Fuck.
Sam
I’ll do you one better. I bet he’s written the address on the back of the paper.
Jamie
I’ll bet he’s spilled a drop of beer on the drawing and hasn’t done a goddamn thing to fix it.
Gus
You’re all idiots.
He’s clearly done all of those things. That’s easy money.
Oh, come on.
I’m leaving this group chat.
I shake my head as I lock my phone. It continues to vibrate but I ignore it.
They’re right, I have done every single one of those things. My mind is stumped, but I just need to dosomething. Anything other than grip the steering wheel and let my mind and body bring me to her. She needs time, I’m giving her time.
So I sit. I sit and I sit for what feels like hours before I hear a car pull up behind me.
I turn to see Bash’s SUV stop next to my car. My new Audi RS6. Seriously, no one warns you of the money craze you get when you become a millionaire.
I face back toward the house and pretend they aren’t here.
The paper that has been sitting idle on my lap since I got here is snatched away. I roll my eyes at the dramatic way Sam looks it over, inspecting it.
“We all win.”
“But you never said how much, idiots,” I say with a small smile.
“Well, shit,” Raze says behind me.
The smile quickly disappears as the thoughts start just as my beer is halfway to my mouth.
It’s been on the floor for a while. You haven’t been watching it.
I inspect the contents of the clear beer bottle, see that there’s nothing in it other than beer and shrug to myself. It’s all good.
My therapy seems to be the only thing giving me actual hope at the moment. Even though things are going my way, it feels like I’m disconnected from it, like it’s all happening to someone else. But my therapy sessions are helping to stabilize this new confidence within me. I’ve been learning the difference between irrational thoughts and reality, which has been leading to a lot less compulsions. My head feels clearer these days, well, other than the constant thoughts of Oakleigh. It feels as if I have this new ounce of freedom and with it, I can finally start finding a balance between doing things for myself and those I care about.
Sam sits on the battered grass beside my chair and leans against my leg. The summer sun beats down on us, the humidity even worse than a month ago. My black sleeveless vest already has a patch of sweat on the back of it from where I’ve been leaning against it.
“You need to stop doing this, Finn,” Sam says without looking at me. They must have brought some beer because he’s taking a sip from a bottle.
“Not sure what you mean.”
“You can’t do anything here at the moment. It’s Sunday, man. Have the day off.”
“This is me having a day off.”
“Sitting here and trying to force something creative to happen just so you can take a break from thinking about Oakleigh is not having a day off.”
“Do you not have anything better to do other than play therapist?”
