the lost was found. After calling his parents on Tuesday evening (whose number he accidentally gave me once), the bastard left me a message on my voice mail yesterday. No explanation of where he had been. No apology for worrying me. He did tell me that he was freaked out that I was so concerned.

I hate how the world continually slaps me in the face for caring. Why do Americans strive to become as uncaring as possible? Why is that kind of detachment what we're supposed to live up to? And I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do.

So, aside from wishing the ground would swallow me up, I'm fine. I had no idea this boy could be so cruel, and then be even crueler by making me feel stupid for caring. While I probably should not have called his parents, I did have the number from him (although he has probably forgotten he gave it to me), and truly, I was out of my mind with worry. I'm also convinced that I would still not know if he was okay if I had not done it.

I hate everything right now.

The funny thing is that even the bastard Scott thinks that this boy is no good.

I'm going home this weekend, where I'm going to try not to remember how stupid I am.