Page 29 of Let the Light Shine Through

I take a whiff.

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble, bolting upright again. I just might fucking be.

With a towel and a change of clothes, I head downstairs to grab a shower, only to end up staring at the stream of water with the same concentration I used on the stain.

Maybe I could jump in the pool.

And sink to the bottom. At least then I wouldn’t reek up the house.

Shower it is.

I switch the water to scalding though, just to see if I can actually feel it.

I turn up the volume, using the button on the steering wheel. My mom’s voice comes through the door speakers, louder but not any clearer. I hate talking on the phone, especially while driving. Any idiot walking outside could make out more of the choppy conversation than even I can. She’s going on and on about having me over for dinner one of these nights and I’m trying to figure out where to schedule such an event—before or after doing absolutely fuck all?

After getting out of the shower, I decided to take it one step further into the land of the living by checking my phone. The battery died several days ago but charging it would’ve required me to get out of bed and well…I let it die. I let it die.

I actually felt bad seeing how many missed texts I had from my parents but my appetite reemerged with a fucking vengeance, so I made myself leave the house to find something to eat. It was either that or crawl back in bed with a packet of ketchup.

But now that I have something a bit more substantial in my stomach, I’m cruising the pathetic main street of this tiny town—or hamlet, as it’s called here in New York—while my hand grips the top of the steering wheel, my focus on the faded pink and purple threads decorating my wrist more than the conversation with my mom. I’ve been wearing the bracelet ever since the day I got it. The day that could’ve been perfect had Gia actually stuck around and not run off with another man. A man that practically stole her out of my truck to mark her with his own clothing. I can’t even lie. That shit stung. Bad.

I know it’s the corniest shit in the world, but I cannot make myself take the fucking bracelet off. It reminds me of her. Not just her but also the version of myself I haven’t glimpsed since before Salvy’s death. He’s gone. I’m gone. But that day I didn’t feel like it.

Not like now.

“Maybe you can bring that roommate of yours,” my mom says. “Fletcher always has the most fascinating architecture insights. He’s a wonderful conversationalist, Roswell. You could learn a few things from him.”

It’s true, Fletcher’s a wealth of useless information about building facts, past and present, which is why he bought the fixer-upper frat house in the first place, but I haven’t talked to him since we got into it. Fletcher didn’t even have the balls to admit he stole Gia’s underwear. I found them myself after tearing through the whole house searching for them. I would’ve mistaken them for Fletcher’s because they were actually men’s underwear, but he had them hidden in his nightstand between the pages of a porn mag featuring women posing in different sport settings. And which sport was Gia’s underwear bookmarking? Skateboarding, of course.

Once I had them in my possession, I was planning to clean them along with the rest of Gia’s outfit, so I could return it all to her house, but after washing everything, I realized that was all I had to look forward to.

That was all I had to look forward to.

That’s. Fucking. It.

I come to a stop at a red light, telling my mom, “I talk fine.” When I feel like it.

Or when Gia’s around, I think with a ghost of a smile. Jesus, she was an experience. I let her in more than any other person, besides Salvy, and I still know next to nothing about her—like what all those scars marring her back are. Much like the small one I saw on her shoulder, they resembled cigarette burns. But everywhere. And different sizes. It was fucked. Whatever, or whoever, made those marks had to have caused Gia a lot of pain.

And, I’m not okay with that. I’m not okay with the idea of it possibly still happening, or the idea of me not being able to stop it—her hurting. I’ve spent more time with a bowl of soup than I have with Gia, and I somehow still care more about her well-being than…well, fuck, most people.

But she doesn’t seem to feel the same way. At all. Gia ditched me for someone else, something else, somewhere else. And just like when Salvy died, I was left wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next. Where I even fit anymore?

The light turns green and I pass a bakery one of my roommates—I think Johnny—mentioned something to Gia about the night she stayed over. Apparently, she knew it too because she recommended…some kind of cake, I can’t remember, but now that I know where it is, maybe I can check it out sometime. It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the goddamn house and something to actually talk to my roommates about. It’s not much, but it’s more than what I’ve been doing, which is jack shit.

“It’s just that when you’re in the public eye, you need to know how to handle certain topics, certain questions,” my mom stresses.

What questions? I’ve already told the media everything I’m willing to share, and I’m no longer in the public eye, so what does it matter how I answer things?

“Mom, that’s not my life anymore,” I say, trying not to lose my patience. She knows damn well where I stand on this. Both my parents do. We went over it almost every fucking day when I lived with them.

“Like life, snowboarding isn’t dependent on who’s alongside you, Roswell. It’s a solitary endeavor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Snowboarding may have brought you two together, but you shouldn’t give up the reason Salvy and you were so close to begin with. Doesn’t that undermine the whole purpose?”

“There’s no purpose to any of this. None,” I grit.