Jinxed: A Paranormal Why Choose Standalone
Jinxed: Chapter 4

Numb. That was the only way I could function.
Absolutely, completely, totally numb.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure how people managed to function without feeling weightlessness. How did they survive feeling it all?

I had no idea. It was all too much for me. The feelings. The emotions. Besides, wasn’t it more fun to feel nothing?

Sometimes, in my dreams, I could still smell the smoke. I still felt the ash settling against my cheek. But that was absurd, because I hadn’t even been home.

You see, my life changed when I was sixteen. I should’ve been going to football games and driving around with friends, embracing our newfound freedom. Thinking about universities and taking my girlfriend to the movies. Instead, after a night out, I arrived home to cop cars and fire trucks. Firemen swarmed the house I had grown up in, dousing the still-smoking shell even after everything had been reduced to embers.

A somber police officer took note of my shocked face, the duffel bag abandoned at my feet. I couldn’t tell you if my friend had left or not. I couldn’t even tell you the name of the friend who had dropped me off.

I listened as the cop explained to me what happened. A neighbor had called after seeing the flames lighting up the dark night through their bedroom window. My parents were found in their bedroom, my mom in the bathroom, my dad at the door. They thought he had been trying to figure a way out for both of them.

Lucky. That’s what the cop called me. Lucky I hadn’t been home. Lucky to still be alive. Lucky one foster family or another would be willing to take in a teenager on the verge of aging out.

I didn’t feel lucky. I felt alone.

The first foster family lived in a different school district than my own. I quickly learned being a football player didn’t make friends at my new school. I learned a bunch of other things from my new pals as well.

How to sneak out without my foster parents knowing, not like they cared.

How to lie.

How to smoke a joint without coughing.

How to fuck.

How to alternate between uppers and downers until I couldn’t remember anything. Couldn’t feel anything.

I was lucky I lasted with the first foster family for as long as I did. But even though the foster parents passed me off like I was nothing, everyone else seemed to like the new me. Teachers were wrapped around my little finger. Missed assignments or classes meant nothing, because I could talk my way out of it. I was popular in my new crowd of friends, too. Everyone wanted to be friends with Theo.

The cool thing about being emotionless, was how easy everything was. Nothing bothered me, got under my skin. How could it, when my skin was already nothing but an open wound, burnt to the core?

College went out the window, along with anything else other than beer and weed. Sometimes MDMA if I could get my hands on it. But I wasn’t picky. Anything worked.

“Buddy? Where did you say you were going again?”

I blinked awake, having lost an entire span of time while wrapped up in my thoughts. I appeared to be in someone’s truck. Wasn’t unusual. I was hitchhiking my way across the country. I hoped to end up in California. 24/7 sun sounded right up my alley. I’d have to replace a job at some point. My pockets had grown increasingly thin over the last four years, most of my parent’s insurance money spent at the liquor store instead of college classes. “As far west as you’ll take me.”

We were somewhere in Ohio at this point, if the street signs were to be trusted. Next to me, the driver sighed, an old man. “You sure? I’m headed up north after this town here. I don’t mind taking you with me. You look like you could use a good meal or two. Besides, it looks like it’s going to storm. You don’t want to get caught on the road when it starts snowing.”

I shook my head. “No thanks. If you don’t mind dropping me off at a motel or something though? I’ll get a room for the night.” I didn’t need kindness or generosity. I needed to be numb, and whatever high I had was quickly wearing off. I needed another hit, and I probably wouldn’t be able to snag it in this nice man’s truck. “Honestly, anywhere will do,” I mumbled.

Fuck, this feeling shit was for the birds. I didn’t want to feel. I wanted to be fun Theo, the one who didn’t give a shit. The one who girls wanted to date, and guys wanted to be. Not this Theo. Sad Theo who aged out of foster care, and whose parents died in a house fire.

“You don’t need to do this alone.” I wasn’t sure if I actually heard the driver whisper it, or if it was a figment of my imagination.

I didn’t say anything. We passed the rest of the drive in silence, and I watched the dark clouds roll in. Winter was early this year, and I would’ve put money on the fact the old man was right, and we were going to see snow tonight. He pulled into an almost-empty motel parking lot, a “vacancy” sign flashing in one window. I was counting down the minutes until I would be high, hopefully the second I stepped inside the motel room and could spark my joint.

