Every day I lived trapped in the memories. Trapped in the crash. Trapped in the aftermath.
Once an ambitious child, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer after watching shows like Law & Order. Later I figured out what I wanted to do and the man I wanted to be.
The end result was far off.
I hated the man I’d become. Pathetic. Broken. Angry. Fucked up beyond any and all repair.
I just wanted to close my eyes and never open them again.
The constant drip of the faucet drove me crazy with each distinct and evenly spaced plopping sound, but at the same time, I couldn’t be fucked to get my ass out of bed. One arm was slung over my eyes, blocking out the small slivers of light coming through the edges of my blackout curtains, the other ending in a clenched fist at my side.
The drip seemed to be getting louder, making me cringe at the pain searing through my eardrums.
“Fuck!” I cursed as I flung my arm out and opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling.
I’d hoped an hour after taking my medication things would be better, but there was no calming my migraine. Reaching out toward the nightstand, I blindly patted around looking for my pain meds in hopes that they might be able to help. They probably wouldn’t, but they might give me the strength to get up. Six bottles sat on what was actually a side table, my fingers knocking them over as I pulled them to me one at a time.
By the fourth bottle, I found the one I was looking for—Vicodin.
“Shit.” The bottle was empty, and I had a vague recollection of taking one before I passed out the night before.
It was another empty day, so nothing pushed me to get up, except the damn drip.
The real question was—how much more torture could I take?
Once I refilled my prescription, I was tempted to just take the entire bottle and climb into bed. It would take a few days for someone to find my body, but at least I wouldn’t be stuck in my living hell. A nightmare that never ended.
I let out a long, low hiss as I bent my knee in the first step to picking my ass up from the bed. After lying for hours and not doing my morning stretches, it was pretty tight and stiff. I wondered if it would ever not hurt, but considering my knee was no longer constructed of bone but of metal, I doubted it. My muscles weren’t all that happy with the foreign material.
As I stood, I pulled my left arm above my head and leaned to the side, stretching out the second area that caused horrible feelings. Sometimes, I had a ghost feeling like if I went too far, the scar would burst open, spilling my entrails all over the floor. Evisceration was one way to end it all, but not a very pleasant experience.
Then again, the scar didn’t go far enough across my abdomen to reach the level of nasty I was envisioning. It traveled down my ribs, side, and then the twist around my hip.
I was tired of being in pain. Tired of living in hell.
Just fucking end it, then.
It was a thought that crossed my mind almost daily, but for some insane reason, I kept going long past when I should have quit.
Only a few more stretches before I couldn’t stand the sound of dripping any longer. Having the kitchen only a few feet from my bed was a huge drawback to having a studio apartment. Every sound the appliances made amplified through the small space, bouncing off the walls. The damn sink had been a motherfucking asshole for weeks, needing just the right angle to stop water flow, and I apparently missed it when I got some water earlier. It took a few tries in the dark, but then finally—silence.
Except the fucking birds.
Jesus, nature was never so annoying before.
Yeah, well, before you weren’t a fucking disaster.
It was a very valid point.
Just make the fucking call. Day’s not going to get any better.
I craned my neck to the side, cracking it, trying to keep the beast inside quiet.
I’d avoided calling Jack for two days, but any longer and they were all going to show up at my door to check on me, and that was too much socialization for me.
Grabbing my phone, I heaved a sigh and pulled up his number.
“Holloway,” a voice said from the other end.
“Hey, Jack.”
There was a pause. “Nate…I…I wasn’t sure you’d call back.”
Stepping to the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of vodka that was just about the only thing on my bare shelves. “Yeah, well… I did.”
“Could you do one more step and meet me for lunch on Friday?” he asked.
Lunch? He said it so fast, like he was afraid I’d hang up before he got the words out. I wanted to say no. I had pushed my entire family away after what happened to keep them safe. Meeting him, for something as innocent as lunch, had the possibility of putting him in danger.
They were watching.
They were always watching.
“It’s just lunch, Nate.” His voice was soft but pleading.
I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
CHAPTER 2
The drive to his office was easy, but with each passing mile, my anxiety increased. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my father-in-law.
Facing any of the Holloways was difficult. They didn’t blame me, even though they should have. I baited the monster and paid the highest price. Haunted by memories and a never-ending vendetta complete with a promise—I would never be happy again.
Death was the only way to be free.
I arrived early, because what the fuck else was I going to do with my day? That left me sitting in my car, people watching. A few minutes before noon, my phone pinged with a text—Jack was running late.
There was no way I was going up. There were many people up there that knew who I was and what I was to Jack, and I hated the looks they gave me. The pity in their eyes.
With the temperature in the car heating up and me in need of a smoke, I got out and leaned against the side. I watched people come and go, moving about their day like it was nothing.
Average people that I envied.
I lit a cigarette and took a drag, then blew it out as I stared at the parking lot. Being the lunch hour, there were lots of people coming and going.
It was sunny out, warm, and as I took another pull, I noticed a woman walking through the lot.
There was no particular reason why she caught my eye. She simply did. Maybe the way the sun lit up her blonde hair.
Intrigued, I stared at her. She was unassuming, skittish even.
Something inside me stirred as I stared at her. The beast inside me pulled at the chains that bound him. She called to him from across the sea of asphalt and cars.
