Page 11 of Rowdy Boy
Did I purposely ignore Bash all day? No.
But was I relieved I left my phone home to charge while I was at work? Yeah, I was.
I never worry about Joe snooping through my shit. He still uses a pager, so it’s unlikely he could figure out how to use my cell or how to get past the passcode. I also have Bash’s number saved as “Unknown.” Just like I have Jason’s set to “Private” and Bobby’s set to “Out of Network.”
Joey could probably get into it, but his disdain for me mirrors that of our older brother. Unless our dad forces them to do something or interact with me, they both pretend I don’t exist.
I blow out a long breath and scroll through my contacts. I force myself to hit the green call button before I can overthink it.
“Thank fuck,” he answers on an exhale.
“Hey,” I mutter in reply. Like this is a casual chat. Like he didn’t watch me spiral and bear witness to who the fuck knows what else last night.
“Yeah,” he chortles sarcastically. “Hey…”
I grimace at his mocking tone. He’s pissed, and rightly so.
“Look man, about last night…”
“What the fuck was that, Jake?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know how to answer that… not because I’m trying to be a prick or be all secretive… I honestly don’t remember anything past tagging the bridge and laying down on the tracks.”
“Jake.”
There’s this softness in the way he says my name that has shame gripping my throat. Hearing the concern in his voice makes me so fucking sad.
“If I hadn’t been there…” He trails off, but the lingering silence hints at what he really wants to ask.
“It was a really rough night,” I whisper. It’s a weak excuse, but I feel like I owe him some sort of explanation, even if I can’t really explain it to myself.
“Are you suicidal?”
I open my mouth to deny it. I didn’t go out last night intending to kill myself.
But.
But some days I can’t help but think it wouldn’t really matter whether I was here.
I don’t want to kill myself. But I wish this wasn’t so fucking hard.
Every day feels like a fight to keep my head above water; a silent battle where there are no winners, just survivors.
It won’t be this hard forever—will it?
“Jake?”
Bash’s prompting shakes me out of my head. Thank fuck. That’s not a good place to be right now.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I finally answer, because that’s the truth. “If you lay longways on the tracks, the train goes right over you without a scratch. Look, like I said, I don’t remember much after we hooked up… but I appreciate whatever you had to do to get me home.”
“There are places you can call, Jake. Crisis hotlines. The Trevor Project. Do you—”
I cut him off before he can finish his after-school special.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll call if I need help. Last night I just wanted to feel something. I’ve done it before. It’s no big deal, I swear. I appreciate you getting me home. But I gotta know if anyone saw you or if you saw anyone.”
The long pause that follows drags into awkward territory. Is he pissed I cut off his PSA? Or does he think I’m asking because I’m ashamed to be seen with him?