by Stacia Leigh
Burnout
Stacia Leigh
Chapter 1: A Cold One
Whenever Will heard his mom’s brusque voice in his head, it was time to crack open a cold one.
Will, this is your mother speaking.
Like now.
Eleven months ago, she’d been killed, and in the beginning, he’d cried gallons of tears until his joints ached from dehydration. But it didn’t take him long to discover the beauty of getting drunk and passing out. Since beer was mostly water, it was hydrating, right? Water that buzzed his brain, so he could stop all the crying and go unconscious through the night. It was sort of like sleeping, but better because his mind turned into a vacant tube with no dreams and no voices.
When he wasn’t drunk—or drunk enough—she’d sneak up on him and interrupt his thoughts in the same way.
Will, Will, Will. This is your mother speaking, speaking, speaking.
It was like his mom sat on the cushion of his brain with a bull horn. Her tone rang out crisp and clear, like the good old days when she’d harp at him to load the dishwasher or to ask for the loaf pan from the top shelf. He’d gripe about it, and she’d tell him to be thankful he had long legs. She couldn’t reach anything. Will, the world wasn’t made with short people in mind, she’d say.
“So, leave the top empty.” Will used to tell her. “Or better yet, get a stool.”
“Why?” She’d shrug. “When I have you?” Then, she’d pat his forearm, and the subtle gesture would infuse his system with belonging and love. Sometimes, he’d grumble all the way back to his laptop, and other times, he’d smile and rinse out a bowl or two.
Will, this is your mother speaking.
He wanted to yell at her, Of course, I know it’s you! But he couldn’t because she wasn’t really there. If he yelled at his mom, he’d be yelling at himself, and it would mean he was bat guano crazy, something he didn’t want to think about.
Will, I was wondering if Helmet ate his dry food this morning. Did you check it? Have you seen him today? He doesn’t look well. Maybe you should take him to the vet again. Take good care of him, Will. I love you.
Not now, Mom. I’m busy!
He clenched his back molars tightly and tried to focus on his game. He was playing Goblin Strike online with his buddy, J.J., and Will could barely focus on the ogre kicking the red pixels out of his character.
Things were getting blurry, but even so, it sounded like he needed another beer.
While Mom lamented front and center about the health of her polydactyl cat, J.J.’s laughter boomed through the headphones. Will pushed his long bangs back and rubbed at his temple where a thudding headache threatened to crash the party.
“Man!” J.J. hooted with glory. “Did you see how much swag that ogre was carrying?” His loud voice echoed deeply into Will’s ears. “Two magic scrolls, a morning star, and a wedge of cheese. Sweet.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re kicking butt,” Will said. His heart wasn’t in this game. Was it beer time yet?
The wire trash basket next to his desk sat half-full—or was it half-empty?—of drained bottles in various colors: clear, green, brown. He wasn’t picky. He couldn’t be really, because he raided whatever was left in the fridge after his dad’s biker buddies stopped by. The guys were relatively tame. No more getting smashed, brawling on the living room floor, and ratcheting up the music. Those antics were saved for the clubhouse.
Will, remember when the guys broke my pink lamp? It was your great-grandmother’s, and I told them no more parties at the house. You boys had school the next day, and how could anyone get a decent night’s sleep with that ruckus going on?
One more beer. If he could sneak another one tonight, he’d be set, and then he could hit the sack with his mother turned off. She was getting way too chatty.
“So…” J.J. drawled out.
“Dude, I hate it when you do that. ‘So…’” Will mimicked him and dropped his head back to study the finger smudges around the light switch. “So…” meant J.J. had something on his mind, something he needed to chat about, and Will wasn’t in the mood to listen. Not tonight.
“I’ve been wondering about something you said a while back. We were at a bonfire, the one in the meadow. Remember?” J.J. asked.
“Uh…” Will frowned, and the chair squeaked as he leaned forward, wracking his melon for incriminating things he might have said while under the influence. He was barely conscious that night. Besides, it happened like two months ago.
“You mentioned Zombie Lips—”
“Dude!” Will dropped a heavy fist on his desk. “Are you serious?”
“Last I heard, she flung her bikini top in your face, and it was like a year ago. You never mentioned her again until the meadow. You babbled something about how she was only after your body. What am I missing here, man? Like, what the hell happened? Not sure what’s up with the nickname, but the rest of it sure sounded good.”
Oh, my God.
Will pinched the bridge of his nose until it started to tingle. He could not talk about Zombie Lips right now. Not her. No way. “When did you turn into such a gossip queen?” Will muttered.
“When did you get such a tight lip?” J.J.’s voice crackled over the line. “I’m not trying to ride your biz, man, but your mom’s been gone a year—”
“What the hell do you know, Rad-boner?” Will asked. J.J.’s last name was Radborne, so any chance to call him a boner was a bonus. Will narrowed his eyes at the glowing monitor. With a couple clicks, he could hack J.J.’s character into chunky salsa. “You try losing your mom. Then you can tell me all about it.”
“Hold it. Not what I meant.” J.J.’s deep voice vibrated in Will’s ear canal. “C’mon, man. I’m only wondering if Zombie Lips is part of the problem.”
“What problem?” Will snapped, pulling the keyboard closer. Get ready to die. Chunky style, dude.
