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I can’t look at Sam Mayor without thinking of his sister. And that makes my head hurt.
So much pain. Heartache. Regret. I think back to what I did and feel sick to my stomach. The way I acted. The things I did to Nick. I hate myself for it.
Seeing Brennon’s lips part—ready to continue talking—I dive under the water. The thick silence fills my head, and my body relaxes. I swim far from him and deeper until my lungs burn, begging for relief. Finally, when I’m close to pushing the limit, I kick up to the top. Brennon’s back on land now, fishing for another beer. He clearly didn’t notice how long I stayed under. He never does.
After going under one more time, I also retire to the bank, pulling my clothes back on. I grab the can from his outstretched hand and finish it in one sip. My throat burns, and my head spins. It was too much, too quick.
“Let’s head back,” I say when it looks like Brennon is about to sit down. “I have to work this afternoon.”
Brennon nods. “Sure. Let me finish this first.”
I settle onto the bike, resting my leg on the wooden stump I parked next to. My gaze drifts over the grass. The bull incident was over a year ago, but I still think about it daily. It makes me wonder. What am I doing here? What am I doing with my life? If I had died, what would they say about me?
There’s no point saying any of this out loud. No one cares, especially not Brennon. He would tell me to shut the fuck up. Or punch me. Perhaps both.
“Let’s hit it,” Brennon says.
He swings his leg over the bike, then lurches forward, dust flying behind him. I dart around the dust cloud and speed up until we are neck and neck. I propel forward, leaving him behind.
Like I should have long ago.
* * *
That night at the pub, my phone sends vibrations down my leg as I’m refilling the ice bucket. Pausing, I pull it out, seeingLouiseacross the screen. A curse leaves my lips. We are meant to be hanging out tonight. I totally forgot about it. I never wanted to in the first place, but Brennon set it up, and I couldn’t turn it down without seeming rude. He’s ‘concerned’ about my lack of dating the past couple of years.
I don’t have any interest in anything anymore, or so it seems.
Sighing, I decline the call and push my phone back into my pocket. There are a dozen unread messages on my phone from girls I’ve met at parties. I need to stop kissing girls when I’m drunk and expecting it not to have any consequences.
I pull on the handle and carry the bucket back out to the bar. Gary, the one guy who is here more than me, is lined up, an empty schooner glass in his hands.
“How’ve you been keeping?” he asks when I take the glass from him wordlessly.
I place it in the rack, ready to go into the dishwasher and pull out a new one, placing it under the tap.
“Not bad, Gary. Yourself?”
“Can’t complain,” the man says as I slide the glass over the bench. He offers me a wrinkled smile. “Put it on my tab?”
I chuckle—a forced one, to be polite—and take the ten-dollar note from him.
“I think you’d abuse that tab if we set one up.” I smile.
“You might be right about that,” he says gruffly with a wink before he moves back to his seat.
Huffing, I lean back on the counter, sweeping my gaze around the room. The outdated floors are scratched and worn down, needing to have been replaced at least a decade ago. The same faces that are here every day blink back at me as they pass, taking seats at their usual spots. Low rumblings of conversations fill my head.
Today is no different from any other day. Work, sleep, repeat.
A stale stench of cheap beer and old tobacco fills the air. Old men move around the tables, most barely glancing in my direction. I have nothing here. Sure, there’s Brennon and the other guys that I associate with at parties, but it’s not enough. Loneliness gnaws at me. And something else—something unnerving and unsettling—itching under my skin, making me restless.
Unlocking my phone, I stare at the time, wishing my deadpan stare would somehow quicken the speed of it. But I know the sooner I go home, the sooner this whole process repeats. My stomach cramps thinking about it.
The rest of the night inches by, and then I’m clocking off and striding out to my truck, the loose gravel of the carpark crunching under my boots. My lips press on the end of a cigarette, and I inhale sharply through my teeth. I lean against the truck, propping my foot up on the foot mount.
A text comes through.
Louise:Hey handsome, are you still at work? Are we still catching up? X
