“Ooooo–kay then,” and she left, the sound of her heels clicking away at the floor without a hint of hesitation.
Damn. So much for caring…
Abigail would have liked to think that her mother was too wracked with her wicked guilt to respond, and that was the reason for her instant MIA routine. But she also knew how deep–rooted her mother’s selfishness went. Her mother wasn’t saddled with guilt over what she’d done. She was saddled with the worry over being caught.
Chapter Three
He was officially a college freshman.
Damn.
He shook his head, rubbing his hands briskly up and down the front of his face. How and when had this happened, especially since he’d never actually believed that the idea of college was feasible after the accident? But hey, it got him out of the house—out of his mom’s smothering hold, too. After two years of homeschooling, with no real friends other than his sister, he was finally ready to develop some semblance of a normal life again. Granted, it wasn’t a scholarship playing football for the Huskers like he’d always dreamed, but still, it was something. And something was better than nothing.
Besides, this time last year he had been more than positive he’d never even go to college. But with a little coercion from his twin the night of their high school graduation, he was pretty much left without a choice. It was basically a she moved to California, he went to college and got his new leg, kind of deal. He really couldn’t back down from it even if he had wanted to. He needed Harley to know that he was trying to get on with his life. Otherwise she wouldn’t have moved on with her own.
David sat up, reaching his hand into his backpack that sat on the floor next to his bed. He rifled through it in search of his trusty, black pen. He pulled it out, smiling as he wiggled it in front of his face. Yes—success on the first try, it would be a good day now. Sure, judging a day on finding a pen in his backpack wasn’t exactly fortune–telling by any means, but it was something to him.
He laid the notepad on his right thigh, and began to jot down the words on paper that he’d been playing around with now for days. Nobody knew about this book—not Harley, not his parents, and definitely not Abigail. Good thing too, because most of the lines were about her. These were the words his mind just randomly spouted off at times—the sentences and phrases that had come to him since his accident. It’s like his once sports–affiliated brain had turned into mush—word mush.
The first one hundred or so lines and words he had jotted down made no real sense—they were literally ramblings of a madness he seemed to have developed in his brain. He didn’t get it entirely, so he just went with it. But today especially, the words were becoming clearer. He didn’t consider them poetry, though, by any means. It was more of his personal therapy, something that managed to help him with the emotional struggles that he so desperately wanted to let go. Something no therapist could ever pull from him in a meeting that was for damn sure.
Time doesn’t end—it only loops in an endless cycle of hell that never ceases to exist.
He shrugged, closing his notebook. Whatever—it worked, and it wouldn’t be stuck in his head anymore, that was the best part.
He tossed his three hundred one–liners into the front pocket of his book bag and zipped that, as well as his pen, inside for safe keeping. The last thing he wanted was for his parents, or anyone else for that matter, to know he’d gone soft for no real reason. He carefully attached his leg a few minutes later, groaning as he stood and put his full weight on it. Damn thing; it hurt like a bitch still. He leaned over, brushing the spot where it attached. The blisters were red and raw, but manageable at least. He tried to will the pain away, but it didn’t work. It never fucking did, actually.
Quietly, he made his way towards the kitchen, praying his mother wasn’t there. As he peeked into the room, he grinned wolfishly at the emptiness there. Ahh, peace…exactly what he needed. He blew out a huge sigh as he poured a bowl of cereal. He smiled, feeling good about the morning as he burnt a couple pieces of toast. The best part about the day so far was that he got to eat in silence. Alone.
The last thing he wanted to do this morning was play the fifty million question game with his mom. And if he was being completely honest, he actually needed this time alone to try and chillax his mindset before he headed off to school He hadn’t been around people his own age for a few months. Well, other than that one party he’d gone to where he had beat the shit out of that surfing freak his sister was so in love with. What he didn’t realize though, was that the anxiety of being around people his own age again, would be so killer on him.