“Man,” J.J. said tiredly. “You wanna go out less and less, and when you do, you’re tanked all the time. If you turn into an alcoholic, you’re going to kill your liver or worse. Trust me. You know I’ve seen it in action.”
True. J.J.’s uncle was a raging alcoholic who’d turned into a fist-wielding, family-robbing, drug-addicted asshole. Will pushed the keyboard back, sparing J.J.’s onscreen life, and slumped into his chair. He closed his eyes, trying to see inside himself, but it was cloudy and dark in there.
“I don’t want you to pull a Chill Will on me,” J.J. said. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. But it had to be said, man. And if I need to punch you in the face, I will. Because that’s the kind of friend I am. We good?”
“Sure,” Will said and conjured up a sizable belch to lighten the mood, a juicy one, too. He wiped his thumb over the mic on his headset.
“Thanks. No, seriously. You gassing my ear gives me a thrill,” J.J. chuckled on his end of the receiver, followed by soft clicking and shuffling noises. “And speaking of thrill, I gotta call my girl.”
“Be sure to tell Suzy her ol’ man says ‘hey.’ After all, she was my girl first.”
“The hell she—”
“Later, dude.” Will laughed loudly and ended the call. Boom! He got the last word and the hang up. J.J. was the master, but this time, Will got him good.
Will’s eyes drifted back to the dirty wall. He used to like Suzy. Sure, it was brief, but enough to ask her to junior prom. He even tried the “I saw her first” claim, but J.J. swooped in with some cockamamie story and—water under the bridge—Will stepped aside. His head and heart were numb, and deep down, he couldn’t fight for her. Good thing, too, because Suzy and J.J. were the real deal.
Besides, Will had his mom in his head. What could he offer a sweet girl like Suzy?
He drooped and his eyes closed. Maybe he’d had enough to drink, after all. He was comfy here in his office chair with his chin tucked into his chest, and his dark bangs drawn like a curtain. Already his mind hung like a humid cloud, not raining, not floating, just there.
W
ill, please wake up and check on Helmet. He’s my soul kitty, and he needs you. Did he eat? Did he drink? Has he moved from the kitchen chair?
Will lifted his head and struggled to peel up his eyelids. Game over. His computer screen had turned black, yet there was his phone, blinking with life. He had a text message.
Z-LIPS: It’s been a while. Hope ur doing okay.
Well, well. Someone’s ears must have been burning. J.J mentions Zombie Lips and look who’s texting again. Will shoved away from his desk, catching the corner to steady himself. What was the tally up to now? It had to be around twenty-something. He scrolled through the messages. He had no idea why he kept them, but the count was exactly twenty-three since he’d last spoken to her. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone? No clue. More importantly, why hadn’t he blocked her number? Too much hassle? If she sent him twenty-three more texts, maybe he’d forgive her. Yeah…maybe.
He opened his bedroom door to a haze of smoke, swearing, and laughter, which meant the beer-drinking Hides of Hell bikers were still here. Didn’t they have their own homes to go to?
Will used to consider these hairy, tatted up guys his family until after his mom died. Their world went back to normal way too soon for Will’s liking.
For the Sullivans, things stayed the same. Sad, pathetic, lonely. Dad pored over photo albums and played the “remember” game with Liam, who openly sniffled like the sensitive bastard he was. Will preferred to sit on the floral couch and let the days drift by…
Will, don’t just stand in the hall with your teeth in your mouth. Go check on my cat!
Yeah, yeah, check on the big-pawed kitty. Who didn’t love his mom’s littlest badass? He left dead birds on the porch, fished wet cigarette butts out of plastic cups, and scratched and farted with the rest of ‘em. Good ol’ Helmet.
Will stepped around the corner into the kitchen, and the guys sitting in the attached living room fell quiet. He could practically feel their concerned eyes pelting the back of his head and wished the hood of his sweatshirt were big enough to engulf him. Why were they here again? They could hang out at Mook’s place or Flossy’s garage or—hey, here’s a great idea—go hang out at the clubhouse with the rest of the leather backs.
“Want some grub, Will?” his dad asked tentatively.
“I already ate,” Will muttered without looking over his shoulder.
He scuffed across the cold slate floor in his bare feet to Helmet’s ceramic bowl. It was piled high with dry kibble, the water hadn’t been touched, and the orange fur ball was still curled up on the padded kitchen chair. He was off in dreamland—busy plucking feathers out of birds with his six toes—sleeping like he always did with an arm covering his eyes.
But, he hasn’t moved in the past five hours, Will.
He hasn’t?
The floor tilted, and Will grasped the edge of the table. “Helmet,” he whispered. “Hey, buddy. Wake up.”
His hand shook as he stroked Helmet’s soft head.
It was cold.
Stacia leigh
…grew up in the Flathead Valley and is a graduate of Montana State University. She currently resides in the Seattle area with two cherrier-huahua rescue mutts, two voracious readers, and one Star Wars nerd.
Dealing with Blue is Stacia’s first independently published novel as well as a 2015 PNWA Literary Contest finalist for young adult, and a 2016 Nancy Pearl Book Award finalist.
She enjoys writing what she loves to read, a flirty romance that’s light on the angst and heavy on the fun.
Want to learn more about Stacia’s upcoming books and latest projects or just want to swing by for a quick hello? Boom! Done. All you have to do is visit her here:
www.stacialeigh.com
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