18. EIGHTEEN
EIGHTEEN
I swear it takes more than one hand to count how many times the sun has gone down and come back up. My last couple of days have been waking up, feeding Chalupa, and laying in bed trying to feel something by watching old childhood movies.
They’re more of a distraction than anything, because when it gets quiet and all I can hear is the howl of the wind… my thoughts turn ugly. Uglier than they’ve ever been.
Doesn’t help that my phone won’t shut up. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. I don’t care. Haley’s been texting. Finn’s being texting. Fuck, even Sandra’s been texting. It doesn’t matter. They’ll all forget about me in due time.
My thumbs hover over the screen as I stare at the empty notes app in front of me. This is such a joke. How do I have nothing important to say when they could very well be my last words?
Slowly, I type out one word: sorry. Because in spite of the fact my parents have been nothing but cruel to me, I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t be who they wanted me to be. Sorry I couldn’t fix myself. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry to Haley that I’m a horrible person, too. She deserves someone better than an asshole who ignores her to spend time with a guy he barely knows. She would never do that to me. Never.
Where did I go so horribly wrong? The past two weeks have been a plane crash that I’ve been unable to stop, and now I’m not even being dignified with a watery grave. I'm smashing against the concrete in a horrible mess of fire and smoke.
If I’m going to do it, I can’t leave any loose ends. Not with her. I’ve fucked up so much between her and I, but I won’t let it get that far. My best friend deserves peace of mind, that’s for sure.
Absent-mindedly, I open our text chain. But no, I can’t do that. Can’t explain this with pixels on a screen. Sitting up in my disgusting state of a bed, my finger hovers over the call button.
Pushing it is easy, but accepting the fact I’m going to have to grovel and apologize for my shitty behavior isn’t.
Brrrr. Brrrrrr. Brrrrrrr—
“What?” Not only does she sound tired, but she sounds pissed. “You’ve got some nerve calling me out of the blue when you—”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that last time. You swore—”
The flood gates open, and my voice breaks.. I’ve been laying here so devoid of any emotion other than numbing sadness that just hearing her is enough to make me cry. “Haley.”
“Dunk… are you…?”
“My mom is done with me. She wanted to send me to fucking conversion therapy. Can you… Can you believe that?” The weak laughter that follows is so defeated. “My own mother…”
“...That’s not right. Can I please come visit you? I’m really… I’m worried about you.” It’s evident in her voice. I’m making her sick. “You shouldn’t be alone. Not now.”
Happy. I have to be happy. I need to make her feel secure in the fact that I’m okay. “It’s fine. That’s just a waste of money. I’m not… alone. I have my friend, remember? Finn?”
“Duncan…”
“It was just a lot. I know I said I wouldn’t go ghost again, and then I did… and I really am sorry about that. But it’s hard to explain. The way I’m feeling…” I sigh. “I’ll get over it. I like being alone, mostly.”
My best friend groans in displeasure. I wonder if she’s really buying into this? “You’re absolutely certain?”
“I’ve been a bad friend, and I’m sorry.” Sniffling, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand like an infant. “I really want you to know how much I love you. You mean literally everything to me.”
“I love you too. Always. You know that.”
“I do. I really, really do.”
She inhales, but before she can respond some muffled voice yells in the background. “Shoot. I really… I’m on the train to work. I have to go. Can we please talk about this later? Please?”
“Of course.” A lie. “Sorry for calling so early.”
“Don’t ever be sorry. Go back to bed. You need it. Love you, Dunk”
The knife is being twisted over and over. God, it’s unbearable. “Love you too, bye.”
Letting my phone fall amidst the unwashed sheets, I take another breath. No relief is found, though. Only overwhelming sorrow. Standing up, I dredge over to the bathroom and flick the light on.
Without even looking at the mirror, I twist on the water and begin undressing. I’m too scared to be tempted by what’s in the medicine cabinet, and I don’t want to see the miserable state I’m in.
Water hisses as it shoots out of the showerhead, cascading down my back and pitter-patting against the floor below. I just don’t feel anything. It’s like my whole body is asleep except for my mind.
After drying myself and shambling to the kitchen, I pour myself the saddest bowl of cereal and eat it dry. My stomach growls fiercely, and when my eyes find the calendar I realize how long it’s actually been.
A little over a week and a half. That’s how long I’ve holed myself up in my room and ignored all my responsibilities. No wonder shit has been so rough lately. But I can’t help it. Even finding the strength to get out of bed today was exhausting.
My phone vibrates.
Finn!! :)
Duncan, I’m getting really worried. I’m sorry if I did anything wrong, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t stop talking to me. I promise that I’ll do better. I can be better, if that’s what you want.
Even through text I can hear the desperation in his message, and it makes my heart break. I’m sorry, Finn, but I’m incapable of doing anything right. I can’t be better. I’m a horrible friend, and he’s better off without me.
So many other texts are just sitting there. I never actually read any of them until now. It’s probably a good thing I have no friends, honestly.
Can you please reply? I’m worried about you.
If you’re angry with me, I’ll do better. I know it’s annoying but this is making me feel so awful.
Do you think we can be friends? We don’t have to be anything else. If I pushed too hard, I’m genuinely sorry. I was so excited to have you around, maybe I got too ahead of myself. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
I’m such an asshole. Even I’m disgusted with myself after reading all these texts. I should say something. I don’t want to bother trying to fix it entirely, but I can’t just leave him alone, can I? That would be unbelievably cruel to a man who’s never shown me anything but kindness.
im sorry. its not your fault.
The text is vague as fuck and I know it, but I can’t bring myself to vent to him. I can’t bring myself to rehash things that only hurt me. He starts typing almost immediately, but I set my phone down on the kitchen table.
Tomorrow, none of this will matter. I’ll just be a bad memory that I hope he can forgive eventually. But, hey, if he can’t? What does it matter? I won’t be around to see it anyways.