Page 94 of The Art of Drowning

But for him, I’d give up everything because I was nothing without him. A shell. A husk. A shadow. As angry and hurt as I was about all the shit my parents kept from me, it loosened something inside of me and a weight dropped away. If they lied to me, then I owed them nothing. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells about the kind of person Sam was because they’d known that too. They’d known he wasn’t good, or kind, or fair, and they’d chosen him anyway. Taken his side in all things.

At least now it made sense.

With a deep breath to fortify myself, I set Crudinski down and pulled my phone out. My fingers hovered nervously over the screen as I thought of what I wanted to say to them. Because dealing with this was the first thing on my list. It had to be.

I texted them that I got home okay and then I asked them not to reach out to me. That I would bridge that gap when I felt ready.

Dad returned my text, telling me he was glad I made it home safely, and that they would abide by my wishes.

Texting Damien was harder because there was so much more I wanted to say to him. So many things I wanted to share. But Damien didn’t need words. He needed actions. He needed someone to show up.

My tired body carried me to the couch, and I dropped down onto it and stared at my half-formed text message. I erased it and started over. Three more times, actually, before I settled on what I wanted to say.

I deleted messages declaring my undying love for him. Deleted messages that were so corny they made my stomach churn just thinking about them. Deleted messages promising him things because he didn’t need promises. Probably didn’t want them either.

I fucking wouldn’t.

In the end, I settled on something simple, but something I hoped he’d cling to.

Damien, please don’t give up on me yet.

The only way to fix things was to show him I was serious. Now I just had to figure out how to do that. I stretched out on my couch and made a list on my phone of things I could do to prove to Damien that I was serious about us, but the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced there was only one possible solution.

Damien’s life had been upended by my shit-ass brother, and he’d created a new one with his own two hands. Asking him to give up a single thing he’d fought for would be cruel and selfish.

But I had no such attachment to my life and that’s why it had felt so easy to just slot Damien into place here. Because I’d lived half a life waiting for him to come and be the other half, and Damien wouldn’t want that either. It was too much pressure to put on someone.

There was no reason I couldn’t start over somewhere else. Somewhere closer to Damien. There was nothing keeping me here, nothing preventing me from making a new life alongside his. And maybe, if I was lucky, Damien would give me another chance.

FORTY-FIVE

damien

NOW

The texts came like clockwork. One a day. No more, no less. And they came at the same time too. After the first one, which came late into the evening, they came first thing in the morning, and it was easy to imagine Callum standing there, drinking his morning coffee, sending me a text while Crudinski twined himself around Callum’s ankles.

The texts didn’t say much on the surface, but strung together, day after day, they started to paint a picture of what I imagined our life could look like. Sometimes they were meaningful like thought of you all night or heard a song that reminded me of you. Sometimes they were vague as hell, which was kind of frustrating because I wanted to ask but didn’t want to ask, all at the same time.

The vague ones varied a lot in tone and length. Made some big decisions today. That one had me wondering. The most recent one was how many frying pans does one man need? Apparently the answer is six.

Why was Callum texting me about frying pans? He knew I was reading the texts and not responding, and yet he sent them anyway. He never asked me to reply back or asked why I wasn’t. But he sent them like he needed me to know that I was on his mind.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded more frequent messages because, after a few weeks, I found that the later in the day it got, the more frequently I reread the text messages he sent. Anticipation built up inside me and every morning I’d open that stupid text and I’d get a rush of endorphins and feel giddy and happy and a little bit silly for letting a text message affect me.

Sometimes, I wanted to call him and hear his voice. Sometimes I wanted him to call me instead. Mostly, I just wanted to turn back the clock and tell Sam to fuck himself.

To make up for my absences after the funeral, I threw myself into work again. It helped keep my mind off Callum, off of everything. The old me would have chastised myself for not going easier on him. The old me would have sacrificed his own feelings to make someone else comfortable. Sometimes I missed the old me because I fucking missed Callum so much it burned.

I thought of getting a real pet. Something that could love me back. A dog, maybe. Or maybe a cat of my own. I low-key missed Crudinski, and I wasn’t about to pretend that a pet rock was going to cut it anymore. Getting rid of Spike had been an impulse, but I liked to think that it was a necessary step in my healing journey.

That’s what Bowie called it anyway. According to him, and he knew everything, I needed to end things with Callum on my terms and I’d finally gotten that chance. Walking away sucked the air out of my lungs both times, but this time I felt like I could breathe again. Like maybe, one day, I’d be okay.

Bowie knew about the texts, but not what they said. They felt sacred to me. They weren’t meant for anyone else, and Bowie didn’t mind that I didn’t show him. Much. He didn’t mind much. Of course, he respected my privacy, but I could tell he was practically dying of curiosity.

Bowie had been my rock ever since I came back the last time. I spent several nights over at his house, not wanting to step into the gaping maw of silence and solitude of my apartment. Eventually, I had to return home and start trying to settle back into my life.

It should have been easy. Nothing had changed. Bowie was still my best friend. My business partner. I still had my company and my apartment. I was down one pet rock, but I didn’t miss it. A lot.