"My life is a mess."

"And he's done it again! The fastest kid alive wins the national title for the 200m dash!"
It doesn't matter anymore.

"You disgusting ego-inflated jerk. Using an innocent girl like that."
You don't understand. It's not like that.

"I'm a proud hunter, but first and foremost, I'm a proud father. Or so I was."
And just like that, people change.

"Don't worry big brother, I believe you!"
Stop lying Leanne. You change too.

It was just another day in Spokane, Washington for me. My head running is running rampant with thoughts as I fight a war against myself inside. My name is Iroh Linag and there's nothing interesting about me now. Sure, I used to be the star of track and field; the fastest kid in the nation. I broke the national records for all my events in my Junior year of high school, but now that all adds up to nothing. Starting last school year, I had been skipping classes. No, it has nothing to do with these thoughts does it? These memories, this trauma? No, it's all me. Classes are boring after all and I never understand why we have to study these things. History, government, algebra, literature, science, phantoms, and other useless things. Why do I have to live a life even though I didn't ask for it to start?

Anyways, I'm still only 17 years old and this is the second semester of my Senior year of high school. Just three more months and I graduate, or at least I should be graduating. Most kids my age have already picked out a college and a career, but I haven't yet. The school counselor even called my parents, but they don't talk to me anymore. Since I got a job, they're fine with me not going to school. I can sense the disappointment without them outright saying it.

"It's fine. We'll support you with whatever you choose to do."
Lies!

"Son, I'm so proud of you."
Lies!

"It's okay. We'll get through this together."
ALL LIES! JUST STOP LYING!

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Here I am. A tall, physically fit, black-haired, tanned-skinned boy wasting his life away laying in his bed on a chilly Wednesday afternoon in February. I'm curled up in my plain white sheets as I wake up to my phone vibrating on my nightstand.
Who could be texting me? I don't have any friends.
I roll over just enough for my arm to reach my phone. In doing so, I instantly get dragged into an overwhelming feeling of depression. I look at my room to see it in a state of disarray. My light-brown carpeted floor has a ton of soda and sweat stains, granted they're covered by the overwhelming amount of dirty laundry. Laying on the bed in the back corner of my room I can see a trail of at least two dozen shirts and shorts leading to the door I only open to go to work. My desk is covered with papers, various books, a pencil, a pair of red scissors, and a couple half-drank bottles of water. At least the mess of my closet is shut.

"You're so messy. It only takes a few minutes to put things where they belong. Why can't you do that?"
Ah, so you can use your eyesight. What a relief mom.

"If you ever disrespect your mother again, I'll hit you harder."
I'm sure you would dad.

My room is small and plain. My life is simple and plain. My style is simple and plain. I wear the same white or black athletic shirts and the same track shorts every day. I have at least twenty sets of those clothes. All I have is a desk, a night-stand, and a bed, all made out of the cheap fake wood that all cheap furniture is made out of. In one corner is my door, the adjacent two corners are my desk and closet, and the one opposite to the door is my bed. My room is a mess. My life is a mess. It's just a cycle of mess.

"I hate to see him wasting away like this. He has so much potential..."

My mood worsens as I hear my dad trying to speak under his breath to my mom. The walls in this house are so thin. This is new. This for once isn't my thoughts. I guess the war is being dragged out of my head and to my parents now.

"It's so frustrating. He sees us struggling to keep this house in order and juggle our jobs and he doesn't even clean his room..."

Of course I see that, but those two things aren't related.

"But how can we expect him to help us. We aren't even helping him?"

Thanks mom. At least she sees that much.

"We aren't? We give him food, a nice house, and people to talk to whenever he needs it..."

Yeah, you help me survive, but how am I...

"How are we supposed to help someone who doesn't even want to help himself?"

You're so close. Maybe I don't have to tell them. Maybe they'll figure it out. Maybe they'll see that I don't want to live. I want to live, but I see no reason to it. Help me please. My throat feels dry as I begin to open my mouth. I had a strong desire to talk to them, but all that came out of my face were the two warm tears that fell from my eyes. One of those tears rolls down my cheek and into my mouth and the other rolls down to my chin and falls onto my pillow. These tears are the only warmth I feel these days.

"I can't imagine having a son like that."
That's the true reality of it dad. You were too focused on work to know your own son.

I roll back over to face my plain wall, phone in hand. I turn it on to see it was just a notification for my music application.
What was I thinking? Someone texted me? That never happens.
I let my eyes roll back into my head and I deny my body permission to wake up. I'll sleep until dinner time.

It's now dark already and a familiar smell wakes me up pleasantly. My mood is no longer somber. The aroma of spices and beef fill the air and make my mouth salivate at the sheer thought of getting a bite. My dad was making his infamous homemade chili.
I guess I'll eat with the family tonight.

