wall is annoyingly loud. Every tick of every second feels like it’s slapping me across the face, reminding me I’m a fuck-up.
I sit and wait in my cage.
I get a chance to call someone but literally have no numbers memorized, and after they confiscated my phone for the time being, I’ve realized I just don’t know numbers anymore. My fried ass brain can’t hold more than two digits, it seems. I can’t remember Hawke’s number. I have a cellphone for fuck’s sake. His number is Hawke.
A DUI, a fucking DUI.
Not going to lie. I’m lucky as hell. Had they searched my car, they would’ve found a haven of drugs. But, assuming I was just another drunk leaving the pub and driving home, they gave me a breathalyzer and slapped me with a quick DUI charge. Must’ve been a busy night for crime. That, and I’m a smooth talker, of course.
Night passes and I wake up feeling like complete and utter shit. I don’t have my pick-me-up morning fix, and my back is sore as hell from this bench I’m attempting to sleep on, all while listening to the loud scratching noises coming from the guy in my corner who has scabies, or maybe fleas. Probably both.
I don’t know what else to do but wait to be released.
No one is waiting for me.
It’s a sickening realization to know that. Han’s words ring out again in my head. You deserve to have someone waiting for you.
She’s wrong. She’s so fucking wrong.
I don’t deserve anything. I slide through life just like her analysis proved. I live for today and not for tomorrow. No condom, no consequences. Figuratively, of course, this is a creampie reference. Who would’ve thought I’d teach myself a lesson? My search history proved right.
It’s unfortunate that this behavior is normal for me. To be gone all night with no one hearing from me until the sun cracks over the horizon.
I’m so sick of being me. So here I shall rot. Next to flea-man, locked in the trash where I belong.
“Kai Immanuel Decker?”
My head snaps up. I never hear that name anymore. I almost forget it’s mine.
As soon as I sit up, I turn around on the bench to see a face full of disappointment greet me behind the bars.
It’s Hawke.
He’s in grey dress pants and a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with some Italian looking dress shoes.
My brows lower in confusion at his strange appearance before it clicks in my shit brain.
The conference.
The one he paid for me to go to.
The one he helped to get me into by signing me up, completing all the paperwork, and paying for us both so I could have some legit education under my belt.
The one I’ve missed, and now, by the looks of it, made him miss as well.
It’s clear how seriously he takes this new life he and Cole have formed. I messed up. I was irresponsible. And now, my mistakes are bleeding into his life.
Fuck.
Me.
I let out a deep breath, blowing it through loose lips as my eyes fall to the floor and I run my hands down my face. I’ve never felt like such shit. I’m literally the fucking worst.
“Let’s go,” he says abruptly, signing off on some paper at the desk before me.
He turns, not even looking to see if I follow as he pushes through the glass door with a force that speaks volumes.
I’m the lowest of the lows. I feel like a child being bailed out by the father who’s constantly rooting for him yet left with nothing but disappointment at his piece of shit failure of a son.
I’m a fuck-up.
I head out of the building, wincing my eyes as the bright sunlight pierces through my skull. It’s as if a higher power wants to showcase to the world just how stupid I am by casting a stream of light directly on me, illuminating my mistakes to the world. It’s a sickening feeling, knowing whatever God is out there hates me, too.
“I’m sorry, man,” I say softly, turning towards Hawke in the car, knowing it’s not enough, but needing to say it, anyway. “Thanks for getting my car, too.”
He says nothing. He doesn’t look at me. He’s pissed, and I feel it throughout the interior of this car. It’s a deafening silence. We drive down the road for a few minutes before finally reaching his house. He puts my car in park and sits back against the seat, letting out a deep breath.
I wait, hoping he says something. Anything. The tension between us is thick. The air, stifling.
“You know, I really wanted you to come out here, start fresh,” he begins, staring straight ahead at the house while gripping the wheel, his jaw tight with tension. “But, this shit…” He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes, the disappointment radiating off of him. “After everything I’ve had to go through…I just don’t get it, Kai. They stripped my life from me, but yours is being willingly poured down the goddamn drain. How the fuck can you be so careless?” He turns to face me, his eyes piercing through me, the anger of his words carrying venom, striking me with the pain of his past. “You could’ve killed someone.”
The way he says I could’ve killed someone and not myself tears through me on a whole new level.
“I’m sorry Hawke, I—”
“Maybe you’re just not who I thought you could be,” he says, interrupting me.
I swallow down his words, the tension thick. He opens the car door, slamming it shut before heading inside. I kick the dashboard with my foot, dropping my head back against the passenger seat, sliding down as I grip the hair at the top of my head, pulling it hard. I want to ease the pain in my head with external pain, so I pull harder until it hurts.
But, it’s not enough. I punch my dashboard. Again and again and again, with all the force I can muster, until my skin finally cracks and my knuckles bleed from the pain that’s manifested itself within the depths of my mind.
