Grabbing the remote, I clicked on the television to fill the room with a little background noise, in hopes to keep the worry that had plagued me at bay.
From day to day, I saw some horrible things: families ripped apart, lives cut short. If you didn’t learn how to cope with it, you wouldn’t last long in my line of work. My way of dealing with loss and suffering was to block it out and pretend it didn’t bother me. After a while, it didn’t. My heart had hardened enough that I could lie to myself and say I didn’t care—and it was almost believable. Almost.
I unrolled the sack and pulled out the JayWok box, letting my vision go unfocused. The people on the television blended into colored blobs as their voices began to fade into the background.
I swallowed a large bite of my food, thinking of Avery and her crooked smirk. She was the complete opposite of my type, meaning there wasn’t a hint of glitter on her face and her clothes wouldn’t need to be soaked in baby oil to be peeled off her body.
Dax pawed at my arm as I shoveled in another bite.
“You had yours,” I said, pushing from the couch and making my way to the kitchen.
Hard as it was to admit, I couldn’t take bumps and bruises like I could as a kid when I rode dirt bikes. I felt every scrape and muscle strain from the fender bender. Pulling open the fridge, I grabbed the half jug of milk and twisted off the top to chug the contents.
Mid-sip, I turned around to see the rest of my food being devoured by the dog.
“Damn it, Dax,” I barked, twisting the cap back on the jug and putting it back into the fridge.
The time on the stove clock made my jaw clench. “I don’t have time to pick anything else up, shithead.”
He whimpered with guilt as I approached him, but I wasn’t the type to raise my hand to an animal. I ran my palm over his wiry hair before pulling my T-shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I called out over my shoulder. I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the cold water, hoping a shower would wake me up for another long shift.
I kicked off my sneakers before sliding my basketball shorts and boxer briefs down my legs. I could hear my cell phone going off from the kitchen counter, the faint sound of Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers crooning a private concert.
I slipped behind the glass door, cursing under my breath as the icy droplets of water hit my back. “Shit.” I spun the knob, groaning as warm wetness slid over my achy shoulders. I lathered up the weird poofy sponge thing Talia, a waitress from Buckin’ Bulls, had left for me.
That gesture alone was enough to keep me from calling her back. Regardless of how flexible she was, clingy was not my thing.
I dumped a blue glob of liquid soap onto the mesh mass and rubbed it over my tense stomach muscles while singing It’s Good to Be King. I hurried through my before-work routine and was out of my apartment only fifteen minutes later, hungry but reenergized.
The sun was blinding on my walk to work now that the sky had cleared, and the warmth was almost sickening. Pulling my cell from my pocket, I clicked on the voicemail icon and listened as Sloppy Joe yelled loudly into the receiver.
“You screenin’ your calls now, J? Look, man. I know you’re out there starting your new life in the big city and all, but you can’t just forget about everyone you left behind. Call me, man.” The line went dead and my finger hovered over the number nine before I clicked it, erasing the message.
I hurried my pace as I shoved the phone back into my pocket, promising myself I’d call Joe later, even though I knew it was a lie.
The past needed to stay just that: the past. I wasn’t ready to deal with home. Not yet, anyway.
“Hey, man. You look like shit,” Quinn called out. He pulled open the ambulance door and tossed a small black bag inside.
“Your mom didn’t think so,” I shot back, rolling my head from shoulder to shoulder to ease the tension in my neck.
“That’s fucked up, man.”