Page 1 of Feels Like Forever
PROLOGUE
JUDE
One Month Earlier
The moment I wake up, my body catapults to a sitting position as gasps of air leave my lungs, rough and ragged. My hand clutches at my chest, trying to calm the beating of my heart. Sweat is pouring from every inch of my body while all my senses go on high alert, and I can hear every noise in my otherwise quiet home. The only good part about waking up like this is that I’m out of my nightmare.
For now.
You’d think almost twenty-seven years later, I’d have overcome my past, but I haven’t. I’m haunted in my weakest hours.
When the world is dark.
When I’m the most vulnerable.
WhenI’m asleep.
I’m transported to the here and now. No one is here, and there’s not one single fucking reason for my past to enter my future.
I toss the covers from my drenched body, throw my legs over the side of the mattress, and take a deep breath. My elbows hit the tops of my thighs, head hanging down. The clenching and unclenching of my fingers help center me from spiraling to do something stupid. I leave my eyes open while attempting to calm myself down and try to think about other shit, shit that doesn’t suck me into the vortex of my fucked-up childhood.
“Get it together, man.” I run my fingers through my hair, look at the clock on the other side of my room, and watch the time change from two fifty-nine to three o’clock in the morning. There’s no going back to sleep, not after the nightmare I just had, one that still has me ready to crawl out of my skin.
“Cam, disable the alarm.” The software system I created is voice activated yet more detailed than that, capturing the unique tone of my voice. I’m still ironing out the kinks before I make it available to my friends, their business fronts, or the public.
“Good morning, Jude. Alarm is deactivated,” the slightly less robotic female voice responds through the speakers. I wince at even a piece of technology notating that it’s morning at this awful hour. The alarm chimes, a two-beat succession letting me know that a blaring horn won’t sound off and wake up the rest of my neighborhood when I open the French-style patio doors.
I stand up, nab my phone from the nightstand, andcheck what my notifications look like—trivial bullshit, e-mails, texts that can wait, and another alert about who’s currently online. I drop the phone back on the wood table and grab my smokes and lighter before walking toward the back door. A few seconds later, the deadbolt is unlocked, the door is wide open, and I’m met with the stillness of the night.
The Florida humidity smacks you in the face. Summer is thick in the air, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. It’s never ending, clinging around for months on end. The rare time it drops below fifty percent, you wonder if a cool front moved in, only to wake up the next day with shit going back to normal, and you’re left thinking it was a fever dream. I walk further out on the deck, completely naked. My house may be in a neighborhood of sorts similar to Asher’s, minus the fact that my lot is a little over an acre, but the privacy fence keeps it secluded, so I’m able to use my backyard however I see fit. I drop the nasty habit near the edge of the pool, one I picked up years ago and have yet to kick, probably because anytime I do, the nicotine calms me down from days like these. I drop myself into the pool and dunk my body below the surface, exhaling every last bit of oxygen until I’m nearly to the bottom. I close my eyes for the first time since waking up and am finally in a point of time that does me not one bit of good. I flip to my back to slowly float to the surface. The stickiness of sweat is gone and is replaced with chlorine. I’ve yet to convert the system to salt water, it’s at the bottom of my list for now.
I swim to the edge near my cigarettes, my hand grips the deck, and I use my upper body to propel myself out of thepool. The only problem is I’ve made a rookie fucking mistake. “Goddamn it.” Water spills over, ruining any chances of enjoying a smoke now. I stand up, bend down to snatch the ruined pack, crunch it in my hand, and abandon the idea of using nicotine to calm my frayed edges. I walk back to my bedroom. The door is still open, letting the damn air condition escape like a fucking idiot. I’m dripping wet when I move through the room, this time shutting the door behind me. I’m in and out of the bathroom without flipping the switch, there’s no need to see the dark circles beneath my eyes at this time of day. I wipe myself down with the towel and throw the pack of smokes in the trash. With any luck, my Zippo lighter won’t be ruined.