Once an ambitious child, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer after watching shows like Law & Order. Later I figured out what I wanted to do and the man I wanted to be.
The end result was far off.
I hated the man I’d become. Pathetic. Broken. Angry. Fucked up beyond any and all repair.
I just wanted to close my eyes and never open them again.
The constant drip of the faucet drove me crazy with each distinct and evenly spaced plopping sound, but at the same time, I couldn’t be fucked to get my ass out of bed. One arm was slung over my eyes, blocking out the small slivers of light coming through the edges of my blackout curtains, the other ending in a clenched fist at my side.
The drip seemed to be getting louder, making me cringe at the pain searing through my eardrums.
“Fuck!” I cursed as I flung my arm out and opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling.
I’d hoped an hour after taking my medication things would be better, but there was no calming my migraine. Reaching out toward the nightstand, I blindly patted around looking for my pain meds in hopes that they might be able to help. They probably wouldn’t, but they might give me the strength to get up. Six bottles sat on what was actually a side table, my fingers knocking them over as I pulled them to me one at a time.
By the fourth bottle, I found the one I was looking for—Vicodin.
“Shit.” The bottle was empty, and I had a vague recollection of taking one before I passed out the night before.
It was another empty day, so nothing pushed me to get up, except the damn drip.
The real question was—how much more torture could I take?
Once I refilled my prescription, I was tempted to just take the entire bottle and climb into bed. It would take a few days for someone to find my body, but at least I wouldn’t be stuck in my living hell. A nightmare that never ended.
I let out a long, low hiss as I bent my knee in the first step to picking my ass up from the bed. After lying for hours and not doing my morning stretches, it was pretty tight and stiff. I wondered if it would ever not hurt, but considering my knee was no longer constructed of bone but of metal, I doubted it. My muscles weren’t all that happy with the foreign material.
As I stood, I pulled my left arm above my head and leaned to the side, stretching out the second area that caused horrible feelings. Sometimes, I had a ghost feeling like if I went too far, the scar would burst open, spilling my entrails all over the floor. Evisceration was one way to end it all, but not a very pleasant experience.
Then again, the scar didn’t go far enough across my abdomen to reach the level of nasty I was envisioning. It traveled down my ribs, side, and then the twist around my hip.
I was tired of being in pain. Tired of living in hell.
Just fucking end it, then.
It was a thought that crossed my mind almost daily, but for some insane reason, I kept going long past when I should have quit.
Only a few more stretches before I couldn’t stand the sound of dripping any longer. Having the kitchen only a few feet from my bed was a huge drawback to having a studio apartment. Every sound the appliances made amplified through the small space, bouncing off the walls. The damn sink had been a motherfucking asshole for weeks, needing just the right angle to stop water flow, and I apparently missed it when I got some water earlier. It took a few tries in the dark, but then finally—silence.
Except the fucking birds.
Jesus, nature was never so annoying before.
Yeah, well, before you weren’t a fucking disaster.
It was a very valid point.
Just make the fucking call. Day’s not going to get any better.
I craned my neck to the side, cracking it, trying to keep the beast inside quiet.
I’d avoided calling Jack for two days, but any longer and they were all going to show up at my door to check on me, and that was too much socialization for me.
Grabbing my phone, I heaved a sigh and pulled up his number.
“Holloway,” a voice said from the other end.
“Hey, Jack.”
There was a pause. “Nate…I…I wasn’t sure you’d call back.”
Stepping to the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of vodka that was just about the only thing on my bare shelves. “Yeah, well… I did.”
“Could you do one more step and meet me for lunch on Friday?” he asked.
Lunch? He said it so fast, like he was afraid I’d hang up before he got the words out. I wanted to say no. I had pushed my entire family away after what happened to keep them safe. Meeting him, for something as innocent as lunch, had the possibility of putting him in danger.
They were watching.
They were always watching.
“It’s just lunch, Nate.” His voice was soft but pleading.
I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
CHAPTER 2
The drive to his office was easy, but with each passing mile, my anxiety increased. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my father-in-law.
Facing any of the Holloways was difficult. They didn’t blame me, even though they should have. I baited the monster and paid the highest price. Haunted by memories and a never-ending vendetta complete with a promise—I would never be happy again.
Death was the only way to be free.
I arrived early, because what the fuck else was I going to do with my day? That left me sitting in my car, people watching. A few minutes before noon, my phone pinged with a text—Jack was running late.
There was no way I was going up. There were many people up there that knew who I was and what I was to Jack, and I hated the looks they gave me. The pity in their eyes.
With the temperature in the car heating up and me in need of a smoke, I got out and leaned against the side. I watched people come and go, moving about their day like it was nothing.
Average people that I envied.
I lit a cigarette and took a drag, then blew it out as I stared at the parking lot. Being the lunch hour, there were lots of people coming and going.
It was sunny out, warm, and as I took another pull, I noticed a woman walking through the lot.
There was no particular reason why she caught my eye. She simply did. Maybe the way the sun lit up her blonde hair.
Intrigued, I stared at her. She was unassuming, skittish even.
Something inside me stirred as I stared at her. The beast inside me pulled at the chains that bound him. She called to him from across the sea of asphalt and cars.
