Solving Shit & Writing Songs
Kaze
Me: I miss you today.
K.: Because you want to. I’m not the one who has things to do.
Me: You do. You have classes all day.
K: Oh, right. The same classes you’re distracting me from, right now.
Me: We have all the time in the world. Talk later?
K: Always.
Me: I’ll call you at our time. xx
K: I’ll be waiting. xx
Even though she’s just as eager to see me again as I am to see her, there are things I need to fix before she becomes a permanent part of my life.
Because that’s what I want.
I want her to be a permanent part of my life.
She’s the kind of girl who deserves to be introduced to my parents, the kind who should be able to walk down the street holding my hand without consequences. But that’s not possible right now, not me being who I am, not yet.
As if the shame of my past choices wasn’t already weighing me down, now there’s Patrick.
He saw us together.
I don’t know how much he knows, but he knows enough, and it’s only a matter of time before she does too. And when that happens… will she still look at me the way she does now?
I exhale sharply and close the messaging app before I can overthink it anymore. Instead, I call Tommy. The phone rings for a few seconds before he finally picks up.
“How much?” he asks right away, his voice slow, lazy, like he just woke up or just doesn’t care.
“I’m not looking to buy, ” I say, keeping my voice steady.
There’s a pause, then a short laugh. “You sure? You haven’t bought in a while. Thought maybe you found yourself a new supplier.”
“I didn’t.”
“Stealing for me, then?”
“No, ” I say, sharper this time. “Can we talk in person?”
Another pause. I hear him shifting, maybe lighting a cigarette. “What about?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to say it over the phone. “It’s better if we talk in person.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his options. “This is some kind of setup?”
“No.”
“’Cause if it is, Kaze, I swear, ”
“It’s not.”
More silence. Then a sigh. “Fine. Usual spot. One hour. Don’t be late.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything else.
I stare at my phone for a second, then slip it back into my pocket.
My hands are shaking.
Maybe from nerves.
Maybe from a lack of something else.
But I have to do it.
I have to end this.
* * *
The alleyway, the usual spot, is the kind of place that makes you feel like you need a shower just for standing in it.
Rusted fire escapes cling to the buildings on either side, their bolts barely holding on, like everything here is on the verge of collapsing.
A single streetlamp flickers in the distance, but it does nothing to chase away the shadows.
Tommy is already here, and he’s not alone.
He’s never alone.
I stop a few feet away, my pulse drumming in my ears.
Tommy leans against the crumbling brick wall, a joint dangling from his lips.
His hoodie is faded, the once-black fabric now a dull gray, riddled with burn holes. He looks the same as he did when we met a few years ago at that concert, only worse.
Back then, he possessed effortless confidence, the kind that drew people to him. He was older, cooler, and always had something in his pocket to take the edge off.
When he slipped me that first pill, he did it like it was nothing, just another way to enjoy the music.
And God, did it work.
For the first time in my life, my mind wasn’t a prison.
The constant flood of thoughts, the anxiety that came with too many ideas and not enough time to write them down, all of it just stilled. The music made sense in a way it never had before, every note, every beat fitting together like a puzzle I could finally see.
I slept that night.
And the next.
And the next.
And Tommy was there every time I needed more.
He wasn’t just a dealer; he was the one who had me in a choke-hold since then.
“Finally here, kiddo. What do you want?” Tommy says, exhaling smoke through his nose.
His voice is lazy and uninterested, as if he already knows the outcome of this conversation. He nods toward the guy beside him, a wiry kid with hollow cheeks and too much energy in his movements.
Someone new.
Someone I would rather not know.
I ignore him. “I need to talk.”
Tommy flicks ash onto the ground. “You already said that. Don’t waste my time, Kaze. I’m here. So talk.”
I take a breath. My fingers twitch at my sides. “I need out.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Out of what?”
“You know what.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know what, Kiddo. ’Cause last time I checked, you don’t just get to walk away. Not after everything you took from me. Not after how much you know.”
“Look, man. I…” I clench my jaw, forcing the words out. “I’ve been clean for three months. And I always paid you.”
If not with money, then with work.
It started slow, the way all bad habits do.
At first, it was just easy cash, quick deliveries, no questions asked.
