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Maybe they should.
I should go for a run. A run would be good. But all I do is stare at myself in the mirror and try to muster an ounce of the energy it would take to even put on my fucking shoes, but it’s just not there. It’s nowhere to be found.
“Fuck,” I mutter again, slamming my palm against the countertop. I stare into my reflection and berate the man looking back for being the lazy, crazy, broken piece of garbage he is.
I’m not doing this again. I’m not going to spiral down again. It took me too goddamn long to pull myself out of it last time, and I’ve worked too fucking hard to keep thisthing, this emotional parasite that gnaws and consumes and rots, hidden from everyone. If I let this out now, then it wins.
And I’m not going to let that happen.
I talk a big game for a guy who is defeated only moments later by a hair tie. One single black elastic hair tie, sitting on the back of the toilet where she left it two weeks ago before she climbed into my shower with me.
That’s my trigger. The thing that sends me back into the dark, safe confines of my bed for the fourteenth day in a row. A black rubber band.
A solitary reminder that she was here, she was happy, she was mine…and I ruined it.
TEN YEARS AGO
Garrett
Ipull up to my mom’s house two hours late, still wearing last night’s suit, with the remnants of a twenty-four-hour tequila buzz, about four hours of sleep, and an energy drink in my hand. I probably should have just gone home to sleep it off, but fuck it. I’m in a good mood. Before jogging into the house, I quickly glance in the rearview mirror to fix my hair. There’s not much I can do about the circles under my eyes at this point.
As I step out of the car, my mother is waiting for me.
“You’re late,” she says from the front porch, standing with her arms crossed and glaring at me angrily. Fuck.
“I had to work,” I say as I paste a fake smile on my face and jog up to the house.
“Work? It’s two in the afternoon, Garrett. You work at a nightclub, so tell me why the hell you’re just now getting here?”
I laugh instead of answering her. My mother doesn’t want me to actually fill her in on my last twenty-four hours, the two girls I woke up next to…whose names I don't even remember. Yeah, I was working—about ten hours ago. We’ll just call the restnetworking.
“Would you rather I just didn’t come?” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh.
“It’s her birthday, Garrett. Don’t walk in the house if you’re going to be like this.”
“Like what?” I snap.
“You smell like alcohol. Your suit is wrinkled, and you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say with a laugh as I lean in to plant a kiss on her cheek, but she pulls away. “I have slept. In fact, I just woke up.”
She stops me, putting a firm hand on my chest.
“I’m serious, Garrett. Talk to me.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, trying to make it sound convincing enough.
“You’re not fine.”
“Mom, I promise. I’m just working a lot, okay? I’m fine.”
She heaves a sigh as I open the door and walk into her house—her new house. The one three sizes bigger than the one I grew up in. There’s laughing coming from the backyard and a spread of food on the dining room table. Passing by, I grab a chip and scoop up some dip before heading out to the back patio where Paul is sitting with some of their new friends and their kids are splashing around in the pool.
I am severely overdressed, and the laughter dies as everyone glares up at me. I don’t belong here. They might as well paint it on my forehead, but fuck it. I’m here, and I’m not going to just bounce now.
“Hey, Garrett,” Paul says, breaking the silence with a cordial greeting.
“Hey, Paul,” I reply. His friends are all still staring at me uncomfortably.