I thanked the old man and got out of the truck before he could once again try to convince me to join him for dinner. Thanks, but no thanks. I didn’t do pity. I didn’t look back as he pulled out. I slung my duffel bag a bit higher up over my shoulder and entered the small lobby.

“One room for the night,” I muttered, pulling my wallet out.

“Sorry. We’re full.”

My head shot up at the harsh words. “Excuse me?”

The clerk was an older woman, dressed in a tidy shirt and carefully pressed pants. Her eyes held little warmth as she looked me up and down. “We’re full,” she repeated.

I followed her gaze and looked myself up and down. My jeans were ripped at the knees, and my plaid shirt swallowed my lean frame. I touched the ends of my hair, dirtier and longer than they were normally. “Your sign says vacancies. And your parking lot is empty.”

She shook her head, not one tight curl moving out of place. “Sorry. Guess you’ll have to replace somewhere else to conduct your business tonight.”

Bitch. What did she know about hardship? I looked out the window, the clouds looking fuller and darker by the minute, a purple bruise spreading across the darkening sky. “But it’s going to snow.”

Her face shut down entirely, not betraying one iota of feeling. “Sorry.”

Sensing defeat, I turned around and stormed out of the small office, the glass door slamming behind me with a rattle.

“Fucking bitch. I’ll show her fucking business,” I huffed. Turning around, I could still see her through the glass watching me. She’d probably call the cops, but I didn’t care. At least going to jail would mean I’d have a warm place to sleep tonight. I flipped her my middle finger as I dug into my pocket for the butt of a joint I had left there earlier, alongside my lighter.

The joint was a bit crushed, but still smokeable. I lit it up, taking a few deep pulls before it crumbled to ash in my fingers. Whatever. I had a bag full where that came from, and already the THC was hitting my bloodstream. In a few minutes I wouldn’t care about my wasted life, my dead parents, let alone the stupid motel bitch. I sat down at the curb, weighing up my next choice as my body grew more and more weightless. First things first–I needed a place to wait out the storm. A forest lined the edge of the motel’s lot and I figured that would be my best bet. Trees would hopefully provide some coverage and warmth from the snow.

I trekked off, pulling my flannel closer around my body as the wind began to howl and rage. This storm was going to be more of a fucking bitch than the motel clerk.

I wasn’t sure how long I walked for, but dusk gave way to full dark, and the temperature dropped to bone-chilling. Eventually I stopped to dig around in my duffel for a sweatshirt to pull on. I hated wearing clothes, but this was an obvious exception. If I had known I would be roughing it, I would’ve brought a fucking coat.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, a smile growing on my face. Because at least I had my weed. It would keep me warm until the morning.

Up ahead I could almost make out a light through the trees. Worked for me. I followed the dim light as it grew brighter and brighter, until the pinprick became an obvious lit room inside a large house. I stopped, tripping over my feet. Maybe I was fucking lucky after all. I could camp out on the porch. There were no cars in the long driveway, and the only sign someone might be home was the singular light on. Maybe the door would be unlocked and I could sneak in.

I tiptoed up the stairs, the wood giving way with only the lightest of creaks under my weight. I paused outside the door, waiting to hear if anyone noticed, or would greet me with a shotgun, but it was silent.

The light snow was growing heavy, and I didn’t have a choice. I needed to get inside. Now was the time to replace out if I was actually lucky or not. I tried the doorknob, found it unlocked, and pushed it open.

So far, so good. No shotgun–yet. I toed the line of the threshold, but before I could decide whether or not to fully enter, the decision was made for me. Some unseen force pushed me inside, and I was thrown to the ground face first. My jaw hit the floor with a smack.

“Fuck,” I swore. “Some fucking welcome.”

“It wouldn’t be a curse if it were pleasant.”

I looked up to see a clean-cut guy standing over me, hand outstretched to help me up. My apologies died on my lips, along with my high, as I realized what he had said. “Curse?”

The guy grimaced, and I continued to stare at his hand from the ground. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say next. I wasn’t sure I had a choice. “I’m Felix. And I have some bad news for you.”

That was the moment I truly realized I was anything but lucky.