Chapter 8 All’s Fair In Love And War
Play Miserable Man by David Kushner
My phone lights up with another text from Abby. It’s the third message I’ve received since the night at Saint’s. I can’t bear to read them, knowing she doesn’t know. I don’t deserve her friendship but I don’t have the guts to tell her the truth.
It’s been five days since I left the house, most of the time since I’ve spent holed up in my room. Mom has tried multiple times to get me to open up, but I’ve become hollow since then. All my truth would do is ruin the view she carries of her daughter. It’s better to just stay silent.
Another ding comes from my phone, pressuring me to finally roll over and check it.
I drag my comforter with me, keeping myself buried underneath the fabric.
The fantasy of it swallowing me whole brings a glimpse of happiness to my mind.
How long would it take for me to become part of the bed?
How many days until my skin would begin to dissolve, falling into the threads of the sheets?
Unknown: Hey it’s Luke. Can I pick you up in an hour? I need your help.
I reread the text a few times, trying to confirm what I’m seeing. I’ve never spoken to Luke alone, and I continue to come up empty handed when trying to find a reason for him to need my help.
Me: What for?
The three dots to show he’s typing appear almost immediately.
Unknown: I'm taking that a yes. ETA is thirty minutes.
Staring down at the messages frustration fills me.
The last thing I want right now is to leave my bed, let alone see any of them.
Luke doesn’t seem like he’s giving me a choice in the matter, though, so I fight against my body to get up.
I’ve been locked in place for so long that the movements feel sore.
I quickly make my way over to the dresser, pulling out the first items I see.
The softness of them is a stark contrast to the clothes I’ve been wearing since the night I got home.
Those ones have grown rough with dried sweat over the past few days.
My raw fingertips scrape the edge of the shirt, gripping onto it to pull it above my head.
I watch as it lands next to my feet, dreading how much energy it’s going to take to get ready.
My head twists to the side, allowing me to stare at my bed as the craving to crawl back in overcomes me.
I should’ve just slit my wrists, that would’ve been much harder to come back from than a stomach full of pills.
After spending way too long making myself look at least slightly presentable, I head out to the living room.
The sunshine filtering in through the blinds causes my eyes to burn.
I’m so deprived of sight I don’t notice when mom walks up to me.
“Baby?” Her voice comes out soft, like the way someone would attempt to comfort a crying infant.
“Hey sweetie, do you want some coffee or something?”
I rub my eyes, relief filling me as I block out the sun for a moment. “Yeah, thank you.” I mumble back. I follow her into the kitchen area, sitting down at the small table.
“You had me worried, baby.” She says over the sound of the coffee pot filling up. I turn to watch as the dark brown liquid drips into the glass container. “I’m scared of losing you,” this time her voice comes out shaky.
“The doctor told you I would still have bad days, mama.” I start off. I try to keep my voice firm, but even I doubt she’ll buy it. “It was just a bad few days. I’m feeling better now.”
She sets a light blue mug in front of me. The coffee inside sends steam floating up to my nose, filling my senses with the strong smell. I gently bring it up to my lips, taking a small sip and letting the flavor coat my mouth. Mom sits across from me, reaching out to grasp my hand in hers.
“Even on your bad days, I’m always here for you.
Okay?” She looks at me with a mix of hope and love.
Her love for me feels more like a burden nowadays.
It remains the main thing that holds me back.
The main thing that keeps me strapped to this life.
I thought I had finally moved past that, but being here, being home, has reminded me of why I can’t just die.
It would be an act of kindness to myself, but it would destroy her.
Looking at her now, with her eyes like mine, is a strong reminder that I’m trapped. I almost resent her for it.
“I know mom,” I finally respond as I squeeze her hand in return. I take another sip from the mug, giving time to not end the conversation so abruptly. When she clues in to the fact I’m not interested in talking about my depression, I finally continue on. “Luke is going to pick me up here soon.”
Mom pulls her lips to the side as a look of concern crosses her face. “There was another overdose on the news. Fentanyl.”
The words make my stomach sink, the memory of Jasmine’s dad bombarding me. I had told mom all about him while we had begun packing for the garage sale.
