“Drugs?” I offered.
He snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Jackass.”
“Whore.”
“Wes—”
“What?” He took a seat by his desk and crossed his arms. “What’s going on?”
I didn’t spill my guts. I knew I owed him everything — hell, I felt like he practically saved my life when he almost died, he made me feel like living again. His strength was like gravity, pulling everyone within a fifty-mile radius into its center. You couldn’t help but want to be better when you were around him, and that was the problem.
“I’m aging man, and we both know cancer can come back at any time.”
“Seriously!” I threw the football back at his face. “This is what I’m talking about!”
“What?” He caught the football and twirled it in the air. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
I groaned into my hands, “You’re so damn perfect. It really is irritating as hell.”
“Thanks.” He flashed a smile.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
I groaned again.
“Gabe—”
I reached into my pocket — the locket was cold against my fingertips. “Have you ever messed up so bad that—”
“That what?”
I averted my gaze. “I just… you’re my best friend, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like you never do anything terrible. You’re smarter than most therapists, you have tons of money, you’re like a freaking god around this place… Oh right, and a walking miracle. Check all those off the list. I know life hasn’t been easy for you, but you don’t mess up, you roll with the punches and move on. I just wish I knew how to do that.”
Wes laughed out loud. “Wow, a little freaked out that your opinion of me is that high. Do I really need to make a list of all the times I’ve screwed up in life?”
“It would help,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.
A few seconds of utter and complete silence went by. I didn’t mind though. Wes and I were like that. We didn’t always have to be talking or arguing or laughing. Sometimes silence was what I needed most and he knew that about me. He knew more than anyone — even Lisa. And I had a sneaking suspicion he knew every damn part I played was an act.
“What’s really going on?”
“The weight.” I cursed. “It’s wrapped around my legs, pulling me deeper into the darkest depths of the ocean and for once, I want to let it.”
“Why?”
My head snapped up. Wes’s eyes didn’t hold judgment, just concern. “Because I deserve to sink.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, you don’t get it.” I got up and started pacing. “You know how you always felt like nobody understood? Remember when you said you’d drink shitty coffee the rest of your life if you could just live? Remember all those talks about people just walking through life without a damn clue about your pain? Your journey?”
Wes nodded.
I started to sweat. I gripped the locket harder until it had to be making an imprint onto my fingertips. “How does a person deserve life?”
“Trick question,” Wes answered softly. “We don’t.”
My phone simultaneously buzzed and sounded in my pocket, interrupting our talk. It was my mom’s ringtone — she’d called at least five times in the last hour. I knew I should probably talk to her, but it just brought up too many bad memories. And, I was officially late for class.
I stabbed at the ignore button and grimaced at Wes. “Listen, I gotta go. Can we talk later?”
Wes waved me off. “Of course, just don’t go jumping off any buildings or sleeping with the entire swim team again and we’ll be good.”
I rolled my eyes. “Later.”
“And don’t forget Taco Tuesday!” he yelled as the door slammed shut behind me.
Chapter Three
My reflection was foreign… I didn’t even remember myself — the guy I was. I’d been living with that damn mask for so long that I’d completely lost it — all of it. Thank God. —Gabe H.
Gabe
I made my way to class. It was a bit of a trek — UW was a huge school and on any other day I probably would have ridden my Harley, but I needed the walk. I could only hope it would clear my head.
As I crossed the street, a prickling awareness wrapped itself around me. I stopped walking toward the business building and looked behind me. Nothing. Just people walking back and forth, talking, smoking, laughing — all of them in their own little worlds. I liked it that way. Really. I’d only had a few close calls over the course of the last few years, and now that I was graduating in a few months, I was almost home free.
I’d wanted to go to school — I’d needed normal more than I’d needed money, excitement, all of it. My parents hadn’t understood. Then again, they didn’t understand anything that didn’t have to do with what they wanted for my life. How could they not get that the reason I almost died and ruined my life was because they wanted me to be something I wasn’t? I laughed out loud and stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets to caress the cool metal locket. Each year I’d gone back to LA with a different tattoo. The next more offensive than the last. When I pierced my nose I think my mom about had a heart attack. Dad all but disowned me.
Pity. I would have liked to be disowned.