Page 28 of The Air He Breathes (Elements 1)

“I’m hanging up.”

“What? No. I have plenty of time right now.”

“You’re disturbing.”

“Ow, stop, Matty. I told you not to bite that.” Oh my fucking gosh, my best friend was a freak. “Okay, babycakes, I gotta get going. I think I’m bleeding. But as for you, at least find some time to meditate and clear your head.”

“And by meditate you mean…?”

“Tequila. Top-shelf, burns in the belly, aids in bad decisions, tequila.”

That sounded about right.

Chapter Eleven

Tristan

April 3rd, 2014

Four Days Until Goodbye

I stood on my parents’ back porch staring at the pouring rain hammering against the swing set Dad and I had built for Charlie. The tire swing swayed back and forth against the wooden frame.

“How are you holding up?” Dad asked, walking outside to join me. Zeus followed behind him and found a place to sit and stay dry in the corner. I turned to Dad and stared at a face that resembled mine in almost every way, except that there were a few more years of age and wisdom in his eyes.

I didn’t reply to his question, but turned back to the rain.

“Your mom said you were having trouble writing the obituaries?” he asked. “I can help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I growled lightly, my fingers forming fists, my nails digging into my palms. I hated how angry I felt each passing day. I hated how I blamed the people around me for the accident. I hated that I was becoming colder each passing moment. “I don’t need anyone.”

“Son.” He sighed, placing his hand on my shoulder.

I pulled away. “I just want to be alone.”

His head lowered, and he ran his fingers across the back of his neck. “Okay. Mom and I will be inside.” A second later he turned away and opened the screen door. “But, Tristan, just because you want to be alone, doesn’t mean you are alone. Remember that. We are always here when you need us.”

I listened to the screen door slam and huffed at his words.

We are always here when you need us.

The truth of the matter was ‘always’ had an expiration date.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the piece of paper I’d spent the past three hours staring at. I’d finished Jamie’s obituary early that morning, but Charlie’s was still blank in my hand, with only his name attached to it.

How was I supposed to do it? How was I supposed to write his life story when his life hadn’t even had a chance to begin?

The rain began to slam against the paper and tears climbed into my eyes. I blinked a few times before shoving the paper back into my pocket.

I wouldn’t cry.

Fuck the tears.

My feet led me down the steps of the porch and within seconds I was soaked from head to toe, becoming a part of the dark storm that was brewing.

I needed air. I needed space. I needed to escape.

I needed to run.