
I guess I'd like to be sitting at home at the same table with my family right now. From here it looks like they are having fun and having a good time. However, their faces would drop dramatically if I showed up.
What am I supposed to say? What can I say to lighten the mood?
- I can't even say I'm not a criminal anymore, can I?
Mum smiles, looking lovingly at Lisa and Maggie. She hasn't looked at me like that since I was a second year, I think. Now, Mum takes her eyes away when talking to me.
Homer's fooling around. After that time I knocked him down, he's almost avoiding me.... Is it fear of me? Is it guilt? Is there a difference in substance?
Lisa once again pulled out some kind of diploma she'd received. She's probably got a whole room full of them. Frankly speaking, when I became the pride of the school, the city, the hope of the country, I was much more nervous than I am today. So Lisa, the pride of the Simpson family, must be having a hard time.
Maggie laughed and talked about something, not paying much attention to whether she was being listened to or not. She used to be a stickler for me, which, I kid you not, was annoying at times. Now I miss it. I miss it.
- Well, I got what I deserved.
When I was on the upswing, I had a chance to rebuild the relationship. I didn't take it. Instead of bragging to my parents and getting their support. I tried to be independent, to be solely responsible for my success.....
Even as an American candidate for the Olympics, I never really got over my envy of Lisa, did I? I never got over the fact that she deserved her parents' love like some people. Never could be a real big brother that Zubrila could rely on....
I carried that beautiful image over to my relationship with Maggie. How many of her shows have I missed? How many times have I told her I'm busy? I wish I had a cute little sister, I should have been a trustworthy big brother.
- Is there a relationship I haven't blown to hell?
A family where I feel like an intruder. Girls I've never gotten serious with at best. Sherry and Terry at worst. Milhouse - and that, a former best friend. Coach Engle, who was let down.
- I wish I could close my eyes and die..... - Once again, I said my fondest wish as I closed my eyes.
.....
Not wanting to stay home, and not wanting my risk to remain empty. The next day I went back under the bridge, looking for the guy who handed me the substances.
- Oh, there you are! - who found me by happily running up to me. - Boy, I thought you had decided to donate money to me.
The smile of the businessman made me uncomfortable, even more than in public places. After a little chitchat, which I supported with one-word answers. The guy held out a hundred quid.
'Isn't that a lot?' - somehow immediately popped into my head. And I barely restrained myself from saying it out loud.
- It's a bonus for the first order. - but even with my mouth closed, I couldn't keep my thoughts down, and the guy winked at me.
- F-first? - Apparently, being completely unused to calm, equal communication, I almost had a panic attack. - I'm sorry, but... This job is not for me.
However, even looking away, craning my neck and mumbling, I was able to utter a refusal that....
- Really, Simpson? - made the fellow lose his friendly expression abruptly. On the contrary, there was a distinct hostility on his face.
- Do you know me? - Having somehow found the rest of the eggs, I did not succumb to the sudden change in the atmosphere and answered the guy's stare.
- Naturally, who doesn't know the hero of the city? - Though his tone had returned to a cheerful note, it was not at all friendly. - Anyway, Bartholomew.... - The excitement increased when the guy grabbed my shoulder, putting a friendly hand on it. - Your reputation is so fucked up....
Laughing, the guy showed off his huge arse with his hand, making a half circle in the air.
- You don't want to get raped, do you?
- I didn't rape anybody! - Like a snap of my fingers, I got angry and grabbed the guy by the collar of his loose sweatshirt.
- Yeah, yeah, none of us did. Drunk bitches don't know how to look after their own pussies and then complain.... - what's he talking about? - Anyway, Bartholomew, you don't want your drug dealings to be added to the stupid cunt's complaints, do you?
- What?! I've never done drugs! And I only delivered once, and I wasted-
- Yeah, yeah, Uncle Policeman would love to hear from you. And then Jerome will listen to you. What? Who's Jerome? A two-metre tall nigger who's going to pound you in the ass, in between your great soul-searching, which, let's be honest, everyone's more fucked up than Jerome will be.
The calmness and confidence with which he spoke made me lose my rage, and then become frustrated.
- Look, Bart, I don't want to hurt you. - Yeah, that's what blackmail says. - I even gave you a bonus for just one job. You know why?
