Page 64 of Existential
“That’s natural, though. You went through something traumatic, from what you’ve said of it, so you’ve got strong reactions that need a place to rest.”
“I went on a bender after they died,” he explains, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Drank, binged on coke, picked fights with my friends, and it wasn’t until I couldn’t remember what it was like to be straight that I finally realized why I did it.”
“Distraction?”
“Because I want to die.”
A lump lodges in my throat as I take him in. At face value he’s strength and dominance. He’s a huge guy, intimidating to those who don’t know him, with his black clothing, leather, and piercings. He puts out an image of power, over others, and himself. But underneath it all he hides this.
“Don’t,” I utter. “Don’t say that again.”
“Why?” He rolls his head to look me in the eye. “It’s the truth, Dagne. I don’t want to do this anymore. Every day is hard. I wake up wishin’ it was time to go to sleep again, dreadin’ the day before it’s even happened.” His face moves through frustration and anger, glimpses of pain and despair between. “You have any idea what it’s like to just want to curl up in a ball and pretend the world doesn’t exist?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say. “I also know what it’s like to wish for death. To know you’re too gutless to do it yourself, so you hope for something that’ll do it for you, like an illness, an accident, or a sadistic fucking father who hates the fact you breathe the same air as him.” Hooch’s eyes go wide, and I realize in that moment tears streak my cheeks. But fuck it—he needs to hear it. “I also know what it’s like to be hurt so bad that you finally believe that day has come, and in that second your foolishness and selfish thoughts come back to haunt you. What it’s like to realize when you’re faced with your own mortality that you don’t want to die … you just wish you were someone else, living another life.”
“Dagne—”
“Ah.” I lift my finger to stop him. “Nope. I’m not finished, mister.”
A small smile plays at the corner of his lips, and he reaches out to wipe my tears. “Carry on.”
“What you have to face is that you have the power to be somebody else. Fuck what your head tells you, Hooch. Your mind is a goddamn liar. It feeds off your fear, shows you your flaws while hiding your strengths. If you’re not happy,” I say, jabbing him in the chest, “change it. Do something about it. But don’t quit.”
“I’ve tried.” He captures my hand, focusing on the flesh of my palm as he traces the lines with his finger. “I really have, but my battery’s run dry, girl.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It hasn’t. You just haven’t found what charges it yet.”
“I can’t change the way I feel overnight.”
I wrap my fingers around his, scooting closer. “No, you can’t. But you can promise to stick about until you do. You might think nobody cares about you, but I can guarantee there’s a whole room of men out there who’d miss the hell out of you if you checked out.”
His warm eyes rove my face, the heat from his breath having the opposite effect on my flesh as goose bumps ripple across my chest and arms. “Me sayin’ that really got to you, huh?”
“Yeah,” I admit, the damn lump shifting back to my throat. “It did.”
“Why?”
His whispered word wraps around the space between us, tugging at my resolve to keep a safe distance from him while I worked this out for myself. “Because I think you were right; our paths were meant to cross.”
He nods, pain in his eyes, but relief in the smile he offers. “Yeah, I feel that too, fairy. I feel it too.”