My parents had started noticing the changes in me, the late nights, the vacant stares, the weight I’d lost. Maybe they didn’t want to admit what was happening, or maybe they just thought tough love would fix me. Either way, they cut me off.
School was already behind me by then, but they still paid for my music, courses, equipment, anything that fueled their version of my dream.
But I never saw that money. It was paid directly to where it was supposed to go.
By the time I realized I needed a way out, I was too far in.
I tried working regular jobs, but drugs don’t care about schedules, nor does depression.
I filled that hole with substances just to end up in another hole, but at least this one, let me have fun.
I used the drugs to sleep, to create, used them to feel something other than the constant noise in my head, and, other times, the lack of energy, and to avoid the void.
But that meant I wasn’t waking up on time, and wasn’t showing up when I should. And when the regular jobs stopped working, working for Tommy did. I moved what he told me to move, and he made sure I never had to face the chaos in my mind alone.
At least, until her.
Tommy’s lips part slightly in exaggerated surprise before he laughs. It’s not a real laugh, more like something he does for show. “Three whole months? Damn. What do you want, a medal?”
“I want you to let me go. I’m not gonna screw you over. I… I actually appreciate your help, and you know I’m not that kind of person, man. I just… I want a fresh start.”
Tommy studies me, his joint burning low between his fingers. He takes his time, eyes scanning me, looking for the cracks.
The weaknesses.
The tells.
Then he smirks. “Alright. Prove it.”
I don’t move. “What?”
He nods to the kid beside him. The kid steps forward, hand slipping into his pocket. A tiny plastic bag appears between his fingers, too small, too familiar.
“If you’re so clean, ” Tommy says, “then this shouldn’t tempt you.”
I keep my eyes on him.
He’s just a package, Kazemiro. I try to convince myself.
Because the truth is, the temptation is there, and it’s fucked up to fight with.
My mouth goes dry. My pulse picks up, hammering against my ribs.
I can almost feel it, the promise of silence, of focus, of relief.
But there’s also her.
Her.
Her.
Focus on her, Kaze.
“I don’t want it, ” I say, my voice tight, and let the little package of pills fall to the floor.
I took it, and didn’t even notice it. Fuck.
“Oh, but you do.” He smirks, having noticed my temptation while taking another drag of his joint.
“And I could let you have it, you know. Hell, I’m feeling generous today, so keep it.
” He exhales slowly, watching me. “So let’s put it this way.
I got a package of the good stuff that needs moving, ” he starts.
“So, here’s the deal.” He kicks the little bag toward me with the toe of his boot.
“You keep that, be grateful for my generosity, and when I call, you move the parcel with the instructions I give you. If you do that job right, I’ll consider letting you go. ”
It’s just one more time. Just one last job.
It’s just like you did on the last runs.
Catch, move, deliver.
Never looking at what is in my hands. Never wanting to look.
Right?
I swallow hard, my fists clenching at my sides. My mind screams at me to say no, to walk away, to run. But I don’t because I know well enough that I’ll win him easily if I just play by the rules, after all, I know how he deals with people who fuck him over… And he knows I do.
One last job.
For her.
“Deal,” I end up saying.
After that, I have to be free.
* * *
The scalding water does nothing to wash away the weight pressing against my ribs. I stand under the stream longer than necessary, my hands braced against the tiles, watching the water swirl down the drain like it might take my sins with it.
It doesn’t.
By the time I step out, the room is filled with steam, and my reflection in the mirror is nothing but a ghostly blur.
I rub a towel over my face, dragging it through my damp hair before tossing it aside. My muscles ache, my head is heavy, and my body screams for rest, but sleep isn’t coming. Not tonight.
I grab my notebook from the desk and collapse onto my bed, flipping it open on my lap. The pages are filled with notes, quotes, and thoughts.
I run my fingers over a half-written verse, something I scribbled down some months ago but never finished.
Then, before I can overthink it, I reach for my pen and start writing a bit more.
The idea hit me when I started playing for K.
She’s a thread of light breaking through the mess that’s me. And now, as the ink bleeds onto the page, I can feel it forming into something tangible.
Something mine. Just like she is.
