Year One/York University – Three Years Ago
“Got dumped, eh?”
“Why’d you call, Will? To patronize me?” I paced around the dorm, counting down the minutes until Morris brought over some weed.
The second he told me he was visiting from Western, I jumped for joy like a little bitch. There was no distraction in the world that could take the incessant, persistent, god fucking awful pain away.
Nothing worked.
No one worked.
“Hey man, I’m trying to be here for my baby bro –”
I hung up the fucking phone. Right on time too; Morris had just walked in.
“Jace fucking Boland,” he gripped my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug, “It’s been too long.”
“Good to see you, Cumberland.” I hesitated to ask about the weed. Truthfully, I cared more about it than him in this moment.
He moved further into my dorm, kicking off his shoes. “Where’s blondie?”
I’m going to lose it.
“D’you bring the weed?” I asked. His comment warranted it.
“Got the goods.” He fished a small, transparent bag out of his back pocket and tossed it over. “About three joints in there, I think.”
There were only two.
Fucking two.
“Where’s the third?”
He wore a dumb expression, his blonde hair getting into his eyes. This was the guy everyone liked in high school, this fucking bonehead.
This is the guy I worshiped.
He should’ve worshipped me.
After Morris tore his ACL, he gave up on soccer completely. Unlike me, it was his choice to do so. I was forced out of it.
I wasn’t good enough.
“Oh shit, ha-ha.” His laugh sent me to Hell. “It’s behind my ear.”
This fucking moron.
“Can we smoke in here?”
I already started, lighting the tip of the pre-roll and inhaling the distraction into my lungs.
For the first half hour, Morris offered up life details I didn’t care to know; how his criminology degree was going, the brunettes he’d fucked, his rich family buying a new boat.
After a while, I turned on some music and slumped into the desk chair, realizing that Morris was on my fucking bed and he was the guest.
“Off the bed, Cumberland.”
His hands flew up in protest but he followed my request, laughing to himself about something I didn’t care to ask about.
I didn’t ask about a single thing that had to do with Morris Cumberland for two hours.
“So,” he let out a puff, “You and Riley still together?”
I was calm, high, on cloud nine. Then he goes and asks this.
“Why? You wanna fuck her?”
His face dropped. “Uh, no, the fuck ha-ha.”
I didn’t look at him when I said, “It’s fine. She’s fucking someone else.”
Honestly, no clue what Riley was up to. Three weeks had passed since she screwed me over. Two weeks had passed since The Academy scout chose McTavish and Laundry over me.
“Sorry to hear. When’d this happen?” Morris was trying to be sentimental. He didn’t give a damn. He’d probably slide into her DMs tomorrow.
“Few weeks back, don’t remember.” Twenty-one days, sixteen hours ago.
He shrugged, coughing into his flannel. “Don’t worry, Boland. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
And I wanted one.
One who didn’t want me.
