Proud of you
Christian
Thank you. I appreciate you
Terrance Holt
Good day?
Christian
Good day. Nothing triggering
Terrance Holt
Good. Go on and enjoy your night. Tell Lana I say hello
I leave my phone on the island, feeling like I’ve gotten so many pieces of myself returned these past few days. Terrance was always an incredible father figure, even before he became my sponsor and someone I reach out to on averybad day. And this day with my friends was…nostalgic.Freeing.
The “friends” I had in New York weren’t friends at all. They were strangers who pretended to know me, and I pretended to know them. They weren’t the guys I had grown up with here in Willow Springs. They weren’t the guys I went to school with, played on the same soccer teams with, or survived alongside with. And no one was Lana.
Lana, my love, did all of this for me today. And for the first time since my first night back, I feel the burning slice in my chest pushing me toward sobbing. I want to wrap my arms around Lana and rest my head on her stomach, and lie there the way I had when I came home from the bar.
Sniffling, I scratch at my jaw and rub at my eye with the heel of my palm.
Then the backdoor slides open and the most beautiful human walks through them, carrying the last tray of leftover food. She flashes me a small smile as she sets it down on the island.
“Hey,” she breathes, going to wash her hands in this sink.
“Hey.” I immediately reach for the Tupperware in the cupboards to help her pack everything.
“I missed listening to this song,” Lana says quietly, drying her hands.
“You did?”
Lana shrugs. “Yeah. I listened to it a lot…”
I frown. “Oh.”
“Did you have fun?”
Lana chuckles. “I’m supposed to ask you that.”
“But I asked you first.” I scoop the leftovers into containers, close them, and put everything in the fridge as she places the empty tray in the sink.
“I had fun,” she says, drying her hands. “Did you?”
“I did, thank you,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting…”
Lana shrugs shyly, rolling and twisting her lips, her eyes avoiding mine. Then she says, “I would never miss a chance to celebrate your birthday. It’s my favorite holiday.”
“I know,” I whisper, frowning and turning away from her.
Every year it was me and her. And, honestly, she made me feel like a prince every birthday we spent together.
My parents never did that. They got more successful and stopped caring—not that they cared much to begin with, but whatever little care they had vanished by the time I was a teenager. I never realized how much damage it could do to someone's head until I saw my dad. A couple extra zero’s and he saw himself as a god. He’s dead and I hate him.I hate him.
Every birthday with Lana was a dream, but then my parents—mother—would insist I stop by the house, and my father was always still the abusive drunk. I don’t know why I was ever surprised or expected anything other than a punch to the face every time we interacted. But at least I always got a punch in too. I think he soon realized that I was going tofight back every time, so he gave up and drank himself to death.