Community college was nothing more than a bigger version of his high school. It was just another day, another place to learn pointless shit. But for some reason, the idea of being around people now, even without his wheelchair, was sending his nerves into overdrive. His sister claimed that mantras helped her get through stressful situations in life, so maybe he’d have to take her advice and do just that today. He wasn’t a girl by any means, but damn if this shitty feeling of anxiety didn’t still suck ass.
He grabbed his empty cereal bowl, downing the remaining droplets of milk in less than two seconds. He wiped the wetness lingering on his chin with his wrist, carefully hobbling over to the sink—crutch–less and wincing with each agonizingly painful step he took. He stacked the dishes, leaning his hip against the counter for support. For a glitch of a second, the thought of actually doing the dishes crossed his mind. And yeah, it’d be the perfect way to apologize to his mom for his crap attitude yesterday after therapy. But doing the dishes would mean he’d have to stick around longer.
Then the sound of shoes hit the linoleum, echoing behind him, making him realize that he was not in a dishes state of mind after all. If anything, he couldn’t get out of there soon enough. There would be no make–up with mommy time, but there would definitely be no more avoidance on his behalf either.
He circled around the table, clearing his throat to hide any grunts or groans he may or may not put forth because of his leg. He didn’t bother with the eye contact either, even as she moved in close on his right. Call it guilt, or call it just plain irritation, he wasn’t sure. He did know though, that it was time to get the hell out of there.
“Good morning David. Did you sleep well?” She questioned with a soft, uneasy tone to her voice. A tone that was both tough, as well as smooth. He watched her uneasily from the corner of his eye as she moved to pour herself a cup of coffee. She was playing it safe—sticking with niceties, obviously. Good. That way he didn’t have to be an ass again.
But still, he was a little freaked out by her nonchalance. Weirded out was more like it, because not once did she mention anything about him school starting today. He expected the onslaught of tears too, but they never came. Not that he was complaining or anything.
“Mom?” He finally hollered to her backside as she quietly sauntered to the door minutes later. This was weird.
“Yes David?” She stopped, looking over her shoulder at him with some seriously eager eyes. Okay, so she was just waiting for him to make the first move. That was a start.
“Umm, are you going to be able to take me to class today? I can get a ride home on the bus afterwards, so you won’t need to worry about picking me up and all…”
She didn’t respond right away—just looked at him with not a hint of emotion on her face—not a smile, not a frown, nothing but the in–between. Minutes of uncomfortable silence passed between the two of them, and just when he opened his mouth to ask her once more, she beat him to the punch in an entirely different way.
She cleared her throat and nodded, “I can’t today. I’m…sorry.” Shock reverberated throughout his chest, pulsing and pulling at his lungs.
What. The. Hell? She was actually going to let him find his own way to his first day of college? He fought against a smile, sucking in his cheeks as he nodded. Hell. Yeah. “Oh. Okay, no problem Mom, I’ll just, um, catch the bus or something.”
A slow giant smile erupted over his mouth though when he leaned over to grab his book bag. “Hell yeah,” he mumbled under his breath, hitching the straps over his shoulder. Oh–fucking–yeah was more like it. This was good. He could do this.
Too bad he didn’t have a clue what the bus schedule was…
* * *
“What the hell?” he snarled out loud to nobody in particular. His eyes roamed over the expanse of the main lobby.
He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Seriously…he’d been eyeing the same rooms of this tiny–ass campus now for over twenty minutes. Did this place even have an elevator—or any kind of ramp for that matter? How in the holy hell was he going to get his gimp ass to his first hour if he had to walk up two huge flights of stairs?
He bent over at the waist, rubbing his palm over the infamous spot where his knee and new leg met. The straps pressed tightly to his thigh and the socket of his once–there knee—even with foam covering the prosthetic—burned so badly that he wouldn’t be surprised if it was bloody. He needed to suck it up and tell his parents that the thing was screwing with him, and needed serious adjustment again, but that would mean more trips to the doctor. Unfortunately, the last thing he wanted was to go back before his six week appointment.
