Right now my memories are drowning me in darkness and saturating me with their poison. As stupid as it sounds, only Sol and the memories of us are capable of stopping this shit.
“Sol, I really need you here,” I speak into the mic, my voice shaking even though I don’t want it to. Another memory flashes across my mind, this one of Killian when he found out what happened to Sofia. Hell, it’s like these memories are sucker-punching me, demanding I pay attention.
I glance down at the screen. Of course the voice to text translates her name into “soul”. I don’t bother fixing it, probably because she found a way into my soul.
Shit. Or what’s left of it.
I watch the screen, waiting for her to text back, swallowing my pseudo drink down with a lot of effort. I’m still watching my phone, waiting for it to ring when the bartender makes his way back to me. “You want another one?” he asks, motioning to my empty bottle.
It tastes like shit and I feel like shit because I can’t drink the “real” kind. And because my girl isn’t down here with me or bothering to text back.
“I’ll take a Corona,” I say, twisting the bottle in my hand.
“You sure?” he asks.
Because only alcoholics trying not to be alcoholics drink that piss water, he doesn’t add. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
One beer. A real one. What could it hurt?
I lift my phone when it buzzes. I’m relieved when I see it’s Sol texting until I read what she has to say.
I’m sorry. But I’m not going to be able to make it.
“Oh my God. That’s the Fury―Finn O’Brien,” some woman squeals behind me.
I ignore her, and the friend she’s with who asks if she’s sure it’s me.
Because of your mom? I text back.
She waits to respond. Because of a lot of things, she finally answers.
I start to text back when she adds, I don’t think I’m the best person for you right now.
Fuck. Doesn’t she know she’s the only person I need?
You’re wrong, I text back. Come down to A.C. so I can prove how wrong you are.
The bartender slides a Corona in front of me. I reach to pull a twenty from my wallet, but the bartender shakes his hand. “It’s on the ladies,” he says, jerking his chin toward the end of the bar.
I nod my thanks in their direction. Big mistake. The blond and the brunette―both with extra-large fake tits shimmy down. “Hi,” the brunette says. “I’m Lindsey, and this is Tiffany.”
“Hey,” I say. I huff when Sol sends me another text.
I’m sorry. I can’t.
My breath spreads across the screen before disappearing. I know she’s screwed up from the way we found her mother. Hell, how can she not be? But she has to realize it screwed me up, too.
Her mom may be suffering from mental illness. But right now, so am I. Is that where I’m headed? Part of me knows that it is. This depression shit―that’s what it’ll do to me in time. These meds I’m on, aren’t doing anything―I’ve been on them what? A couple of weeks? Mason said it would take time for them to kick in, but what am I supposed to do in the meantime? When will they stop me from seeing all the bad stuff I’ve lived and breathed?
I still wake up hating myself, fucking agonizing over what I’ve been through. But now, after the incident with her mom, it’s like I can’t get away from it even long after I’m awake.
It’s more than anyone can take. I know it is. There’s no relief from it . . . well, almost.
It’s only when Sol’s with me that I see how good life can be. She doesn’t judge, she doesn’t stare at me like I let her down―like I can’t possibly screw up worse. She just listens, speaking softly like I need her to, and lighting up my world with her smile.
At least she used to. Now she’s not even here.
Please, Sol. I need you, baby, I type out.
“Girl problems?” Mindy or whatever the hell her name is asks.
“That’s one way to put it,” I answer, waiting for Sol’s response.
I can’t, she texts back. Finn, I’m not in a good place.
Neither am I without you, I respond. I don’t mean to put my baggage on her. God knows she’s going through her own kind of hell. But she and I, together we make sense. We’re good as one. But apart, I don’t think either of us can make it.
When she doesn’t reply to my last text, I toss my phone on the bar and lean against the slippery wood, frustrated and nervous about the next swarm of memories that will come without her here. No sooner do I close my eyes than I see her mother covered in blood, that crazy smile glued to her face as she looks at the ceiling, laughing at shit that wasn’t there.
I want to shake my head and admit how messed up that is―and it is. But there’s a piece of me wondering if one day someone will find me that way, alone in a row house, happy that I’m dying so I’ll finally have some mother-fucking peace. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to curse with frustration since the other part of me doesn’t want to hurt my family or Sol―it wants to live and be happy.
I just don’t know how.