Page 1 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

THEN

ONE

Alex

december

Being cold in the desert seems like it should be an oxymoron.

Well, moron that I am…I’m here. In another fucking desert. Fucking cold. Again.

For the record, there were a lot of places I didn’t want to be right now. Had no desire to be back in the Middle East, bunkered down, taking fire on Iraq’s barren plains.And I wasn’t.Wasn’t interested in going back to sleeping on a bed of rocks in sub-zero Afghanistan.Never doing that shit again.

And then there was this place, least desirable of them all, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to be here.

Yet here I am, kicking rocks down cracked asphalt. In December. In a desert. Cold and alone at night. Albeit,thiswas nothing new to me.

When most people think of deserts, they all seem to conjure the same image. Probably some homogeneous landscape of sand for miles. Maybe a cactus. A tumbleweed blowing by. And for themost part, that’s all true. But this place takes ‘desert’ to the next level. The strip feels barren in more ways than one.

The land is barren, sure. But the people here feel barren, too. I mean, fuck, it’s why I’d come here after Jess told me she loved me, and I…said nothing. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

It had been an unspoken truth, but it was definitive now; both of us knew that as long as there was breath in my lungs, I was never going to let go of the pain. Never let go of whatshedid. Her realizing that was like a serrated blade carving me open.

The pain felt visceral. Still does.

I saw the realization in her eyes when she said,“Don’t call me or text me or come see me.”And there it is again, that pain throbbing in my chest cavity, only increasing as each second ticks by until, eventually, I won’t be able to withstand it anymore.

Fuck you, Jess.

The truth is Idon’tknow how to let go of the pain. Don’t even want to if I really think about it.

What’s life if not pain?

So, I’d come here with a plan. Being surrounded by people like me was just a bonus. All of us here seeking some sort of high life back home can’t supply. Or maybe it was some sort of relief we sought. Doesn’t fucking matter. We came here seeking something, though, only to continue being empty fucks and soullessly barren in a new place. Again.

A strip club in Vegas seemed like the perfect kind of emptiness for an asshole like me. But it’d been too hot and sticky in the club. There were no windows I could count, no clear exits, and simply being surrounded by other lost souls and vacant gazes had my chest caving in under the weight of all the nothingness.

I’d gone there tonight to set a plan in motion; I had a goal in mind. A fucking laughable plan, in retrospect. Because lookingaround at all the people faking like they were fine set my skin on fire. Everything itched and screamed at me:Wrong.The gut feeling was yelling at me to leave the club —a warning.So I stood, knocking over the ice bucket filled with vodka bottles, the scantily clad waitress falling off my lap, and I shot Blanks a look.I can’t do it anymore.

All I could manage was a shake of the head. It said a lot, though. It said:Don’t fucking follow me.And maybe, from the deepest depth of my soul, a part of me said,this is goodbye.But we don’t do goodbyes, so I walked out of the nightclub, nearly running until the cold desert air hit my cheeks. Only then did I stop, bending over to catch the breath I’d been holding.

My inhales were big and shaky. Over and over. Just trying to shake whatever the fuck this feeling was. Trying to right my mind.

But I couldn’t, still can’t, because all I hear is:I love you, Alex.Inhervoice. Over and over.

My teeth drew blood from how hard I was biting down on my lip. My jaw and fists clenched, hating this feeling, knowing it felt like the end of an era.

Because it was.

So I started walking, which is how I wound up here, kicking rocks down a desert road. Alone. In December. In the cold.

Where am I walking?Fuck, who knows? I just know that once I started walking, my skin stopped itching. The panic attack abated.

For a moment, I think maybe I’ll just walk until I can’t anymore. Maybe I’ll just keep going till I hit fucking Utah, and then I’ll only be about a day away from death by dehydration.

What a fucking way to go. Just disappear. Vanish. That’s sort of my thing already, isn’t it?

I just want it all to stop.The thought makes itself known. Again. And my jaw tenses, my fists clench.