I nod again, stepping into my best friend, who hugs me to her.
No matter what, she said.
That’s the scary part about all of this, isn’t it? The reality behind it all.
That this could be the beginning.
How things could get worse.
If that’s the case, where the hell does that leave me?
Stuck in the past… or lost in the future?
Noah
* * *
The crisp California air wakes me, and with the cold comes a hangover I didn’t think through. I can’t even roll myself over without wincing, but I manage to make it to my feet and stumble to the cab of my truck. It takes all my might to climb inside, but the sloshing around has my stomach turning as beads of sweat form along my hairline. Spinning, I quickly lean my upper body out the door, just in time to keep from throwing up in my lap.
It feels like forever before my stomach is empty of the poison I fed it, and even then, a dozen dry heaves follow. Huffing, I strip my shirt from my body, using it to wipe the sweat from my face and head. I rinse my mouth out with half the water bottle I left on the seat, using the other half to force down some ibuprofen—something I learned to keep on hand after my first week of practice my freshman year at Avix.
Dropping my head against the headrest, my eyes close again, a pain I’ve never known burning its way along my bones, and it’s got nothing to do with the drumming of my temples.
A month ago, my life felt full for the very first time, imploding with a peacefulness I never knew existed. Twelve days ago, that peace was shattered, completely crushed as my girl was taken by ambulance to fight for her life, and unknowing at the time, our child’s. And last night, last night, my heart was obliterated, pulverized as I looked into the eyes of the most amazing person I have ever known, eyes that looked at me as if I was the prize, as if I was the most amazing thing in her world, only to find them rid of us.
Just like that, my world fell apart, and I don’t know that it can be put back together.
And that’s just too fucking much.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I replay every moment, from the first smile to the last laugh, and then I do it again.
I must pass out again after that, because the next time they open, it’s later. I don’t know by how much, I never did look at the time, but it must have been at least a couple hours as my vomit is dry in the dirt and the pounding in my head has gone from heavy metal to two-tone punk.
It’s beating up my temples, but it’s bearable now.
Lifting my phone from the seat, I check the missed calls and messages, but when neither my mom’s facility nor my girl’s name is among the dozens in red, I toss it.
Instead of heading home, I dip into what’s left of my financial aid from this past semester, and check into a hotel room, where I stay the next two days, repeating the one before it.
It doesn’t help, the distance or the distraction.
Every time my eyes open, reality rocks me to the core.
That’s the thing about alcohol. It’s a temporary fix, one that leads you more fucked up than before. And believe me, I am fucked up.
My mind, my body.
My future.
I clench my jaw, dropping back against the shower wall, holding my breath as the water rolls over my face.
What future?
I slap the wall, and then bang my forehead against it.
And then I fall to the fucking floor.
A hear the footsteps coming before his face pokes around the corner, and I’m almost humiliated enough to turn away.
Almost, but not quite.
The last thing I want is for the guy I’ve worked hand in hand in with all season, coaching him to be the next leader of my position, to see me with my head hung in a room that reeks of liquor, when the man he knows me to be has never once stood in front of him drunk.
But I’m not even standing.
I’m sitting on the floor of a shitty balcony at an overpriced hotel, my back flat against the wall.
“How did you find me?”
“Only four hotels within a five-minute drive from the hospital, knew I’d spot your truck at one of them.” He’s angry, rightfully so. “You need to come back to the hospital.”
Sighing, I drag myself to my feet, and move toward the edge of the banister. Crossing my arm over the cool metal, I lean forward, looking down at the empty playground. “You think I don’t want to be there? That this isn’t killing me? That I don’t feel like shit for walking out and leaving her there?” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Because I do.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Did she ask for me?”