Lucy has always been the golden child. She was always the kind one, the beautiful one, the graceful one. She was the one who got all A’s in grade school. She is the one who graduated from FIT with a full time job working for a major designer company. “That kid is going to be famous,” Aunt Silva told me once. And I believed her. Because I am nothing like her.

Lucy’s face is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. I blink her out of my blurriness, a cloud of confusion heavy on my mind. She’s scowling, a deep crease between her brows.

“You promised you wouldn’t drink that much again,” were the first words out of her mouth. I frowned. Did I go drinking again? Why can’t I remember anything? I sigh, swatting her away and finding myself on the couch.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” I mumble, rubbing the sides of my temples to ease an oncoming migraine.

“You’re home, you jerk. One of your friends brought you home last night. You’ve been sleeping for the past fourteen hours.” She practically spat out the word friends, as though it left a bitter taste in her mouth. I know how she feels about the friends I have. She often tells me they’re a bad influence on me, that they’re the reason I turned out the way I have. I’ve never bothered correcting her, that I’m the actual bad influence on them.

“Jordan?” I ask.

“No, someone else.”

“Whatever. Why are you so upset? You’re not my mom.”

Low blow. I know. But I want her out of my face. Her fierce expression crumbles, just for a moment, barely a second. But it was more than enough time for me to see how worried and hurt she really is.

“Don’t-” she starts but never finishes. I sigh, turning away from her on the couch.

“Put some ice on that bruise. Silva’s coming over in a few hours,” was all she said before walking away.

I press my head to the couch cushion, willing myself to disappear. I can’t be here when Silva comes over. I’ve been avoiding her for the past year or two. Lucy knows this. Hell, Silva knows it too. I just can’t bring myself to look at her, can’t bring myself to see just how disappointed she really is with me. I just know she is. Everyone is.

After entertaining my melodrama for a few minutes, I drag myself off the couch and pop a few advils before snatching a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. I must have gotten into a fight last night. My whole right side of my face feels like a bruise. I wince as the bag touches my tender skin. Maybe Lucy’s right. I should ease up on the liquor. I really don’t remember shit.

I navigate my way around our small apartment, the only thing the two of us can currently afford right now. I scour for my phone, coming up empty handed. Must have left it at work.

Shit. Work.

I scramble to my bedroom, strip off the dirty uniform I slept in, and hop in the shower, scrubbing myself under hot water until I no longer smell like puke and blood. I throw on a clean uniform and fasten my name tag to my shirt. If I leave like right now I should still be able to make it.

I catch my reflection in the foggy mirror and do a double take. I look bad. Like someone smashed my face with a bat kind of bad. I only hope that the other guy has it worse, though, knowing my luck with fights, I already know that isn’t the case. 

I bang my knuckles against Lucy’s door until she opens up. “What?” She scowls, narrowing her eyes at me. “I need to borrow your makeup.”

She raises a brow curiously and I give her a pointed look, motioning to the gorgeous condition of my face. Lucy rolls her eyes.

“Whatever, fine. But make sure you’re home by eight. I don’t care if you’re working or not, but be home for Silva. For me.”

I bite back a frown, not having the heart to tell her that my shift ends well after eight tonight.

“Ok sure. Fine.”

Lucy’s scowl fades into a softer expression. She disappears and reappears at her door with a tube of concealer. In the glow of her amber eyes, I find the hint of a smile there. I smirk, ruffling her head like I always used to do.

“I may be your older brother but somehow I always feel younger. Must be all the scolding, huh?”

“Shut up,” she squeezes through a laugh. “You’re only four minutes older. That doesn’t count.”

“Hm, that must be why,” I add with a grin. I mess her long blond locks up once more before turning to the hallway mirror to hastily slather some face paint over my bruises. No amount of concealer, however, can cover up the splotchy bags under my eyes. They look permanent. I decide to hang onto the tube and slip it in my pocket before sprinting out the door.

Guilt tugs at my gut but I shove it down. It’s a feeling I’ve gotten used to by now.

<<<>>>

“Your phone? I haven’t seen it.”

I curse under my breath, rubbing my palms over the creases in my uniform.