Sweat poured down his neck, dampening the light grey tee he’d grabbed from his drawer this morning. He lifted his other hand off his crutch, rubbing it through his shaggy curls in frustration. This day was not going how he’d planned. Getting there hadn’t been so bad at least. He had Googled the bus route on his phone, finding the nearest stop only a few blocks away from his house. In all the years living in Hillsdale, it was honestly the first time he’d ever taken a bus. But still, no matter how strong he was, no matter how many reps he did, or curls he threw in during his morning upper body workout, dealing with the prosthetic was still a pain in his ass.
He glanced around, sighing, noting a clock on the wall ticking the hell away. Shit, it was no wonder he’d felt so inclined to write about time in his notebook this morning because there was no way he would be able to slip into his class unnoticed with only ten minutes left to get there.
“Hey dude, you look lost. Need some help?” A raspy voice sounded at his backside, and David whipped his head around, needing to put a face to that familiar sound. His eyes widened in surprise as instant recognition hit him.
He didn’t know the guy’s name, but he knew him, somehow. David squinted his eyes together the closer the tall, lanky form got. Wasn’t he in the marching band in high school or something? Hell, Harley would probably know. Automatically he turned to his left to ask her, but of course she wasn’t there.
David cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah, kind of. I need to get my ass upstairs but I, uh… ” he stared down at his feet. Fuck, why was this so hard? Oh yeah, right, he hadn’t talked to another guy, other than Mason and his dad, for months now. He was apparently socially inept as well as physically fucked up. He blew out a frustrated breath, finally meeting the guy’s questioning gaze again, “I can’t find the damn elevator.”
The guy blinked, surprise registered on his face as he stared down at David’s legs, “Um, elevator?” His eyes narrowed for a brief second, as if he was trying to remember something. David swallowed, hoping like hell the guy wouldn’t go there. Seconds later, he nodded, knowingness showing in his blue eyes for a brief second, but he hid any other emotions well. He was not in the mood for that inevitable conversation this morning.
“Yeah, um, you have to actually get a key from the registrar’s office and a note from the doctor too,” he motioned over his shoulder towards a long hallway, suddenly all cool and collected in his true to form skater boy appearance. “Well at least I did when I broke my ankle last semester at the skate park,” he shrugged, laughing, his hair falling over his eyes, his black beanie hat slipping along with it. “I guess the crutches and cast were not a good enough excuse for me back then, but maybe you’ll have better luck since you’re um, well…” he shrugged, losing his smile, and motioning towards David’s leg.
David nodded, raising a hand, saving the guy from having to go there, “Thanks man, I didn’t have to deal with the office before because I wound up doing all my registering online,” he swallowed, leaning on his crutches as he thrust his hand out in greeting, “I’m David by the way.”
“I know who you are,” he nodded, with narrow eyed recognition, “I remember you from HHS, but it’s still good to officially meet you,” he smiled back at David, slow, easy. The guy was chill, “I’m Jason Thompson, but you can call me JT.” He met his hand, shaking David’s with a ferocity that shocked the heck out of him. The guy was all skater skinny, but he had one hell of a grip.
They walked side by side silently, passing through the quiet halls with a camaraderie that David had actually missed with a dude. He used to have friends falling from his ass, but since the accident happened, he’d apparently developed leprosy or something because everyone he was ever close with had stayed the hell away from him. He couldn’t really blame them. Nobody knew what to say beyond sorry you lost your leg, dude. It was probably better that way though—he didn’t want to talk to anybody as it was. But still, it was sort of messed up to be abandoned like he had been. The entire football team had pushed him aside after he’d gotten home from the hospital, after he had finally recovered from the concussion, the internal bleeding, and the lost leg of course. They’d all moved on too, not one of them ever gave a shit again. No calls, no emails or texts, nothing—exactly the reason why he’d never again gone to another game. Football was his life, as were his friends once too. But none of that mattered anymore. He’d given it all up the night he flipped his car.
