“I don’t know what is wrong with you, Oliver. But that man raised you, and he deserves some respect.”
Pain lances through my chest, and I bite back a bitter laugh. Respect is earned.Hetold me that one too many times.
The hand holding my phone starts to shake, and I’m aware that my breaths are coming faster and shallower than they should be. I tip my head back on the sofa, a wave of dizziness washing over me.
Breathe, Ollie.I remind myself, taking in a breath and pushing it out, trying to focus on getting enough oxygen to my burning lungs.
Mum continues, either unaware or unbothered, that her son is in the throes of a panic attack.
“We haven’t arranged the funeral yet, but I will let you know when it is, and I expect you to be there. After everything he did for you and everything you put him – us – through, the least you can do is show up.”
Images of that night three years ago, when I poured my heart out to them and they threw it all back in my face, play behind my closed lids. I can still picture my father’s brown eyes, hard with anger, his jaw ticking as he listened to me.
You’re always causing trouble. And this is the worst thing you’ve ever done, Oliver.
“Alister said he forgives you for –” White dots dance in my vision, and I slam my eyes shut, letting my phone drop to my lap. I don’t hear the rest of what my mother has to say and I don’t care because Alister can take his forgiveness and go fuck himself with it. The lying rapist piece of shit.
I rest my hand over my heart, feeling thethud thudof it against my palm. Unsteady. Aching. Another shard splintering off the already delicate organ.
Shit.
Fuck.
My father is dead.
I repeat that fact in my mind, over and over again. Then I say it out loud, the words bitter on my tongue. I don’t move for what feels like hours as I wait for one solid emotion to win out over the swirling mess of them in my head. Anger. Sadness. Regret. Relief.
That last one steals my resolve, and I grab a pillow and scream into it until my throat is raw. And then I sit. In a stillness that is betrayed only by the tremor rumbling through my body. I need…fuck…I need to not be here. To not be thinking about what I have to do next.
Go to his funeral.
Don’t go.
Fuck.
I’m used to having only myself for company. I’ve lived alone long enough to become accustomed to it, but I can’t deny that right now I wish I had someone to talk to about this, even if I would never share the full story with them. No one can ever know my biggest secret. The only two people I told never believed me.
The longing in my bones has me reaching for my phone again, my mother having hung up at some point. Pulling up the name of the one and only person I’ve ever let in. Even if he never realised that I’d softened my heart for him. We fucked around on and off for six years and stupidly; I fell. But I was never a real choice for him. More of a safe place to land. But now he’s found a safer place and I have no one.
Fucking Caiden.
Jumping off the sofa, I shove my phone in my pocket, and rummage in my basket of clean but not yet folded clothing. I locate a grey gym tee which I pull over my head, then put on mytrainers and leave my flat; the door locking automatically behind me.
The gym is two short blocks away, and I walk at a steady pace along the pavement, pushing through a crowd of people standing outside a pub. It’s bright and hot out, and the town is alive with the after-work crowd, getting a drink or two in before they head home to prepare for another day.
Smart people.
I’m tempted to duck into the pub and grab a pint, but I’m too worked up and nothing besides running or fucking is going to help right now.
The gym is cool when I walk in, and I welcome the drop in temperature, only wishing it wasn’t so damn busy inside. There isn’t a treadmill free, so I pause at the vending machine and buy an energy drink, downing it while waiting for someone to vacate one of the treadmills. I stretch and use the rowing machine until one opens up, my muscles warmed and ready to be worked.
I start with a slow jog, rapidly increasing the speed until I’m full-on sprinting, my lungs burning with exertion. It’s the rush I need, and I push myself harder, faster. My feet hitting the treadmill in a rhythm that echoes in my bones.
With my eyes on the blank screen in front of me, I run.
I run until the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. Until I don’t know if it’s sweat or tears burning my eyes. Until I realise that what sucks the most is that no matter how hard I push myself, I cannot outrun the truth that tonight, I wish I wasn’t so fucking alone.
My stomach clenches around nothing, my body hating me for putting it through this with no fuel other than a shitty energy drink, and though I want to run until I forget everything, I’m forced to stop when nausea creeps up.