I crack open my door and take a peek to make sure no one sees me coming out. I don't want to talk with someone unless I absolutely have to. I see my younger sister looking straight at me sitting at the dinner table. She's quite pretty. While she has dark hair like me, she's much shorter, has a much slender build, and has very pale skin. She's wearing a sweater and yoga pants per usual. She gives me a huge grin and a slight wave and then looks into the kitchen. I can tell that one of my parents is in there and they've caught onto me getting out of my room.
I just hope it's not my dad.
A head pops around the corner of the kitchen and into the dining room.
I let out a sigh of relief.
It's just my mom. She looks at me with a disappointed scowl and waddles back into the kitchen. Now aware of my presence, my mother and younger sister go back to their dinner duties. Since I successfully avoided conversation, I take a left out of my room and head down the hardwood hallway to the only bathroom in the house. I switch on the light switch just inside the doorway and dash inside. I turn around and slowly close the door to make sure no sound is made while peeking to make sure no one sees me going inside.
Why am I being so cautious? I don't know. Just shut up.
That devil in my head is back. According to phantom studies, it's supposedly a phantom with the same soul frequency as me, but it happens to be weaker. That's why we can coexist in a physical body. It's the only class I paid attention to, but what's the point if I can't do anything about it. I know it's a lie, but believing that's what it is at least gives me one less thing to worry about.

I walk into the dining room to my entire family sitting down already eating. The difference in decoration and aesthetic is night and day. From the fine China porcelain and spotless stainless steel silverware to the glass cabinet with fine liquors and frosted shot glasses, everything seems to be glowing and lively in this room. That was, until I walked in. It's as if a dark fog had funneled its way into the dining room. The sound of laughing, talking, and silverware hitting bowls had completely vanished. It was now utter silence and awkward staring.

"Ah! So look who finally decided to wake up!" boomed my father.
"Not now honey..." my mom nervously whispers as she gestures her hands towards my father and nervously grins while keeping her eyes locked on me.
"No! No! No! What do you have to say for yourself free-loader?" my father presses more aggressively.

I begin to sweat and ruffle my already ruffled hair. My life is a mess is all I can think.
"I -uh-..." I begin to whimper.

"Exactly! NOTHING!" my father begins to raise his voice.
"I bust my ass off everyday out there hunting phantoms and keeping the city safe so I can come home and put a meal on the table for my family. Your mother works two jobs and cleans and cooks. Your sister has straight As. And what do you ever do?"

It's awkward silence now. Everyone's on edge and I've killed the mood.

"All you ever do is stay in your room and sleep. You only ever come out to eat, shit, or go to work."

I see. So I am as worthless as I think.

"Can I go now?" I ask.

My father stands up.
"I never want to see your face again. You have until the end of the month and then I want you out!"

I slowly walk back to my room with my eyes on the floor. I can hear my mother crying and my sister screaming in a scared voice as my dad's voice booms throughout the house. I'm sure the entire neighborhood can hear. This dark fog that follows me always makes this happen. Day in and day out, it's the same. I work. I come home. I sleep. I come out of my room. My dad yells. My mother cries. My sister gets scared. My life is a mess.

I block out the sounds of my family and try to return to my slumber until I head to work tomorrow morning. Just as things go silent, I hear my door crack open. I perk my head up from my bed to see a small curious-looking sky blue eye staring at me. 
"Are you okay, brother?"
I let my head rest back onto my pillow and ignore her.
"I'm sorry for screaming earlier ... I hope you feel better soon."
There's no need for you to be sorry Leanne. You're the only one who still treats me somewhat normally. The door shuts and I begin to let my mind wander. Come on, think about something random, something to distract me.

All I could hear were my father's words.
"Did you hear about Ryan? Yeah, yeah, Damian's son. Apparently he attempted to hurt himself again. Can you imagine living like that? He was so popular and all of a sudden he can't decide whether or not to live. Yeah, you don't have that worry since you're the star of the nation! I can't imagine having a son like that. I'm so proud of you son!"

All that talk and now look at me. I guess I'm just as good as Ryan.

"Son... Iroh. That girl has evidence that you did those things. You can stay home from school for now. We'll get through this together."

But now you want me to leave. I guess your words really do mean nothing father.

Just then my door swings fully open and I dart up into a sitting position on my bed. My father and mom are standing in my doorway. 
"We need to talk." My father says in a forced calm voice.
"Okay." I say as I get up and follow my parents to the dinner table.
My father pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. He sits across from me.

"Look. About earlier-" my dad begins.
"No, you've said enough." I interject.

Silence fills the room. I hear feet shuffling behind me.

"Leanne, go to bed, darling." My mom starts. She leaves the dining table and walks to the hallway behind me. My mom's and sister's footsteps grow quieter in the distance as they lead to my sister's bedroom.

"Just please, let me talk Iroh."
"Fine."
"Thank you," he clears his throat. "I'm not taking back what I said. It's obvious I don't know how to help you anymore and neither does your mother. You can stay as long as you want though. I don't want to see you around here. It hurts me to see you wasting away. Please, find something to do, but do something safely."
"Safely?"
"Yes, just avoid phantoms."
"Seriously dad?" I chuckle. "Those things are-"
"SHUT UP!"

My dad stands up and a look of rage overcomes his face. 

"We've talked long enough. Go to bed."

I get up without a word and walk to my room closing the door behind me. I can never understand why he's so furious about me pointing out his obviously fake job. Phantoms? The only phantoms that are real are the ones in our heads. I throw my body into bed so I can rest for work. 

It's early in the morning. The sun hasn't risen yet, but it's time to work. I get out of bed, throw my work uniform on, and walk to work. It's a simple job that pays low, but it's a job. This is the cycle of my messed up life.