31. Power Off
31
Power Off
Electronic music blared in my ears, muffling out Ash’s protests as I strode away. Each heavy step heightened my resolve. I had to leave.
It was better for everybody.
I went home on autopilot, ignoring the stiffness in my fingers from the cold setting in.The numbness would wear off. Just before I pulled into the driveway, a neighbor kid zoomed by on some kind of black mini car and cut me off. I slammed on the brakes to avoid plowing right through them, the seatbelt strangling me in inertia.
I would not let this beat me.
I laid on the horn.
The kid jerked to a stop and gaped at me.
“Um, hello? Look both ways. Right of way. Basic safety applies to vehicles.” I gestured for them to move aside. It didn’t matter if my words were muffled with the window rolled up; they’d gotten the message.
“Sorry about that.” A parent wheezed, jogging to catch up and tow them out of the way. “New driver.”
Did that matter? I upturned my palms at them .
Why the hell would they give a kid a car? Especially a model that went that fast? Our neighborhood wasn’t a go-kart course, let alone a playground.
“Go on, just watch for cars,” the parent encouraged their kid.
I scowled and pulled into the garage, closing it behind me. That ‘car’ was probably an early holiday present. Stupid design. Enclosed legs meant no room to grow. A parent couldn’t supervise. Too high of speeds. Hard seat. Who approved that for child safety?
I yanked off my baseball cap, then the elastic band around my dark hair, shaking off the static irritation fused to my skin.
Maybe a safe car wasn't exciting enough. What did I know about fun? Even my friend with benefits ditched me for the prospect of someone without so much baggage.
But I could have fun. Without him.
I stormed into the living room. The empty drum set mocked me. Just Rock .
I would. I’d rock my fucking fleece off. I whipped the jacket onto the couch, then took up the sticks. I’d beat any high score that asshole had and wipe his name from the board forever. It was easier in mindset than actual practice. The stupid left panel wouldn’t always register, no matter how hard I hit it. Sweat dripped down my back and clung to my T-shirt. It was impossible to build up momentum. The virtual audience booed.
“Oh, fuck you.” I kicked the drum set down and smashed the power off on the game. It wasn’t one of my favorites, anyway.
I slicked my hair back and panted. The drum set flickered, glowing faintly.
What the hell did it want from me? I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t sell or even donate the damned thing if it wasn’t working. It’d be better off as spare parts .
I hauled it into the basement, accidentally bouncing off the door frame and walls. Whatever. Once I had my handy screwdriver, it was all over. I tugged on a spare light and splayed the first panel open on my work table. My phone lit up.
Victor.
I swiped to answer on speaker phone. “What?”
“I could ask the same question,” he droned in his usual affected tone. “You never responded to my text last night. I’d presumed it was because you were busy with a guest, but now, you’re home in the middle of the work day, dismantling your game. What happened?”
“I called in sick. I quit. Who gives a shit?” I tossed a screw into a container with a clatter.
“I’m sorry your talk didn’t go well,” he said.
My shoulders tightened, and I froze, battery acid snaking up the back of my throat. What would my little brother know about rejection?
“I hope you didn’t do anything reckless, burn your bridges. We can talk about options to navigate any awkwardness,” he said.
I snorted. “I’m done trying to fix my relationships.” Not that they could even really be considered ‘relationships’ in a typical sense. “This was a stupid experiment. It failed. On to the next project.” I yanked the colorful wiring out of the panels. “Maybe I’ll move to Alaska and build a nice boyfriend.”
“That seems a bit drastic.”
“Yeah, well, if I’m lucky, he’ll be just as dysfunctional as me. I can fix him without anyone trying to fix me.”
“Oh, you’ve achieved personal perfection?” he said drolly. “So, now you quit? No job? No relationships? No self-reflection?”
I threw the wires into a bin. “I don’t need your condescension. I made one mistake and you act like I have to grovel for the rest of my life for it. The Widow was a freak accident. I’m sorry I didn’t help you better. I know you think this relationship is one-sided with you protecting me for all those years. But I bought this house for us, I invested in that theater, and I took a demeaning job in glorified customer service to get back in your good graces. Hell, I even offered to let your girlfriend of two minutes and her cat move in when you were scared for them. I did my part. I’m done. If you don’t like who I am or you can’t move past it, then you can stay at your girlfriend’s.” I hung up, my heart in overdrive.
Shit. I didn’t actually want him to move out. But we both needed time to cool off. I paced the basement, slowly working one of the drum set stands loose. My phone pinged again, and my stomach dropped when I saw the name on the text thread.
Sal: Hey, you ok?
As if he cared.
I sent a thumbs-up emoji, which was stupid, because I shouldn’t have sent anything. I groaned and shook my phone. Why had one stupid crush rewired my brain? What happened to all my logic, all my critical thinking?
My confidence, actually.
I sighed and set my phone on Do Not Disturb. Something was missing in my life, and it wasn’t a boyfriend.
I went upstairs to decompress and watch some TV. Space Spies 3009 lit up my streaming app.
Continue watching?
My eyes glazed over as my stomach twisted in a knot.
How had something I loved turned into a painful reminder of what never would be?
I needed to get my show back, my love.
The security camera app pinged, and I tensed. Who the fuck was visiting during working hours? Had Sal come to comfort me? My heart fluttered as I checked the camera. A pizza delivery person left some boxes on the doorstep and marched back to their car. What was this about? Wrong address? Prank? Or had those fuckers from my old class found me?
I tentatively opened the door and checked the receipt.
No contact delivery. My favorite pizza, garlic knots, and a cookie skillet. In the comments was a special note to me:
'Dating sucks, but you rock. Treat yourself today, hun. Love, Kat.'
I chuckled, tear droplets clinging to my lashes. Why the hell was she being so nice to me?
I brought the box inside and sent her a text.
Me: Thanks for the treats. I should be sending you something for taking my brother off my hands.
Kat: It’s my pleasure! Text if you need anything. We can even do a movie marathon tonight! But if you’d rather chill on your own for a bit, I get it.
My fingers trembled, my lap warm with steamy, cheesy goodness.
Me: Would you watch Space Spies 3009? Not that I was necessarily ready for that step.
Kat: Totally! But just to warn you, Victor says I talk through everything. I consider it colorful commentary ;)
I smiled. So, someone loved her even with her quirks. And her cat obsession. Maybe because she was warm and friendly. Yet, somehow, she’d almost, somewhat befriended me.
“The Widow brought Victor to me,” she’d said, once. Like it was a blessing.
If only I could reprogram my history, or at least learn to function with it properly. Not everyone was bad. I didn’t want to lash out or run again. Maybe I did need therapy, just not in the way my parents prescribed it.
I took a bite of a garlic knot, the warm bread buttering my tongue with memories of what it meant to relax with someone, to laugh. I’d want to have that again. I picked up my phone and looked for telehealth options. It was time to talk to someone who wouldn’t be compromised by social niceties or be offended if I said the wrong thing. There was no wrong thing to say in therapy.