The next order of business is shorts. Swimming naked is fine. Walking around my house naked? No problem. Sitting on my furniture without something on my body? Not fucking happening. I open the drawer of my dresser, grab the first available pair, and go through the process of slipping them on. I’m still disgruntled, more about my cigarettes than the nightmare at this point. My eyes are well adjusted to the darkness and navigate through the room to grab my phone. As I look at the bed, I’m disgusted I’ll have to strip the sheets again for the third time this week.
I make my way out of my bedroom, keeping the lights off while walking down the hallway. I’d usually find solace in my home office, but tonight, with shit going the way it is, there’s no amount of work that will distract me. Which means it’s time to sit my grumpy ass on the couch and find some candy to keep me occupied from jonesing for a smoke. I’m half tempted to grab my keys and head to the nearest gasstation. The one thing holding me back is having the forethought that if I got behind the wheel of my 1968 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 edition, I’d no doubt wrap it around a tree with my heavy foot and heavier thoughts. So, instead, I veer off to the kitchen and go straight to my snack drawer to grab the plethora of candy I keep on hand.
The light above the stove illuminates what I’m after, and I hit pay dirt when my eyes land on the small, round, tropical-fruit-flavored candies with a hardshell. I snatch two packs and move into the living room. I flop down on the couch, tossing the candy and my phone is next to the remote while already knowing I’m about to get online to play Echoes of Destruction.
I grab the remote and turn on the television before finding my controller to turn on the game. While I wait for the game to load, my hand reaches for the candy, and I rip open the bag, bring it to my mouth, and toss a few in. The urge for nicotine subsides, allowing me to take a damn breath like a normal person.
Ronnie4uflashes on the screen, letting me know the dude I added a while back is on. They never talk, I figure it’s some kid who doesn’t want to get caught by their parents for being on late at night. I wait a beat to see what’ll happen. For all I know,Ronnie4uis downloading a game. I continue eating the candy, keeping my mouth full at all times, and that’s when I say, “Fuck it,” grab the headset off the ottoman in front of me, slide it on, and see if he or she will take the bait by adding them to a clan.
At least something is turning around tonight when they join in. My mind shuts down. No longer is the past of helllicking at my heels, that shit fades to the background. Yet I’m no fool and well aware the nightmares will more than likely meet me again in my sleep. The date on my phone chases me no matter what. Anytime I look, it’s like a goddamn beacon at sea calling you to the light and reminding me what happened.
“Dude,” I say into the mic when I see movement behind Ronnie. My mind is on nothing but what’s right in front of me. Call me shallow, call me a loser, you can even call me a boy trapped in a man’s body. Until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, you can get fucked. “Dude, are you going to take care of them?” I ask, getting to the point. Ronnie is about done for, like, on the ground needing to be revived, and I’ve got fuck all to help since we haven’t secured dick in this map.
“You’re a fucking goner, dude. Can’t even turn your mic on. Mom must not have given you permission.” I’m talking mad shit and have since we’ve been playing the past few times.
“Um, hi. Not a dude. Not a teenager, either. I don’t make it a point to talk to strangers,” a woman’s voice vibrates through my ears, causing me to drop the controller to the ground. I can hear the damn thing rattle around in the background, vibrating against the wood floor. Where that shit would piss me of in a normal circumstance, abandoning the game and ignoring the noise, it doesn’t today. Ronnie’s raspy, sultry tone is rich, low-pitched with a smoky edge that curls around each syllable with every exhale. It’s edgy, lived-in, and damn if it isn’t intimate and inviting.
The bad shit disappears. Nothing about the nightmaretries to cloud what I’m feeling by her voice alone. I’m stunned fucking speechless, and no words are coming out.
“Great, I take a chance and actually respond, and thisShadowSeekerguy becomes mute.” My cock pulses with every word she says, whispering in my ears like she would in the quiet living room.
“Not a mute, Ronnie. What’s that short for?” My goal is to keep her on the phone while I do some deep fucking diving. I grab the remote, set it on the ottoman, then reach for my phone and start digging for everything about the username.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,ShadowSeeker.” The ‘r’ rolls off her tongue and makes my mouth water.