I don’t want to feel these things I’m feeling. The heaviness, the seriousness of the situation. I live in a carefree world where everything is laughable and real shit gets brushed off.
The urge to pop some Percocets comes over me. Numbness. It’s what I’m craving. Numbness is what I need to not destroy myself more than I want to.
I search through the console, popping open the latch where the drugs are hidden beneath. I grab a baggie, seeing the pills before me.
This is my moment to stop. My moment to take this situation as a lesson, listening to the disappointment, finding the strength to prove him wrong, and grow from it.
But I’m not strong.
I’m an addict.
So I pop the pills and carry on.
Later that afternoon, I hear a light knocking on my door.
“Kid?” Her soft, caring voice is on the other side of the door. “Kid, it’s Cole. Are you up?”
“I’m up, come in.”
She opens the door, peeking around it, probably making sure I’m not naked or jerking off before she steps in, closing the door behind her. She heads to the desk in the room, leaning back against it, her arms holding the edge of the wood in her grasp. Her face holds sympathy and I don’t know what’s worse, that or Hawke’s disappointment. Who am I kidding? Both faces suck when you’re on the receiving end of them.
“How are you?” she asks, wincing slightly.
I look up at her with a face that says how I’m feeling.
“He’s at one of the houses,” she explains, telling me Hawke isn’t home.
I nod, looking at my feet.
“He won’t stay mad forever.”
I appreciate her attempt to reassure me, but it’s not working.
“If he did, he’d be justified,” I retort.
She sighs, pushing up off of the desk to sit next to me on the edge of the bed.
“You know, he just cares about you so much. He never wants to see anything bad happen to you. He wants you to soar, Kid. You mean so much to him. To both of us.” She gives me a light smile, leaning down until my eyes connect with hers. “It’s why we wanted you to come here.”
“Yeah, and I’m already fucking it all up.”
She purses her lips, then bites the corner and shrugs. “Yeah, kinda.”
Her honesty makes me chuckle. She joins in.
“I’ll never be able to fully understand what it’s like to be you,” she says softly. “I haven’t been down the same roads. I haven’t had to do things just to survive like you have. You’re so much stronger than me in that regard. But I also see things from a different perspective. At some point, the casual drugs and partying seem to have become more than just fun. It seems as if it’s a lifestyle now, one that is slowly starting to take you away from us.”
She means well. I know she means well. But this isn’t hitting right.
“It’s not that serious, Cole. It’s still recreational.”
“Are you sure?” she questions. “I just worry that it’s kind of taking over who you are. That it’s a cover for something deeper. Something really bad could’ve happened to you last night, Kid.”
I appreciate her concern more than anything. She’s totally looking out for me, and I know it. We’ve dug deep and had heartfelt conversations before, so I know she has my best interest at heart. She’s got a heart of gold and will go above and beyond for the people she cares about. Loyal to a fault. But I’m not willing to admit this is a real problem, because I don’t feel like it is. I’m still functioning. I just made a mistake.
“It’s not a cover. And honestly, you don’t need to worry about me. Johanna is more of your concern. It seems she’s the one who needs lessons on recreational drug use.”
I say the words and then regret them immediately. Her face tenses and I can see the tears forming in her eyes.
“Cole, I’m sorry, I—”
“No,” she interrupts, lifting her hand to stop me. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have overstepped. It was naïve of me.”
“Cole.”
“No, Kid. It’s fine. Really, I’m sorry. It’s not my place.” She shakes her head, closing her eyes tightly as she heads for the door.
She pauses there, holding the handle, tapping on it with her finger, taking a deep breath and letting it flow before her voice comes out, soft and breaking.
“I-It’s her birthday. On Wednesday. It’s a rough day, but I planned to make dinner. It’d be nice to have you.”
Leaving quickly through the door, she closes it softly and I’m left feeling awful. I feel like shit for snapping at her when all she’s doing is trying to be there for me and help me by inviting me to stay here. She truly cares. I feel like an ass for bringing up her sister when it’s obviously a sensitive subject for her, their relationship, something I know nothing about.
I’m also bewildered. It’s almost Han’s birthday, but why is it a rough day?
I pull out my phone to text Han, typing out “sorry” then quickly erasing it. I’m sick of apologizing to everyone. And why would I apologize to her? For not meeting up with her? It’s not like she’s consistent in anything. She literally just up and vanishes without leaving a trace.
Me not showing when she may have been expecting me serves her right. Maybe now she’ll get it. Or maybe she doesn’t care at all. Maybe I don’t matter to her like I wish I did. Like she does to me. The thought affects me more than I’d like.
What am I doing? Who am I? Kid doesn’t do this. He doesn’t worry about what women think. He doesn’t care if they’re thinking about him. He wouldn’t text a girl who didn’t even want to give him her number.
Kid: Sorry Han.
