The massive pounding in my head is magnified by the pounding at the door. I groan and roll my face into the pillow, hoping it will stop. Of course, it doesn’t. The rhythm is like an out of tune bass drum in my skull, one I can’t block out. Finally, knowing I’m losing the battle to whoever has decided to punish me for living this early in the morning, I growl and pull myself out of bed. I throw on a pair of sweats and grab a hoodie off the floor before wrenching my bedroom door open.

The knocking is louder out here. “God, fuck, I’m coming!” I call out. I kick aside an empty beer box, sending a few bottles rolling across the floor. I weave through a couple piles of clothes and other mess, mostly liquor and beer bottles, as I make my way through my double-wide to the front door.

BANG BANG BANG BANG!

“Alright already, damn!” I shout, pulling the hoodie on over my head. My hair covers my eyes and I’m combing it back as I throw the door open with a, “Who the fuck—?!”

It’s Chase, my coworker. He stands on my porch, staring at me for a second, his eyes blank before he lifts the bag in his hand. 

“Breakfast,” he says. 

I stare at him. 

He lifts the case of beer in the other. “Dessert.”

“You may enter,” I say, stepping aside. I head to the kitchen and shove aside some crap that’s covering my table. Chase closes the door behind me and gives a low whistle.

“Damn, dude, it looks like a bar blew up in here.” He wrinkles his nose. “Smells like it, too.”

I reach for a pack of smokes on the counter and pull one out, lighting it. “Fuck off,” I grumble, taking in a deep drag. 

“You really need to get this place cleaned up, my dude,” he says, joining me at the table. He sets the bag down along with the case of beer and begins pulling breakfast sandwiches out, handing me one along with a hashbrown. He breaks the case open and hands me a beer. I’d prefer rum, but a Coors will have to do for now.

Breakfast of champions.

“I can send my sister over if you want. She does this for a living.” He sits and pulls out his own food. We unwrap and begin eating.

I shake my head. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it myself.”

Chase’s eyebrow ticks. “The state of your dishes proclaims otherwise, Har.”

I don’t even glance over at the overflowing sink. I know what it looks like, what it smells like, and I don’t care. I haven’t cared in months. When you were here, the place was immaculate. You wouldn’t let anything stay a mess for longer than a few hours before your eye started twitching. I did my best to keep up after you died but…at some point…I just couldn’t.

I crack the can open, grabbing my cigarette from the ashtray as I take a few large gulps. Chase hands me another, knowing me better than to have to ask. 

“What’s up?” I ask, taking another bite of my sausage and cheese biscuit. The hashbrown is already gone. “I know you didn’t come here to bitch about the state of my place and feed me.”

He shrugs. “The second part is true,” he says. “I know you haven’t eaten much lately and I meant to fix that.” He cracks open his own beer. “Plus, I didn’t want to drink alone today.”

I glance at him, my eyes roaming his face. Chase has been going through his own shit, too. Nothing like mine, but enough that he’s about as disconnected from life as I am.

I shrug. “Good thing we’re off today,” I mumble. Chase is another rehab specialist but his is medical whereas mine is behavioral. The irony is not lost on either of us that I can fix the problems of an abused dog, but I can’t get my own shit straight. 

I’m sure you’re really proud of me now, aren’t you…

“I heard about what happened at Jackie’s,” he says.

I shake my head. “That was weeks ago, dude,” I say. 

“Maybe, but did you hear the follow up?”

I glance at him, food gone, cigarette and beer in one hand, waiting.

“That Nikki bitch has been banned for life, and not just from there. The other clubs caught wind of her bullshit and blacklisted her, too.”

I snort. “Good,” I say, finishing off the can in two gulps. I grab for the next without a pause. The headache is already dissipating and I’d like to keep it that way.

“You haven’t been back since then?”

“Couple times,” I shrug. “They have good drinks.”

He stares at me. “You drink cheap rum and don’t talk to anyone.”

I don’t answer. To say he’s wrong is a damn lie. Honestly, I go to Jackie’s because it’s the only place we never went together. Going to the other joints is just asking for trouble I don’t need. I get approached, hit on, and guys have bought me drinks I don’t touch. I know the game and I don’t play. I only know Brandon as well as I do because we went to college together. Outside of “The usual,” “Hey,” or, “May as well,” I barely speak to him. 

Talking to that girl was the first time I’d talked to anyone. 

That girl…what was her name? It was something weird, different. Something you’d like…

Windy. That was it.

I knew she was old enough to be there, but something about her just seemed off. Almost like she was a kid pretending to be a grown up. Not a kid, more like a teenager or something. There was something else, too…she seemed…scared. Of course, Nikki putting her in the position she found herself in had a lot to do with it. I caught on almost immediately when she touched me that she didn’t want to. She was shaking, nervous, unsure. The words she said weren’t hers, they were Nikki’s. I’d heard her say them several times to other guys. I’d heard her say worse, but I’m glad she didn’t make Windy repeat them.

I felt bad for leaving her on the street like I did, but I was too drunk, too pissed, and too damn hurt to give a shit. She was the first person I told about you and it was thrown in my face. Whether she’d meant to do that or not doesn’t matter. I opened up to a stranger and got fucked for it.

I won’t be making that mistake again, that’s for sure.

Whatever, I haven’t seen her since and I don’t care to. Not really…

I can’t help wondering, though…did she really cut ties with Nikki? Given what little I could discern from her, I highly doubt it.

I clean out the second can and Chase hands me a third as he cracks his second. 

“I’ve got harder shit for later,” I say. He nods.

“Good, ‘cause I have no intention of ending the day sober.”

“Good man.” We knock our cans together and proceed to talk about other pointless shit. Getting deep into our problems isn’t something we do, nor do we feel the need to. We know enough about each other and the problems we have not to address them for any length of time. 

The morning passes uneventfully, moving to play Halo, something I only play with him. Otherwise, I don’t touch FPS games. I prefer the fantasy stuff, the Final Fantasy series for example. 

We finish off the case of Coors, neither of us getting more than a slight buzz, and I’m heading to the liquor cabinet to grab a bottle of Captain Morgan when he says he’s hungry.

“There’s a sandwich shop not too far away I want to try,” he says.

“Within walking distance?” I may be an alcoholic, but at least I’m not stupid about it.

He shrugs. “Twenty minutes, maybe?”

I consider it. It’s mid-December, cold as fuck, and it just snowed the night before. Fuck it, I’m hungry, too. Plus, the cold air might help bring the buzz back down. I grab my coat and throw on my boots. Lighting up another cigarette and securing my cell in my back pocket, I lock up behind us and stomp down the porch steps, Chase right behind me. 

I don’t look back. Hell, I barely look at it when I’m out on the damn thing. I can’t. 

We built that together. 

The landlord was pissed but we didn’t care, and eventually he conceded it was better than what I had before. I’m still glad he didn’t raise the rent. 

Now, looking at it hurts. The memories hurt. All I see is you leaning against the railing, sitting on the chair in the corner, me standing behind you with my fingers in yours as we watch the sunset and you tell me you love me for the first time…

I quicken my pace, trying to get away from that memory. I should just move…that would be easiest. But I can’t…not yet.

I don’t hate you yet.

*