“I know those boys as if they were my own sons,” she continues on as she pulls her matching mug closer to herself.
“I know they would never do something like that, but from what the news is saying, everything is getting laced with that stuff.” She tilts the mug back and forth, her eyes drawn to the way the coffee inside slides back and forth. “Just be careful okay.”
My eyebrows pull together at her words, images of them all doing coke flashes in front of me. Knowing that any of them could have been one line away from death terrifies me. “Of course, mama.”
Mom lets out a deep breath before seemingly returning back to her happy self. “So how long do I have you for?” She gives me a soft smile.
“He should be here any minute.” As the words leave my lips I watch as her smile drops slightly. Remorse hits me so quickly that without thinking I add, “But I was thinking we could see a movie tonight?” With dad in rehab and me rotting away in the bedroom I’m sure she’s gotten lonely.
A light knock echoes from the front door as she responds, “I’d love that Supernova! I’ll look to see what I can find.” We both stand up as she walks me over to the door. “What time should I expect you back?”
“Should just be a few hours.” Hopefully less.
Mom opens the door and we find Luke standing on the other side, motorcycle helmet in hand. His lip dawns a hefty cut, but I think nothing of it as mom nudges me out of the way.
“Oh absolutely not!” Mom laughs almost hysterically. “Luke, you are not taking my baby on your death machine.”
A hint of annoyance filters through Luke’s body stance. His eyes dart from mom to me, waiting for me to speak up.
“It’s okay mom,” I start, stepping past her and onto the porch. “He’ll drive safe, right?” I look up to him, his unique eyes staring right back.
“Of course.” Luke flashes mom one of his million dollar smiles. I swear he could take over the world with that thing.
Mom crosses her arms, looking at the two of us with a frown on her face. “Call me when you get to where you’re going, okay” She lets out with a defeated huff.
I give her a small nod before taking off down the stairs.
Luke stays right on my heels as we walk up to his Ducati.
The shiny red metal glimmers under the summer sun.
It’s the perfect shade of red, bright enough to not be mistaken for maroon, while dark enough it has more depth than your average red.
It’s as if the whole bike was painted with fresh blood that was never able to coagulate.
“Put this on,” Luke states with his typical ‘I’m in power’ tone. He hands over the black helmet and I slide it on my head without a second thought.
“What about you?” I ask when I notice there’s not a second one.
He hops onto the bike, looking over his shoulder to stare at me.
“I only have one and your mom is staring me down like I'm the Devil’s incarnate.” I turn to look back at the trailer, and sure enough mom is still standing on the porch with a displeased look etched into her face.
She’s never been a helicopter parent, but when your child is already trying to kill herself I’m sure it’s annoying to have to deal with outside forces as well.
The thought makes me laugh softly as I climb onto the back.
My hands instantly wrap around him for stability, feeling the firmness of his abs underneath his shirt.
Unlike previous times, today he’s wearing a simple back t-shirt with some brewery logo on the back.
The bike comes to life underneath us, sending vibrations through my entire body. The feeling is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before and I hug him tighter as the nerves begin to filter in.
“Where are we going anyway?” I call out loud enough for him to hopefully hear. He picks his foot up off the ground as the bike begins to move forward.
“You ask way too many fucking questions, Nova.” The second my name leaves his mouth, he picks up speed. We race out of the lot and through the neighborhood trailers at a speed I’m sure is more than the twenty mile an hour limit.
Play Movies by Conan Gray
The view blurs as he speeds through the town's roads.
Every building, tree, and person blends together to create a kaleidoscope.
The rush filters through me, making me feel more alive than I have in ages.
Each corner we turn, Luke lightly taps my thigh, informing me which way to lean.
Every second feels like it's going straight to my heart, amplifying the adrenaline flooding into me. It’s exhilarating.
While I could’ve spent hours on the back of that thing, it’s not long until we’re pulling up to an old diner.
The bright red sign, missing half of its light bulbs, reads ‘Johnny’s Place.
’ It has the stereotypical wall of windows, allowing those who pass by to take a peek inside.
The walls are painted white, though it's been aged to a muddy gray and now carries more cracks than the earth’s tectonic plates.