“Do you have any idea where it could be?” I ask, trying to hide the desperation in my voice. I can’t afford another one. If I lose this one for good I’m screwed.

“No, sorry dude. But check the bathroom. You spent practically the whole day in there yesterday,” Charlotte says. That I remember. The weird part is I can’t remember anything that happened after that. I mutter a thanks before walking away from the counter.

“Oh wait, Aiden!” She calls before I slip into the back. I hum a response.

“You forgot to clock out yesterday. That isn’t like you. You’re going to have to fix it on the machine before you leave today.” She’s right. That isn’t like me. I’m normally the first one to clock out and the first one to leave. I must have been really out of it yesterday.

“Will do. Thanks Char.”

I scavenge the bathroom for any hint of my phone, then decide to check around the kitchen, and the offices. I come up empty handed. I knock on the manager’s door.

“Hey Aiden, what’s up?” Rebecca asks from above her computer screen.

“Hey boss. Have you seen my phone? I think I left it here yesterday.”

“I haven’t been looking for it, but have you checked the lost and found?” I have not checked the lost and found. Shockingly. At moments like these, I’m often reminded of the astonishing extent of my own stupidity.

I move beside her desk to the bin labeled “L&F”. I don’t even have to dig for it, I can see my phone sitting neatly on a stack of folded clothes. I don’t bother to question why there are underwear in the lost and found, I’m too immersed in my own relief.

“Oh baby, I missed you,” I coo to my phone as I lift it up and hug it to my chest. Rebecca makes a face which I choose to ignore.

“Oh get a room Aiden.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Sure, that’s exactly why. Now go back to the kitchen before my jealousy makes me irrational.”

I snort and walk out of the room. I’m relieved to find my phone but I can’t shake the feeling like I’m forgetting something, something crucial. It isn’t like me to lose my phone or to forget to clock out or to get beaten to a pulp. Well, actually scratch that last one. That one’s actually pretty common. I’ve always had a hard time filtering my words, and I’ve often dealt with the grand consequences for that one. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I never got the hang of being the nice one. Now I just leave it to Lucy.

My shift is boring. But I often like boring. I haven’t always. It’s been more of a recent development, probably because my earlier life has been anything but.

As I’m leaving the cafe, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. A weight sinks in my gut when I look down. 7 missed calls and 9 new messages from Lucy. Oh no. I’m a dead man. I wince and shove my phone back in my pocket, only to take it back out when it begins buzzing again. Incoming call from Silva.

Once she caught on to the fact that I was avoiding her, Silva stopped calling. So why... is something wrong? Guilt chokes me like a stone in my throat, but I still don’t answer, instead I watch the screen flash with her name. I watch until it doesn’t anymore. She sends me a message.

Silva 10:06pm: Hey darling. I know you probably don’t want to see me but please call me sometime soon. I have something I need to talk about with you and your sister. I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry.

The message stabs me like a knife through my lungs and suddenly I can’t breathe. This is my fault. See what happens when I do anything? I hurt people. I hurt people and then I run away like always. Heat rises behind my eyelids but I blink it away. I refuse to cry over something so stupid. I refuse to cry in the middle of Central Park. I refuse.

But it’s pointless. Tears still slip through my clenched eyelids anyway, every repressed emotion screaming to be seen. I know they aren’t but I swear everyone is staring. So I pick up the pace, until my walk turns into a run. No matter how many times I wipe at my eyelids, the tears keep coming. It takes a long time for me to regain my composure.

I run past my apartment. I run past the mini mart and the pizzeria and the public gardens. I run past my old high school and the elementary school and even the orphanage. All of it melting away behind me, into the past. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care. I just want to keep running until all of it dissolves like a bad dream and I’ll wake up in my mother’s lap and she’ll smile and tell me that I was only having a nightmare. And then I can start over. Then maybe I can try being the nice one.

I stop when my lungs beg me for air and collapse, doubled over on a nearly empty street. I wish I were at least athletic but that’s just another thing I’m not. I look around, my eyes catching on the flashing lights escaping a basement bar. As I approach, I can hear the music from outside. I can even feel it in my ribs, the heavy bass echoing in my chest. I know Lucy was just scolding me this morning for this but... one drink won't hurt, right?

<<<>>>