Decisions to decisions are made and not bought and I thought this wouldn't hurt a lot, I guess not.

Another restless sleep. Noises on the roof, gurgling and rustling at four-thirty in the morning. I was still awake, not able to sleep through A Beautiful Mind, and not able to shut my own mind off once the movie was over. Sometimes I just can't fall under, I have to force myself to stare at the blackness behind my eyelids and think of nothing. Five hours later, I'm awake. Noisy house, noisy birds, noisy sunlight.

Riding the bus is always interesting. Watching the wind kick up rust-coloured papery leaves, listening to the hollow bass of someone's headphones, feeling the ground pulse through the thin tacky bus-seat apholstery. Bracing myself as we screech to a stop. Two boys get on, one asks politely to take the seat my feet are occupying. I swing my body toward the window and my head follows.
"What's your name?" Chocolate eyes and mocha skin, a tall glass of a boy, barely 17.
"Hillary."
"Hillary....oh." He rolls my name around in his mouth, tasting the syllables and pleased with the texture, says it again, "Hillary. I'm Jason." He offers a thick slab of palm in greeting.
"What are you up to today?" I ask to be polite, not because I want to make conversation.
"Oh, I'm taking a break-day," waits for a response, judging my eyes, "From treatment."
"Oh?"
"Crack," he clarifies.
"Oh."
His friend two seats ahead is flirting relentlessly with two Brazilian tourists. His eyes glint with hunger, like he can replace his want for rock with a few sentences in an exotic accent.
"My buddy, he's bad news. Always after the girls. I'm bad with girls, too. I have to keep my cool, stay cool. Under control."
He then snaps a small rubber band around the skin of his wrist and proceeds to tell me his life story, like he needs to say the words to believe him, like he wants to tell his past so it remains as such. Childhood on Pender Island. East Hastings at age 12. Victoria for a change of scenery. Nanaimo as a last resort.
"I just want to do right, you know? I've lived like this for too long. I need to ditch the lifestyle. Go back to the island, mellow out."
I nod, not knowing what to say. He's so young, so.....soft and undamaged. Still has a baby-face not yet aged by dope.
"How are you doing? Are you happy?"
"Happier than I've been in years and at the same time, still miserable. It's all fine when you're in treatment. It's structured, you're watched over, your days are planned. The real test is making sense out of the world outside." Snaps the rubber band. A thin halo of red circles his wrist.
"Well. This is my stop. I hope you do well, good luck."
He smirks, and his eyes flash with aged knowledge, "I don't believe in luck. Luck is for gamblers."