She has Carter.
I know I chose to leave, it seemed like the logical decision given their history, but I wasn’t expecting to feel so pathetically desperate to be someone else.
And I hate that about me. I shouldn’t want to be another human being. I should want to be myself. This life I’m trying to live, trying to develop, it shouldn’t be focused on one man and his heart. It should be focused on me and the beating organ in my chest.
This whole program I’ve spent with Carter, experiencing life through him. Well, I’m done. I want to experience life for myself. I want to know what it’s like to watch a movie alone in the theater. I want to see what it’s like to stand on top of a mountain, the wind being my only friend. I want to start a career. I want my own place. I want to be able to walk around naked in my apartment just because I can.
And I want to be able to revolve my life around my passion, rather than a man I’m passionate about.
That girl in the mirror, she’s not fading yet. She still has a little more fight left in her.
Kind regards,
Daisy
Dear Life,
My best friend and I aren’t talking.
I’m barely hanging on to the girl I’ve fallen for.
My baseball career is subpar at best right now.
The ability to breathe is getting tougher and tougher with each passing day.
And I have one responsibility, to give Hope the best opportunity at having a family, and from the look of it, I’m failing miserably.
Accepting my past and accepting my future, they both read like a melting pot of human crap.
Can I get a pass, accept neither and start all over? Might be my best option right about now.
Jace
Carter Crawford: Not present for the meeting. Called in sick, provided Doctor’s note. Hope for a return soon. Quickly discussed the materials and offered him assistance in acceptance. He hung up before I could say goodbye. I see no change in him. Not sure if he will ever change. Marleen
Step Seven: Acceptance
CARTER
Cool glass presses into my fingertips, the bottle I’ve been drinking from for the past few hours about to join its friends in a scattered collection of “fuck yous” on the floor. In the other hand, pieces of highly overrated paper with Benjamin Franklin’s filthy mug on the front.
Money. That’s what this world revolves around. Greedy, soiled money. Such a burnable, rip-able, steal-able object can either make or break your life.
And here I sit, twenty thousand dollars on my lap, my lucky ticket in my hand, and a pure hatred for myself. I bet it all. Every last cent Sasha gave me, I bet it all with the hopes of losing. I wanted everything to be taken away from me, because that’s what has already happened, might as well tack it on with the rest of my bullshit life.
I let her walk away, without even trying to get her back. I let her listen to Sasha claim her love for me and not dismiss it. I let her watch Sasha touch me, invade my space, the space she was just snuggling up to. And then I just let her walk out of my life because I’m a fucking coward.
Kicking Sasha out of my apartment was pretty simple after that. Despite how I felt about her in the past, that’s exactly where those feelings stayed: in the past. Nothing compares to the way I feel when I’m with Daisy. She’s changed me, morphed me into a different man who actually cares about something other than my pursuit to be free of my uncle.
With Daisy, it was like my life was playing out in front of me in a Technicolor musical dream, with fucking dancing quilted vests and hideous turtlenecks as the chorus line.
Now, the world is dull and dreary, a plethora of greys barely distinct from one shade to the next. And there is an ache, deep in my chest, an ache so debilitating that I’ve surrendered all attempts at moving forward with my goals.
And Dear Life? Yeah, fuck that program. Getting Fitzy’s friend to write me a doctor’s note was easy, listening to Marleen trying to coach me over the phone, pure torture. That bitch has some tits to think she can save everyone. Newsflash, Marleen: some people aren’t worth saving.
And you know what, some people don’t want to be saved. Can’t. Be.
What I can’t seem to get over is that I sit here, bottle of whiskey in hand, the key to my freedom in the other and yet, I haven’t broken through the glass ceiling of my proverbial imprisonment.
I haven’t been to work in a few days, blowing my uncle off every time he calls to find out why I’m not slaving away behind the grill. His voice messages are full of threats that hold no weight to me now, because I hold the key to my freedom. Money.
Amber liquid drips down my throat, my body feeling numb with each swallow. I welcome the burn, loving the way it briefly dilutes the constant ache ricocheting through my body.
What a dump. This apartment, such a shithole. But there was one person who actually liked it, because she could see the good in everything. She saw it as a place of freedom. I see it as a prison of solitude, a place I’m trapped with my demons. She saw my bed as one of the most comfortable sleeps she’s ever had. I see it as a rectangle of regret. My kitchen, she saw as a showcase to watch me in my element. To me, it’s an embarrassing temple where I shattered the heart of the only person I’ve ever cared for.
The glass bottle touches my lips again and I tilt back just as a battle of fists rams against my front door, startling the hell out of me so whiskey gets all over my shirt.
“Fuck,” I mutter, setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of me and looking toward the front door. Someone is about to regret disturbing me.
On wobbly legs, I make my way to the door and when I open it, I’m greeted with a meaty fist to my face which sends me stumbling backward until I fall flat on my ass. Disoriented, I try to make sense of what just happened and that’s when I see my uncle, hovering above me, shaking his fist out.
“Get up.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out, the taste of blood filling my mouth.
Shaking his head, he shuts the door behind him and stares down at me. “It’s funny how sometimes I can be so wrong about people.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I move my jaw around with the assistance of my hand. Nope, not broken, just sore as hell. If I wasn’t so shaky on my own legs, I would fight back, show my uncle he can’t rule me anymore.
“When you came to my house with one pathetic suitcase in hand, but hope for a change in your eyes, I thought you would actually make something of yourself.” Motioning around with his hand, he continues, “I guess I was wrong. You’re just ending up like your sorry excuse of a father, no future, no aspirations.”
“Fuck you. I have aspirations.” I stand up, stumbling into the wall as I catch my footing. I take a moment to right myself before continuing. “I want so much more than this dump of a life but you’ve been holding me back, making me pay off my servitude.”
“No, son, you’ve been holding yourself back.”