Page 57 of Misguided
A month ago I was content leaving anything and everything “Koen” behind to be the guy I thought was more fun, “Dog.” But if anything, these past weeks have just fucked me up further, making me question which road I should be taking.
On the one hand, being Dog has its obvious benefits. I do as I’m told, fill in the hours between by doing what I want and not caring about a thing. But then on the other hand, being Koen brings opportunities that I’d be too selfish to pass up.
One—have a stab at shaking up Leidend Industries. Fuck, I might not be able to completely fix the moral compass of the place, but I could at least make a conscious dent in the figure-driven mantra they operate by.
And two—Mel.
I’ve never had a chick interested in Koen like she is. Even the women—scratch that, girls—I had in high school were after Dog before I even knew myself who I was pretending to be.
That alone makes me want to hold on to the lifeline anchoring me to Koen a little longer.
“Wanna talk about it?” King asks as he re-emerges.
I shake my head, reaching with even shakier hands to pluck out another smoke. Fuck it. Derek’s got me all kinds of twisted up, the adrenaline spiking through my body. It’s exactly what he wanted, and that alone makes me angry that I’m still so easily manipulated by the fucker.
“So much for never showing up, huh?”
I give King an unamused stare and then focus on lighting my cigarette. “I said my old man wouldn’t show up, if I recall right. Never said a thing about my brother.”
He chuckles, restacking the shitty plastic chairs. “Family, huh?”
“Yeah. Family.” Although I’m pretty sure if you looked up the definition of one in the dictionary, ours wouldn’t fit the description in the slightest.
“What turned it sour?” He crosses his arms, widening his stance. “Anything we need to worry about?”
“Don’t think so.” I take a drag of my smoke and slump back against the outside wall of the clubhouse. “Asshole just wants me to play happy families.”
“Think on it.”
“Huh?” I frown at the guy.
“Think on it,” King repeats. “Family: they may drive you nuts, but you only get one.”
I know where he’s coming from, but the raw truth of it is that our disjointed unit is too far past that. When the thought of my old man dying doesn’t evoke any emotion inside of me except relief, what does that say for our chances of a happy reunion?
As far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t just my mother that slipped away on our dining room floor that day.
My sense of home died right along with her.