I waited a while for a follow-up, but surprisingly, the guy didn't decide to open his mouth until I asked:
- Why?
- Because I want to be friends, Bart. Friends with you, Bart. And as a true friend, I want to take care of you and give you a job where you can make good money.
- I-I don't need that. - no matter how smooth the guy was, I didn't want to surrender any of my principles.
- You don't know what you need. How about this, work for me for a month and if you don't like it, we'll part ways without any complaints? And no blackmail! - with a smile, the guy threw his hands up in the air.
- ...Only one month...? - realising that I didn't have much choice, I gave up my principles. Hoping that this wouldn't be another mistake...
-Two weeks later-
Gradually, the initial trepidation and fear let go of me. I even stopped sweating like a NEWT pulled out of a swamp in summer at the sight of cops.
- That's a good fit. I left a tip there, mate. Twentyner's yours.
That's an odd thing to admit. But the job of delivering illegal substances, in some strange way. It's helping me.
I spend less time at home, which means less depression. I go out more, I socialise with drug people.
Not all of them are bad people, or killed in the extreme by substances. A lot of them seem more than adequate. Probably better than me. Although, of course, there are cases.
- Mate, but please! You don't know how much it breaks us! - when the delivery site turns out to be a dump disguised as a flat.
- Bart, Bartie, I'll do anything, just give me one... - It's especially scary to see people with empty eyes, like the girl from one of my regulars who grabbed my jeans and belt in a hurry.
Thankfully, she's not attractive. Her addiction was clearly reflected on her face, on her skin.
- So? You in? - when I turned my gaze to the client, expecting him to help. He just looked at me with a dumb smile. He was willing to put his girlfriend under me for a dose, and that's...
Scary.
People like that are scary.
Whether it's from knowing people for whom drugs are just a source of recreation, or from not wanting to feel involved, my thoughts always drifted to the people who were to blame for the substances.
There are normal people who just get high. They don't seem addicted. So maybe without the dope, others ended up obsessed with something else? Alcohol or violence or whatever.
- Well done, you've earned it. - the self-justification didn't stop even when I was handed the crumpled notes.
- ...There's still two weeks to go... - I don't know if it's myself or someone else, but I tried to keep reminding myself.
I feel like I'm in limbo. I know what I'm doing is wrong, breaking the law. But I don't know if I can do otherwise. I realise that I'm putting myself at risk every time I carry the packages. But I'm also afraid that if I stop, I'll put myself at even greater risk by being alone with myself....
- Help me.
Sometimes life becomes so unbearable that I want to scream for help. But I only whisper, feeling incredibly pathetic every time afterwards.
Other days I want to drop everything and run. But I'm scared. I don't know how to do anything, I have no money, and I don't know exactly where to run. As much as I try to keep hope alive, it's hard to imagine a place where things will be different.
Probably for the first time so deeply immersed in my thoughts, I spent my puny days until....
- Young man, what are you doing in this neighbourhood? - I was stopped one night by a patrol of two policemen.
- Sh-Chef Wiggum?! - Unfortunately, I'm on a delivery.
- Ah, Simpson. - the fat officer's eyes narrowed like he was ready to shoot me on sight. - Are you making trouble again?
- What? No, of course not, officer.
- Lou, search him. - Ralph's father was clearly listening to me half-heartedly.
- Up against the wall, citizen. - and his partner didn't look like he had much to talk about. Therefore. - Hey, freeze!
With substances in my pockets, I ran as far as I could see. After all, I wasn't accused of anything, which means no shooting.
*(gunshot)
- Holy shit! - the lantern above my head suddenly burst.
*spitfire*
- Get back here so I can hit you! - Following the gunshots, Chief Wigam's shout also sounded. - Please!...
And if he could barely catch his breath after getting out of the car. His partner, Officer Lou was rushing after me on the heels of ....
.....
- Haaah! Haaaaah!
Eventually, I managed to break away. As I ran into a familiar...
- Bart, are you in trouble?
Gym.
- Haaah! N-no, it's nothing, Coach, I-
- Bart, what's this? - Coach Engle picked up the small package. It was clear from the look in his eyes that his question was rhetorical, and he knew the answer to it without an answer.