Page 135 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Too late.

I feel way too sorry for myself to hold back.

Is this what people mean when they say it feels good to have a good cry every once in a while?

First for me.

Ten out of ten.

By the time I get home, my face is a fucking mess—eyes red, throat tight, blotches on my skin. I kill the engine and sit for a moment, surrounded by silence. The empty driveway. Theaccent lighting on the house glowing. The weight of my own disappointment settling deep in my bones.

I ache.

I don’t even make it to the laundry room before my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Skaggs.

Of course.

I swipe to answer and hit speaker, tossing my keys to the laundry room drop zone as I fend off Nugget and his boisterous attack, his urgency to play and jump forever an irritation. Tonight I’m doubly annoyed at his lack of chill.

I shoo the dog away as I take my roommate’s call. “Yo.”

“Bro.” Skaggs immediately senses something is off. “You okay?”

“What’s up?”

I need him to get to the point so I can go be dramatic alone in my room and drown my sorrows in beer and ice cream.

My roommate is shouting over loud music. “You home?”

“Yup.” Always home AND ALONE.

Sigh.

“I thought I was gonna be home and was supposed to give Nugget his meds. Totally fucking forgot and I’m not gonna be home anytime soon,” he continues shouting.

He could have texted me this.

“I got it.” The dog stares up at me, wanting to jump on me. I can see it in his beady little eyes.

“Awesome, thanks.” He pauses. “Uh. You sure you’re good?”

I open the door to the fridge with the heel of my foot and lean against it. “Definegood.”

“You don’t sound great—maybe you are actually sick or something.”

I bark out a laugh that’s more of a cry. “Yeah. I’m sick of something alright.”

There’s a pause. “Is this the same something that had you blowing chunks at practice yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. Should you start wearing a mask?”

I scowl, annoyed as hell. “I don’t have Covid, you fucking moron!”

He pauses. “Oh. Cool.”

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