Page 81 of Drown Like Heaven
Waiting for Mason to come take me again, to not let me leave him, to force me into his car and keep me with him, show me he could handle me like this. I thought that’s what we were, the sort of painful dependency we’d grown into. But maybe I was the only one.
Please don’t let me leave. Please stop me. Please don’t make me be strong.
The more time that passed, the more clear it became that it wasn’t going to happen. I was alone, shivering and soaked, hunkered down on the bench at the bus stop, hating every choice in my life that had lead me to this point.
Did you run away, too?
I thought of that deer, thought of her disappearing into the dark forest. How I wished I could do the very same thing. I wanted torun, run so far away that none of this would matter anymore, sink into the shadows of the pines where nobody would ever find me again. Maybe not even my memories could find me there.
Don’t look at me like that—like you think I’m evil. I’m so nice to you, Dakota. I’ve never hurt you. Stop acting fucking crazy or I’ll leave. Is that what you want?
With shaking hands, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, struggling with the damp fabric of my jacket. My wet fingers moved across the screen, everything blurry through my tears and the rain.
Me :Who’s working now?
Eric :Just me. What’s up?
Me :Could I pick up a shift? I can be there in like twenty minutes
Eric :Sure. Everything alright?
I didn’t answer his last message. I didn’t know what to say.No, nothing is okay. Nothing has ever been okay for me, not once in my entire life. I should be used to it, but I’m not. I don’t think I ever will be.
When the bus arrived, I climbed aboard and ignored the concerned looks people were giving me. I knew I looked like a mess on the outside. Wet, tangled hair, soaked clothes, tear-stained face. They had no idea how much of a mess the inside was too.
I arrived at the gas station when I said I would, but Eric wasn’t at the register as I walked in. I paused, standing dumbly in front of the door.
He came out of the back room after a second. “Shit. I should’ve known that was you walkin’ in. I’m sorry, I was…”
My expression cracked and I slammed my hands over my face to hide the crying I couldn’t keep inside now that I’d seen him.
It was like he’d triggered another whole downpour.
The power of a familiar face.
His hand was warm on my shoulder. “Come here, butterfly. I got something for you.”
Rubbing my eyes, I let him lead me across the station into the back office—where a fresh wave of tears began streaming down my cheeks. I literally couldn’t stop now that I’d started, weeks worth of stress and anxiety and sadness spilling out of me all at once.
Eric had some cartoons playing on the old box TV in the corner, his office chair dragged away from the desk and draped with a thin blanket, a crate set next to the chair with a pre-packaged cinnamon roll sitting on a napkin on top of it.
“I don’t mind if you don’t want me in here with you,” he said. “I also don’t mind if you do. You just tell me what you want.”
“Eric, I—”
“I’ll pay you as long as you’re here,” he cut me off, shaking his head. “I knew something was wrong by the way you texted me, and you don’t have to tell me what it is, but I do care about you. I don’t want to see you sad.”
I rolled my lips together in an attempt to control my sobs. I was a mess.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ll be out here if you need me.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards the door. I just nodded.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone, cartoons playing faintly from the corner. The characters weren’t speaking a real language, just little sounds.
I took off my wet jacket and wrapped the blanket from the chair around my shoulders, then sat down. He’d plugged in an old space heater facing the chair, and I switched the dial to turn it on, hot air rattling out of the device almost immediately. I kicked off my boots, tucked my feet up on the chair. There was a small window near the ceiling, and I could see the raindrops still streaming down the dirty glass.
Sitting with the remote in my hand, I picked up the cinnamon roll, plastic packaging crinkling while I tore it open. It smelled artificial and delicious. I cried while I ate it. Cried while I watched cartoons.
