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Poor Trent, so misunderstood in this song. It’s not about fucking. It’s about need, desperation for salvation. My eyes burn and I fight for a breath.
“Seemed appropriate,” I say. And then burst out crying.
George pulls me in and hugs me tight. A few seconds later, Iris comes into the room. The three of us huddle together, but they’re the ones holding me up.
Drew
My feet hit the pavement with a loud thump, thump, thump that pounds right into my head. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going. I just run. My shins burn and my throat is raw, but that’s nothing compared to the yawning chasm spreading over my chest. Pain. It pushes out from my heart and through my bones, my veins, my skin like a thick, ugly sludge. Holy fuck, it hurts.
I pick up my pace, trying to outrun the pain. It only grows.
What have I done? What have I done?
The ugly scene replays itself. I remember my words, the way they flowed from my mouth as if I was outside of myself, unable to control them. But I didn’t stop, and she didn’t contradict me. She didn’t make one protest when I walked away.
Defeat has never sat well with me. But this isn’t a game. Games come and go. You win some, you lose some. There isn’t anyone else like Anna. I can’t simply go out and replace her. And I’ve just lost her.
My gut clenches hard. I’m going to be sick. I’ve pushed it too far. My knees hit the pavement a second before I throw up in the grass. It’s violent, but it doesn’t purge me. No, that sick feeling simply returns, filling me back up.
I sit on my ass, panting, sweat trickling into my eyes. Birds chirp. Someone’s starting a car. In the distance, a woman calls for her kid to come inside. I wipe my mouth and hug my knees to my chest.
I miss my parents. I miss them so badly that the hole Anna left in my chest when she ripped out my heart grows so large that I fear I might fall apart. I want to talk to them. Which is ironic, considering that when they were alive, I never discussed my love life with them. Were they still alive, I probably wouldn’t talk now either. But I would have gone home, had dinner at their house, and let their idle conversation wash over me until I felt some semblance of normalcy. Instead, I feel more alone than I’ve ever been.
It’s enough to make me want to shout. I force my legs to lift me up and keep moving.
Hobbling home, stomach aching, pain spreading, I don’t think of anything other than putting one foot in front of the other.
The house is quiet when I let myself in. It’s always quiet. But now the silence scrapes along my skin. I just might hate silence now.
My hand shakes as I help myself to a bottle of sports drink. It tastes foul to me, bitter and off, but I gulp it down. Rivulets of sticky drink run down my chin.
Then I spy it, sitting on my counter like a fucking mockery. The brand-new shiny chrome espresso machine. My vision goes red as something hot surges up through my body. The bottle in my hand flies through the air, smashing in an explosion of bright orange on my cabinets. And then I’m reaching for the machine, ripping the cord from the socket with enough force to crack the socket cover.
Sharp steel pokes my arms as I kick my door open and hunt down the garbage can.
With a shout, I slam the stupid machine into the bin. I want to stomp on the thing, fucking punch the hell out of something, but I catch sight of my elderly neighbor Mrs. Hutchinson gaping at me. The tiny woman appears ready to keel over. Shit.
Clamping my mouth shut, I turn and slam back into the house. I stand in the empty hall, clutching the back of my neck and struggling for deep breaths as rage runs rampant through me. My chest lifts and falls, my teeth aching where I grind them together. And then the rage simply flees. Only it leaves me with something worse, an insidious pain that nearly brings me to my knees.
I stagger to the shower and stay there a long time. By the time I can stand again, my throat is swollen and my body is weak. I don’t want to think about anything.
When Gray arrives, I’m sitting on the couch, playing Call of Duty in the dark.
As usual, he barges into my house and flicks on the lamp next to the couch. “I’m going to assume you meant to cram that thousand-dollar espresso machine into your garbage.”
I grunt and continue to annihilate targets without mercy.
“I took it,” he adds, as if I’ll care.
“Knock yourself out.” It hurts to speak, so I decide to refrain from doing any more of it.
Gray sighs and comes further into the living room. I catch the scent of some smoked meat product but don’t bother to look. I don’t want anything to eat anyway. But my attention shifts when he sets a six-pack on the coffee table with a plunk. The bright green bottles seem to glow against the dark wood. A lump gathers in my throat. Green River soda pop. I loved that shit as a kid. My dad used to let me have them during summer barbecues.
“Where...” I clear my throat. “Where’d you get that?”
You can only really find them in Chicago.
“Special order. I meant to give it to you on your birthday,” Gray admits, settling on the couch beside me after he puts down the other bag, the one containing food by the smell of it. “But I figured you’d appreciated it more now.”
