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The days of waiting for a phone call are over.
The world keeps on spinning…
Yet why am I still stuck in place?
The blaring sun currently sitting high up in the bright blue sky clearly didn’t get the memo that my world is shattered, nor did the little girl giggling with her mom as they walk hand in hand across the crosswalk, just going about their day.
The light turns green almost as soon as they hit the sidewalk, and I immediately floor the gas.
Cranking up the music, I bring the joint to my lips, welcoming the burn crawling down my throat as “No Heaven” by For The Fallen Dreams blares from my speakers, the thumping bass rattling the closed windows.
Dense smoke floods the car with my exhale, burning my eyes, making them water.
Blinking, I narrow my focus on the road ahead.
The light at the next intersection flicks from green to yellow.
Flicking the blinker, I speed up, only to hit the brake at the last possible second as I make a sharp right turn. My tires squeal, skidding across the pavement. The car fishtails, before I quickly right it just before I sideswipe the car waiting at the red light.
They blast their horn, and my hand clenches around the wheel as I take another deep hit of the joint.
The bridge looms up ahead, and I release the steering wheel to lower the windows, allowing the smoke to billow out into the afternoon just as I pass under the arch. Wind rushes through the car with a roar, filling my ears with pressure, before popping when I reach the other side. My tires bump over a couple potholes as I cut a left and floor it up a dirt road disappearing into the woody, flourishing evergreen mountains cradling our town.
My phone starts vibrating from where it’s laying facedown on the passenger seat. I reach over, blindly feeling around for the volume button on the side, and I silence it, not bothering to check who it is. It’s probably just my mom, wondering where I am. And if not her…
Well, Waylon usually knows better than to try calling me. There’s only one person aside from my parents who ignores my hatred of talking on the phone. And if it is him…
It’s been almost a whole month since I last spoke or even saw Mason. Not since the day of Izzy’s funeral. He hasn’t sought me out. And I haven’t tried bridging the gap. Every time the impulse struck to check on him, I remembered his ugly words that day. The wrongness to him…to us…to everything. The way I felt when I left that room…
It’s just too much.
It’s all too fucking much.
Since then, Waylon told me he relapsed not even three days after Gavin flushed his pills. He showed up at a party Waylon just happened to be at in a neighboring town, and before he could get to him, Mason wandered off with a guy named Jonas. A sketchy dude everyone knows deals, and I’m not talking weed.
According to Waylon, if he’s not popping painkillers like candy these days, he’s drowning himself in whatever alcohol he can find. And when that’s not enough for him, he turns to picking fights.
His most recent target: Clay.
From what I heard, the only reason he didn't get arrested and slapped with assault charges, is because Clay was carrying. Illegally. Waving it around the Hollinger farmhouse like a maniac.
A fucking gun.
Fortunately for everyone, the cops had shown up to break up the party before it escalated and any shots were fired, intentional or accidental.
Clay might be a piece of shit, but he’s not stupid. And he’s no snitch. He knew if he ratted on Mason for beating the shit out of him that night, he’d be screwed too. So they both fled the scene, bruised and beaten, and that was that.
Again, this is all just what Waylon relayed back to me.
And not knowing what to do with…any of that…
I did nothing.
I shut the fuck down.
What else could I do?
Seeing him hurts.