He shook his head, knocking his memories as far from his mind as he could. Apparently this was a down time for most people because the hall was quiet, with only a few stragglers hanging out. David didn’t like getting up early, but since he’d registered so late in the summer, the later classes were all booked up—hence why he was there for an eight o’clocker instead of a nooner.
He hobbled his way to the registrar’s office, JT quietly hanging by his side. Just as David turned to wave a short goodbye over his shoulder, he felt himself being jerked back by the arm, “Hold up,” JT instructed, eyebrows raised as he waved towards a couple of incoming guys.
David had met a lot of people in his life—but the crew that joined him were by far the wickedest looking dudes he’d ever seen in all of his nineteen years. Wicked meaning weird… One was short, having glasses and a short military cut, while the other guy was a little on the chubby side, but tall with black hair down to his shoulders. David nodded, chuckling under his breath as the one with glasses pulled out a handkerchief or some shit, from the front pocket of his collared shirt to blow his nose. All that was missing was his pocket protector. How in the hell did such a group of different looking dudes, manage to be friends?
“Hey, these are my buddies, Carson and Paul. Guys, this is my pal David.” Blinking in disbelief still, David nodded his response.
“What’s up?” guy number one with the long hair asked—Carson was his name. He was not a Carson looking kind of guy. “We were just talking about a killer party happening tonight out by the lake.”
Glasses guy Paul got giddy—literally—nodding with a shit–eating grin on his goofy face while he bounced up and down on his heels, “Yeah, lots of hotties there I’m sure,” David narrowed his eyes, pressing his hand over his mouth as he tried like hell to fight off a laugh. Like these guys knew about hotties. He stopped himself short and sighed. Hell, he wasn’t about to judge because he sure as hell didn’t know about hotties any more than they did.
“You sho
uld totally hit this party with us, JT. You too, D–man!” David narrowed his eyes at glasses Paul. David was his name—he didn’t do the nickname thing—at least not with strangers.
JT turned his way, eyebrows raised, as if he was testing him or something. “You up for it, man?”
David’s hands took turns jack–knifing nervously through his hair, until each of his fingers got tangled up in his dark curls. Hell no he wasn’t up for it, especially since the last time he’d gone to one of those parties, he’d beaten the shit out of a guy. Granted, he had a reason and all—and would do it again in a heartbeat if he had to—but still, he would never be game for a party.
But as he stood there, staring between the three guys who he instantly labeled the three weird–kateers, he found his mouth responding in a way that definitely went against his brain’s advice. “Um, not sure if you guys really want to go to a party with me, I’m kind of a drag, but yeah, why the hell not.” David stared down at the tile again, gripping his crutches tighter with his sweaty palms. Gone was his confidence from so long ago, in its place stood the world’s biggest pussy. Now all he needed was catnip and a litter box and he’d be set to go for life.
“Dude,” JT laughed bumping his fist against David’s shoulder, “you’re a total freaking chick magnet, you do know that, right?” JT shook his head, tearing his beanie off and squeezing it between his hands. David cringed. The last thing he was, or wanted to be, was a chick magnet. “And if anything, you’re gonna steal all the damn glory from us!” JT chuckled, motioning between him and his friends.
This was the part where he should walk away, the part where he should say you’re right, but instead, he found himself nodding in agreement instead, “What can I say, chicks dig a dude with a sob story,”…fucking hell, where had that come from? The last thing girls wanted was a guy with issues up the ass like his.
But really, what else could he say? Besides, he hadn’t gotten laid since… He swallowed that thought, turning away, his face paling as he stared down at the white laces of his Chucks. He wasn’t going to go there. It fucked him all up inside to think about that night—the night from both heaven and hell on earth that nobody knew about but him…and her.
A Long Time Coming Page 3