Fake it till you make it.

“Seriously, how do you have so much stuff? Like even I don’t have this much stuff and I’m like older than you.“ The brunette yelled down down the ever looming staircase towards her brother as she shifted the box in her arms to a different position so the contents wouldn’t go all over the floor. They had only just made it through half way the boxes he had piled up inside a small van outside the apartment building she was living in. But even if she was complaining to him about it and wondering where the hell everything was going to go, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Max was safe. Well safer at least.

It must have taken at least an hour for them both to get everything from the ground floor outside to her apartment, well now their apartment, on the sixth floor. But it was finally finished, maybe not finished but upstairs and scrawled across the room in a some what organized mess. What she’d come to realise once they’d unpack two of the boxes was in fact Max didn’t have as much stuff as she thought he did, it was rather he’d only half packed the boxes up. Which meant there could of been so much less work. That had deserved Max a hard punch in the arm, one which Samara hoped would leave a bruise. He deserved it. The little bugger.

After all the heavy lifting, Samara let her brother go grab a hot shower. Probably the finish decently warm one he’d had in a while since the water back home was most like a luke warm, if they were lucky. Plus it meant by the time he was done then their take-away would hopefully arrive and they come eat together before unpacking his belongings. But as usual her lack of patience got the better of her and she pulled open the closest box to her and started to pick out each item and set it on the floor beside her.

It was mostly just full of junk and things which would get thrown out secretly in a few weeks once Max forgot about them but some things inside the box stood out to her. Photographs. They weren’t even important, not like family photos or baby pictures were. They were just some from parties they’d been to or days out where they’d been with friends who had those disposable camera. It was photographs of them, them being kids with no worries about what was waiting for them back at home. The pictures were mostly torn at the corners and had creases from being folded up. A couple of them were basically on their last legs, faded and you could see only one of them or if you looked close enough then a feature of the other.

“DJ’s got those speakers thumpin’.” - Drink To That All Night (Remix) by Jerrod Niemann ft Pitbull

Bodies moved with a beat that made the ground vibrate, shots were tipped back, the kind that burned, and music blasted from the speakers placed in multiple places around the venue. Perfection. Well in Declan’s eyes it was. Loud, crowded and low-key. This place wasn’t located in the middle of the city, more hidden away from the hectic usual city life which exploded on a Saturday night.

“Don’t you worry, don’t you worry, child.” - Don’t You Worry Child by Swedish House Mafia

It was in places like this where Declan could get away with anything and no one in the outside world would know. Not in this place. Forbidden words could be spoken, certain acts could be committed and nothing would leave the four walls once the sun came up. Hands traced hips and lips lingered whilst the music acted a connecting pulse. And just as Declan was sure he would be leaving with his dancing partner in tow, she left him for someone else as his grabbed the annoying buzzing phone from his pocket. His mood dropped almost instantly as he saw the name flashing up at him, automatically shoving his way through the crowd to exit the building and answer the call which would only bring bad news.

“Look at me, looking for your acceptance do you give a damn.” – Good Enough by Jussie Smollett

The male only spoke one word, one word and that was to answer the call. Since then his father’s voice loomed over him, even through the phone. The man didn’t even have to be in his presence to feel the spite in his words or even the crease which was surely within his eyebrows as he half yelled down the phone at Declan. It was the same as always, most of which he drowned out and listened to the music which came from the building he was standing outside of. Nothing he did was good enough and his father was only reminding him of that, something so small had gone wrong the other day but it was blown up to as if Declan had killed someone. Which he hadn’t. But he was seriously considering it with his father in these very moments.

“I’ll never be big enough to pay your dues but I keep trying and you just keep making me jump through hoops.” – Good Enough by Jussie Smollett

Not listening seemed to be his best option. But then his father would suspect that and it would only fuel his anger more. It more than pissed the male off how his father would go on and on about practically the same thing, thinking he was purposely screwing up to make him look bad. But a lot of the time it was intended, the young male only wanted to enjoy his life. He needed to. He had to. Because if he didn’t do these things then he would surely go mad. Partying and drugs were the only way he stayed sane living in that house.

“Days go by, feeling broke and tired.” - We Come Running by YoungBlood Hawke

The line went dead. No final words to be yelled. No goodbyes. It simply went quiet and then the hang up tone sounded and that was it. Hatred and anger boiled inside of Declan, once again he had been knocked down and battered with words about how much of a burden he was to his father. It may not have exactly said those words but t was all there. With the phone now silent in his hand, he was tempted to throw the bloody thing against the wall along with doing a few others things but that would only draw attention to himself.

“Shit gets dark when you lose it all.”- No One’s Here To Sleep – Naughty Boy ft. Bastille

Instead of doing something he deemed stupid, Declan ruffled through his pockets for his keys. Car keys. He needed to get away, somewhere quiet and somewhere no one would find him for a while. He needed to be alone. Unlocking the vehicle, he climbed behind the steering wheel and started it up. His foot pressed down hard on the accelerator which revved the car far too much for it’s own good. Cars beeped as he veered in front of them, moving through different laps as he tried to control the vehicle. But rather than do that, he knocked the accelerator to the floor and shot through multiple traffic lights.

“We’re driving fast in my car. We’ve got our riot gear on but we just want to have fun.” - Fast In My Car by Paramore

Being drunk, pissed and in control of a car wasn’t a good mixture but Declan couldn’t find it in himself to care, rather it fuelled him further. This was his way of escaping right now, his father was behind him. Well he thought he was until his phone started to buzz again. His hand reached into his pocket to pull it out but due to his mind being busy on other things and his total locak of co-orderation, he dropped the phone and like a drunk idiot he went to try find it. Which meant his eyes were off the road and one hand was off the steering wheel. With the quick few seconds of not being in complete control, not like he ever was, the car swerved to the right and collided with another car sending them both into a spin before hitting a parked car.