Page 22 of Strange Lad

Goodnight.

Oli

Insomnia

Wiping my hands with the rag in my pocket, I double check the battery cables are connected right and then shut the hood of the Honda Civic that got towed into the shop. An easy battery swap was all it needed, so I’m basically done for the day.

I plan on lingering around in case another car rolls in, but seeing as I work under the table and only twenty hours a week, I'm technically supposed to leave now.

Tommy doesn’t like it when I hang around past my allotted hours.

He says it’s because he feels obligated to pay me. Every time I tell him not to worry about it, and that I’m fine, he always slips me a few extra bills come payday. Tommy knows the struggle of being a recovering addict. He’s been sober for fifteen years.

I pull out my phone from my jumpsuit, hoping Jorge texted, but nothing.

Maybe the kitten thing threw him off. I don’t even know why I said it.

He probably thinks I was flirting with him, which, I guess, I kind of was. Jorge is straight as they come, so it’s not toofar of a stretch to think he’s having second thoughts now that it’s daylight. I know he’s not the sort of person to make things weird over some harmless flirting via text; if anything, he’d be flattered.

So why hasn’t he texted? Ishedating?

The thought of it makes my eye twitch.

I put my phone away and head to the janky lockers to get my water jug out. I take a few sips, letting the cool water soak into my parched throat. It’s dead today. Only Manuel and Logan are in, and they’re currently in our “break room” watching basketball.

Maybe I should just leave. I can go home and shower, then hit up Jorge and find out where he’s been hiding all morning. Nodding to myself, I grab my shit out of my locker, fiddling with my car keys, and turn around.

The crunching of wheels rolling up to the garage catches my attention. I can’t see the driver through the gnarly glare on the windshield, but the sounds coming from that engine can’t be good.

I glance at Manuel and Logan. Both are too enthralled with whatever is happening on the TV, so I decide to handle this customer. Throwing my stuff back in my locker, I shut the door and leave it unlocked because I’ll leave after this.

I walk over to the car, annoyed that whoever this is showed up because I actually want to leave now. I would much rather be with Jorge.

But as I round the side of the car, the window rolling down to reveal the driver, I lose the ability to breathe, speak, and do anything other than solidify into stone.

My heart races, galloping so fast I’m sure it’ll burst. I’m vaguely aware of my hands curling into tight fists, the color draining from my face. The muscles in my legs stiffen, keeping me rooted to the concrete.

A scream begs to be released, but I can’t get it to come out. My stomach feels like a solid rock in my abdomen.

The past flashes in my mind so quickly that I start to see spots. And whenhespeaks, the shackles around my ankles break. Fight or flight kicks in, and I launch out of the garage.

The fear is so thick in my blood that I don’t even know where I’m going; I justrun.Run for my fucking life. Run from the past. Run from the face I won’t ever forget.

The sun beats on my back, and the jumpsuit is stiff and not breathable. By the time I stumble onto a familiar porch, my fists banging on the front door in desperation, I am covered in sweat, seconds from throwing up, and panting. I bite my tongue to silence the pathetic whimper forming on it and beat on the wood harder, and faster.

“Please!” I cry out, needing inside. Needing safety.

I have a key to this door, but it’s in my locker at work. My wallet and everything else are in it, too. All I have is my phone and my body. “Please,” I let the whimper out, sliding to the ground and tucking my knees to my chest.

I wedge my face between them, tugging at my hair.

The pain shoots through my scalp, allowing me to breathe and think.

I’m half aware that I can’t just sit out here all day, but again, I’m stuck. Paralyzed in place. Where is he?

Time passes in a blink, and his car pulls up in the short driveway.

Heavy footfalls approach me, and his breath hits my fingers, still carded in my hair.

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