“How about I just knock the fucking thing down? Will that make you happy?”
The man looked at me as though he was horrified I’d just spoken to him in that way. “I suppose, but—”
“Great. Now I’ve got a lot of work to do, so maybe you can let me get back to it.”
The man glared at me, and he didn’t say another word to me as he stalked away around the side of the house where we’d come from. I walked into the house through the soon to be obsolete three-season porch, and I stopped in front of the fridge. I glanced to the top of it where, until a week before, there’d been a collection of liquor—enough to numb my brain to a puddle of mush.
I wanted a numb brain right now. I needed to stop feeling, because all I could seem to feel was panic.
“Fuck!” I spat out angrily as I rammed the heel of my palm into the front of the fridge. The old thing rattled before settling back into place, and I gripped the top of it, letting my chin drop to my chest.
I finally returned my attention to the ceiling, working to the point that my back ached. I tried to zone out and let the monotony of the work do what I usually used alcohol to do. It wasn’t effective, and I eventually fished my phone from my pocket.
I stared at the screen, finally dialing quickly before I could stop myself. When I heard Helene’s voicemail pick up, I hung up. When I pocketed my phone again, my fingers touched my keys, and I pulled them from my pocket. I stared at them, knowing I could take myself somewhere else—to her place, to the liquor store, to a bar, anywhere but trapped in this pit of bad memories where I was alone and freaking the fuck out.
I paced around in circles for a moment, and then I took a step toward the door. But I stopped as my hands balled into fists, and I hurled my keys across the room. I finally laid on the hardwood floor again, letting the popcorn that covered my new wood floors stick to my sweaty skin.
I didn’t move until later that evening, and when I did, it was to crawl my sore ass off the floor, stumble to the shower, and then back to my bedroom. I pulled jogging pants on again, and I collapsed into bed, hoping my brain would let me sleep. I fell asleep quickly that time, my body too exhausted not to, and I stayed asleep … until my phone rang. I stared at Helene’s number on the screen as I rubbed my eyes. It was two-fifteen in the morning.
“Hi.” The desperate sound of my voice was pathetic.
She was silent, and I rolled over onto my side, wedging my phone between my shoulder and my ear.
“I’m terrified of you,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head subtly but saying nothing. It was not a good feeling being told by someone you would die for that they were terrified of you. In fact, it was a hellish sort of feeling that made every decent decision I’d ever made feel worthless.
“Jake was always a friend to you,” she continued.
I bit my lip hard, letting the pain build for a moment. “I know.”
“If you could do that to someone like Jake…”
She didn’t need to finish that sentence. I understood her point perfectly well, and there was very little I could say to refute it.
“I don’t know how to trust you, Kane.”
“What do you want me to say?” Defeat seeped around my words. I didn’t know how to assure her she could trust me and not sound like a fucking chump. I hadn’t earned her trust. I’d never once done what she needed to earn anything but disappointment from her.
“You could tell me why,” she pleaded. “Why…? How could you…? Does it feel good to hurt people?”
“No.” It was a struggle to get even that one word out through my throat that was quickly trying to strangle me.
“Do you want to hurt me? Is that it? Do you resent me on some subconscious level?”
“Jesus Christ, Hell. No!” I managed to be emphatic that time.
“Then—”
“It feels good to hurt me!” I snapped at her.
She was silent, and the quiet drew out between us for a long time. “I don’t understand why we’re doing this.” She sniffed her nose. She was falling apart. “Am I just another way for you to cause yourself pain?” Her voice broke, and she didn’t bother saying more.
I stared into the darkness, praying I wouldn’t fuck this up. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” I finally said quietly. “To see you again. I … didn’t know I would love it.” My voice broke that time, and I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know it would feel so good. I didn’t know how desperate I would become to hold on to it. I didn’t know how much I was still able to feel something with you.”