Page 17 of The Comeback Pact

“I didn’t know it was him.”

On the other end of the line, I hear the flick of her lighter, and then she inhales deeply before blowing out a breath. I can only imagine the toxic cloud adding to the years and years of nicotine and smoke already stuck to the grungy walls.

I want to ask her what she wants me to do about it, but I already know. She thinks if I talk to him, he’ll get off her back, but this is what he does. He just wants to come back in so he can fuck things up some more and then leave us in shambles again.

“I’m not talking to him. Block the number,” I tell her. “It’s on you if you talk to him again.”

“He’s blaming me!” she scolds.

My heart pounds recklessly. It’s as if I’m physically getting smaller and smaller. In my head, I’m in a closet with my fingers pressed into my ears so I won’t hear them fighting.

“Mom…”

“West.” Her voice comes out frantic, and I feel like I’m going to fucking explode.

I can’t be her savior anymore. Sometimes I don’t even think I can save myself.

Wave after wave of anger laps at me. My hands start shaking. My leg starts bobbing up and down. I can’t stop it. It’s like a tsunami that’s about to overpower me. My fist closes around my phone so hard I’m worried I’ll damage it.

Without saying a word, I pull the phone away from my ear and end the call.

I push the phone away and rest my head on the table. Closing my eyes, I breathe in that burnt toast in long, exaggerated breaths. My white-knuckled fists stay on either side of my head for minutes and minutes until they finally relax.

Relief pours over me then, and it’s enough to knock me out of it completely.

I’m not him.

I’m not him.

When I’ve gotten myself under control, I grab my phone and my towel. Luckily, no one else is in the bathroom when I walk in, so I don’t feel anxious about taking a long, scalding shower to help rinse the reminder of my past off me.

After walking on eggshells my whole life, even just going through the motions of living is hard. Am I going to get yelled at for taking all the hot water? Will he scream at me for using up all the shampoo? What if I take too long and don’t realize he wants to get in the bathroom after me? Even breathing seemed to set him off, and I can’t fucking shake it sometimes.

I don’t know how long it’s been when Aidan messages me.

You okay?

I turn off the water, towel dry, and shoot him a message telling him I’m fine.

One very, very fucked-up night when I was loaded and vulnerable as fuck, I spewed out all my shit to Aidan. I have to give him credit, he didn’t shy away, and he’s been nothing but a true friend since.

He’s still playing video games when I stalk back to the room. He gives me a once-over, as if checking if I’m okay, but doesn’t ask questions. Probably because he knows he won’t get an answer.

He gets me, more than anyone else does.

Aidan offers to let me play, but I shake my head. There’s an assignment for my lit class that I have to get done, but as I open up the book and start to read, my mind starts to wander.

McKenna Knowles.

I thought she was beautiful before Hamilton threw that firework into her dorm window, and that hasn’t changed. Don’t get me wrong, what happened was fucked up, but with her scar, she gets to show her past upfront. With me, everyone acts like I’m this all-American football player who was born with a silver spoon up his ass, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Everyone has a goddamn story. Some of ours are hidden underneath the surface, like mine. McKenna wears hers on her face, and there’s something so fucking freeing and sexy about that.

I see her try to hide it all the time. First there were the bandages, then makeup. Now, she kind of just lets it out there for everyone to see, and I get this sort of thrill, hoping she’s being true to herself and not caring what anyone else thinks.

I wish I was like that. Why the fuck can’t I be like that?

But then I see her pull her hair over it, or turn her face when someone stares, and I wonder if maybe we’re the same.

The reason why is so apparent to me, but I push thoughts of my father away. That’s a one-way ticket to a descent into madness, and I’ve already played that game one too many times.

---