Theo
Mid-June
Howthefuckdopeople do this?
How do they sleep and get up feeling refreshed? Shower, get dressed, go to work. Eat. Brush their teeth. Remember to drink water. Make time for phone calls. Make time to be human.
How?
I don’t fucking get it. What inside of me is so broken that I can’t do these things?
I set my clothes out last night. I’m already late. I know I am. The three missed calls I have from Bella, the night shift cashier, are proof of that. She’s all bubbly personality and bouncy blonde curls and shiny red lips and happy blue eyes.
If I close my eyes, I can almost hear her voice in my head.Theo, bro, what’s up with you?
Why in the fuck is this so easy for other people?
I drag myself into a sitting position, my elbows braced on my knees and my chin resting on my hands. There’s a stain on the carpet. Something dark that looks like there was a spill. Maybe I did it. Maybe the last person who lived here did.
Who knows?
Reaching forward, I pick my jeans up off the floor. I don’t put them on. I lay them across my lap and rest my elbows on my knees again. I’m not sure I even have five percent today. And I’m pretty sure grabbing the jeans took half.
With a sigh, I reach for my phone. It feels like I’m moving through molasses, each muscle in my body fighting me as I dial the number for the gas station.
Lyle answers, which means he must have come in when Bella couldn’t reach me. Good. She doesn’t deserve to sit there all day waiting for my sorry ass.
“Hey, Lyle.”
“Hey, bro. Damn, are you sick?”
Something like that. “Yeah, man. Won’t make it in today. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
“No worries, dude. I’ll cover today. If you need more time, let me know. I can pick up tomorrow and the next. Trying to save up for that ring for my girl.”
Something about that offer tickles my brain. I shouldn’t say yes. Being here will make things worse. Giving myselfpermission to miss more work will send me deeper. What happens if I wake up with zero percent? Do I wake up at all? Do I cease to exist?
“Yeah,” I breathe. “That’d be cool. I—uh, must have gotten a bug or something.”
Lyle makes a noise. Something sympathetic, I’m sure, but I barely register it. “Sure, dude. I gotchu. You sound like you’re dying. Definitely keep that shit at home.”
Keep that shit at home.
As if it’s catching. As if he’ll turn into nothing the way I have if I show up at work. Fuck. Maybe he will. Maybe I’ll infect them all. With my dark. With my sadness.
Maybe I’ll infect Luca and Austin. And Hunter too.
“I will,” I say, then hang up the phone and toss my jeans on the floor before crawling back into bed and closing my eyes.
I’m almost asleep when my phone dings, and when I pick it up, it’s a message from Hunter.
Hunter
Look at what this goofball did.
There’s an attached photo of his jeans with a hole torn in the side and a pleased-looking Lila sitting at his feet.
While I’m looking at the photo, another message comes through.