She’s gonna love it.
I can already hear the melody in my head, the chords taking shape, the rhythm falling into place as if it were always meant to exist. My fingers itch for my guitar, but it’s too late to play, and I know if I start now, I won’t stop, and then I’ll have to deal with my fucking parents annoying the hell out of me.
“Stop the noise, Kaze.” “People work, Kaze.” “Grow up, Kaze.”
Always the same shit.
They don’t understand me. Never did.
My mind is not like theirs. I need silence to create. Sometimes, that silence drowns me, because that’s when the voices in my head grow louder, flooding me with anxiety and intrusive thoughts. But when I manage to channel that chaos into something, in this case, a melody, it flows.
Creation becomes a release, and the noise turns into something real. I once heard that the moon is the mother of all artists. Maybe that’s true. She’s the one who stays up with us through the night, holding space for our madness and our magic.
So while I keep writing the lullaby in my head, I don’t think about the fear clawing at my ribs.
Not about the way everything feels like it’s closing in on me.
I just think about her.
Because when everything else is slipping through my fingers, she has been the only thing I still know how to hold onto.
I’m lost in it, scribbling down lyrics, fixing a verse, my mind completely wrapped around the song, so much so that I almost don’t hear it at first.
The sharp vibration of my phone against the nightstand.
The sudden burst of sound cutting through the silence.
It takes a second for reality to catch up, for me to snap out of the haze of ink and the voices in my head, my heart lurching as I realize, it’s her.
Shit.
I scramble for my phone, nearly knocking my notebook to the floor as I fumble to answer.
“Fuck, love, I’m so sorry. I got distracted.”
A soft chuckle filters through the speaker, warm and teasing. “You? Distracted? Shocking.”
I exhale, sinking back against the pillows, a slow grin tugging at my lips despite myself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”
“I will, actually. You totally forgot about me, didn’t you?”
“Of course not, are you crazy? I just… got caught up in something.”
She hums, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm. Wanna share?”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling like an idiot but smiling anyway. “Maybe.”
“I’m waiting.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “Hey. Bossy much? Is this how it’s gonna be now?”
She laughs, soft and knowing. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t love it.”
I smirk, flipping my notebook shut. “I tolerate it.”
“Hmm. Sure, baby. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“That would have to be you.”
There’s a beat of silence before she groans, and I can hear the pout in her voice. “Fuck, don’t say stuff like that when I’m not with you.”
I chuckle. “Why not?”
“Because…” She trails off, and I swear I can picture her biting her lip, trying to hold back.
I grin. “Because what?”
“Because I’d rather be next to you when you say it.”
My chest tightens, warmth curling in my stomach. “Soon, love.”
She sighs dramatically. “How soon? We could meet now, you know.”
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.
I do know.
And damn if I’m not tempted. I’m pretty sure we don’t live that far from each other, and it wouldn’t take much, just a simple yes, and I could be with her.
But I can’t. Not yet. Not when I still have too much shit to fix.
“I know, ” I say instead, keeping my voice steady.
She huffs. “So why not?”
I smile sadly, even though she can’t see it. “Because if I see you now, I won’t want to leave. And I can’t afford that, love. Not yet.”
She sighs, playful but laced with something softer. “Always mysterious.”
I chuckle. “It’s part of my charm.”
“I’m well aware.” I can hear the teasing in her tone, and it tugs something warm in my chest. “So, what were you working on?”
“Something.”
“K.!! C’mon.”
I chuckle. “It’s a surprise, love.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
There’s a beat of silence, then,
“Is it… a song?” she asks, her voice tilting into a swoon, and, fuck, that always does things to me.
I exhale, shaking my head even though she can’t see me. “No.”
She gasps dramatically. “When will I hear it?”
I hesitate for half a second before saying, “When it’s ready.”
And fuck. Now she knows.
A triumphant laugh bursts through the line. “AH-HA! Gotcha.”
I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“And yet, you’re writing me a song. So what does that say about you?”
I try to scowl, but my grin is too wide, my damn cheeks hurt from smiling. “It says you make me an idiot.”
“No-no, ” she purrs, her voice dipping into something both sexy and triumphant. “I only make you a good boy.”
God help me.