18. Chase
EIGHTEEN
CHASE
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD
“I have a date tonight.”
Doc hums in his chair. It used to annoy me, but now the rumble is comforting. I don’t need long responses, and he doesn’t push me to verbalize things that are easier to write down.
Yeah, he was right about the journaling.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“I feel like I should be, right? I’m twenty-five and I’ve never gone on an actual date.” The guilt knocks, trying to work its way inside as I realize I never even took Goldi on one.
“I don’t really feel anything, to be honest. Her name’s Marissa, by the way, not that you asked, which why would you care? It’s not like you actually give a shit.” I’m rambling, every second costing another twenty cents, but I can’t stop. “I mean, do you think I should be nervous?”
“I think it’s normal to feel nervous,” he confirms. “Or excited. But remember all of your feelings are valid, Chase, no matter what they are.”
I click my tongue, analyzing him. “Yeah, that’s what you always tell me.”
I’ve been coming to Doc for three years now, and some days, I feel like he’s my best friend. How fucking pathetic is that?
There’s a group of guys from work I grab beers with, but it’s all surface level, especially once I was promoted to construction engineering project manager.
The pay is nice, but I found out quickly people treat you differently when you’re above them in management.
That’s how I met Marissa, though. She’s a designer for one of our industrial complexes.
I’ve picked up a lot of girls in the past five years, always for a quick thrill and a release of tension, a nice, warm hole for my cock to disappear in for a while, but I’ve never given them anything more than that because I have nothing worthwhile to give.
At least, that’s how I’ve always felt until Marissa.
I’m not sure what it was that made me ask her out. Maybe it was the conversation. She’s the first woman to hold my interest long enough to look into her head instead of staring at her tits. Or maybe it’s the fact that with her jet-black hair, tanned white skin, brown eyes, and legs for days, she’s the exact opposite of the girl my heart still beats for, no matter how many times I try to change its cadence.
Journal Entry # 156
I fucked a woman tonight. It felt good. I mean, obviously. It was sex, so it always feels good. And this girl fuck, woman, she sucked my cock like a Hoover.
I really thought this one would be different, you know? We have things in common, liked the same movies and shit. And I swear, I tried so hard to be invested during dinner, but every time she laughed, I compared it to the sound of Goldi’s. Every time she touched me, I waited for it to burn through my veins, but was left feeling cold. And when I came, I had to close my eyes and imagine it was Goldi, the same way I have with every single woman I’ve been with since losing her.
Jesus, I hope nobody ever finds this notebook.
Doc thinks my problem is that I was never shown healthy love during my “formative years,” and he’s probably right because he usually is.
There’s only one time I can remember my mom even saying I love you. I wanted to tell Doc about it, so he’d know my mom DID love me, at least a little. But like usual, my throat closed up and my chest caved in, so the words stayed buried.
But here goes, notebook. I’m gonna tell you.
I can’t remember how old I was, I think maybe four or five. Lily was still in diapers, I know that much.
It was a good day, though.
My birthday.
Mom was happy, which was fucking rare. I didn’t know about drugs back then, only that she needed medicine and got sick a lot when she didn’t have it.
that day, though, she was glowing.
I remember her laugh the most. It lit me up inside and made me want to tell the whole world she was happy because of me.
She woke me up that morning and said we were going out for ice cream.
“A birthday treat for a birthday boy.”
We didn’t have money because she usually spent the little we had poisoning her veins, so luxuries like birthday presents weren’t really a thing.
I was excited, naturally.
She had never given me a birthday treat before.
We went to a little ice cream shop downtown, one I always stared at longingly when we drove by but had never been inside. I’ll never forget that moment, I soaked in all of it like a sponge sucks up water. The bell chimed when we walked in, and the smell of sugar flooded my nose and made my stomach growl.
I picked vanilla and was vibrating in place when I got to load it up with gummy worms, sprinkles, and strawberry sauce.
It was the happiest day of my life up to that point, and even now, thinking back on it, my stomach feels the memory of the flutters.
Funny how something so small can have such a huge impact.
We sat at the tiny metal table in the corner of the shop, the stools uneven and wobbly. It was there she told me how much she loved me, bouncing Lily on her knee, and making me promise to always look after her. “Do it for me, baby boy. That way I can rest easy no matter what, knowing her big brother will always be there to take care of her. Life’s not the same for a girl. It’s harder.”
I tried to pay attention to everything she said, but her profession of loving me filled me up like helium, and I was floating all the way home. My whole life I tried to get her love, and finally, I had it.
I really thought she was better. She hadn’t been sick all day, and hope that things were going to be different danced in my head.
We got home and she put Lily down for a nap, telling me to take one too while she ran to the corner store to pick up some candles for my birthday cake.
Christ. I’ve never thought until this moment how irresponsible she was leaving a child and a toddler alone in the apartment. But back then, it was a normal way of life.
I fell asleep quickly, probably from the sugary ice cream and excitement of the day, and I remember Lily’s cries woke me up, which wasn’t an unusual alarm clock for me. I got up with her a lot, especially in the night when my mom was locked in her room or busy making sure every speck of dust was gone from our apartment. She didn’t like for us to bother her when she got in one of those moods, so I’d always rush in to keep Lily quiet whenever she’d start wailing.
That night, though, it was still early. Before dinner, for sure. My stomach was growling, the ice cream and remnants of my mom’s words the only things sloshing around in my belly, so I went into the kitchen knowing Lily probably wanted milk and a snack, assuming Mom had picked some up at the store earlier.
But when I got to the fridge, it was empty. All I could find was a sleeve of opened, stale crackers in the cabinet.
Mom was awake. I could hear her pacing the living room, back and forth, occasionally going to the blinds and cracking them open to peek out.
Lily’s cries weren’t even on her radar. My stomach sank as I peered around the corner from the kitchen and watched her.
I remember thinking she must have needed the grocery money for her meds, and although the realization that she was still sick…that she wasn’t actually cured the way I hoped, made me sad, I was more focused on taking care of Lily.
If Mom needed the money for herself, I knew we wouldn’t be getting anything to eat that night.
I crept back into the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t hear me. She had a temper when she’d get like this, and it had been such a good day. I didn’t want to ruin it.
Turning on the faucet, I grabbed Lily’s pink cup and filled it with tap water, hoping it would help, and then I grabbed the stale crackers and tiptoed down the hallway to our room. I crawled into Lily’s toddler bed and leaned against the back wall, handing her the water and putting the crackers in between us. Eventually, her sobs turned to whimpers, and she moved next to me, laying her little head on my shoulder, and falling back asleep.
All night long, I held on to the words my mom had told me earlier.
She loved me and I was a good brother. The best.
I convinced myself it was enough.