EDGES

by C. G. Carroll

  “You guess you couldn’t?” Josh repeated. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Look, I lost her too, okay? I lost both of them.”

  Josh rushed over to him and grabbed his shirt. Patrick let him seize the soaked fabric up in his fingers. Patrick’s head rocked back slightly as Josh yanked him forward and cocked back his arm. Josh felt his hand curl up into a rock solid fist. His whole body was shaking with rage. Patrick was just looking at him with those empty black eyes, wanting to care but somehow unable to, wanting to apologize, Josh recognized, but knowing it just wouldn’t be truth coming out.

  Josh remembered his mother in the courtroom, hunched over and crying into a tissue because he wasn’t going to be in jail. Then his mind flashed back to the present moment and he saw what he was about to do, how he was gripping Patrick’s shirt, ready to break open his nose.

  His hand sprung loose and Patrick rolled back into the bucket of the chair. “You’re a cancer,” Josh told him, knowing he only had a few more minutes before he started crying and even now, he didn’t want Patrick to see him have an outpouring of emotion. “You’re not my friend. I don’t think you ever were. You don’t know what it means to be a friend.”

  Patrick’s eyes lowered into his own darkness. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have a rebuttal.

  Josh waited a few more seconds for Patrick to say something, but after he didn’t it was time to walk away. He went inside, locked himself in his room, and looked at his phone while tears sprouted in his eyes. There was still nothing, no texts from Simone. And now he knew why they had suddenly stopped. He knew the truth. He took the phone, drew it back, and hurled it into the wall. It exploded on the plaster, into a hundred small shards of plastic and glass.

  Josh eased down on the edge of his bed and laid his face in his hands. The rain drummed on the roof. His sodden shirt clung to his ribs and his soaked denim jeans lay heavy on his legs.

  Simone came into his mind several times, an image of her face. It sent a temporary lift of love through his body, and then the image shredded itself apart inside his mind. Josh sobbed and clenched his teeth as hard as he could through the torture. He begged God to please wake him up, that this was a dream. But every time he opened his eyes, it was still raining and he was still wet and there were still hot tears turning cold as they rolled off his cheeks.

  Patrick

  WITH JOSH BARRICADED IN HIS room, Patrick made a brief run to the liquor store and then did the same. He lay out naked on top of the bedspread. All the lights were off except for his computer, which glowed and hummed soft music on his desk. He curled a bottle of Jack Daniels under his arm, already a third of the way drained. At the beginning of each new song, he cradled the neck of the bottle and lifted the spout to his lips and sipped, feeling the stinging burn percolate through his mouth and down his throat.

  The fallout of the day had left him with an aching throb inside him. He contemplated calling certain people on his phone. Simone, mostly. It’d only been several hours since they’d been sweaty in bed together, but he missed her horribly at that moment.

  Since the first night they ever hooked up, there was something comforting to Patrick about knowing that she would always be there, just across town. Their shared secret was what bound them together, in a way. It had been an invisible telephone line which only they could speak through. Or sometimes say nothing and only listen.

  The comfort of having her just across town was gone. She may never speak to him again after this. And that made him miss her all the more, and brought him as close to sorrow as someone like him could be. In fact, there was a good chance that none of them would forgive him this time, not Simone, Tiffany, or Josh.

  He picked up his cell phone and gazed at it for a moment with fuzzy, glassed eyes. “Patrick Finch,” he said aloud and then tossed the phone down the length of the bed where it was swallowed in the ridges and valleys of his comforter. “All alone at last. Just like you wanted.”

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

  After a few minutes, Patrick sat up and found his phone. He pulled up Simone’s contact. Removing the locking app, he opened up a text addressed to her. He typed in three words: I do care. He read it over and over, his eyes entranced at the two-inch by four-inch glow. He typed four more: But I was scared.

  Feeling the anguish twist deep in his body, he again nestled his mouth on Jack’s spout and gulped down two more mouthfuls of stinging poison. He drew his attention back to the phone, feeling its weight in his tingling hand. He typed in three more words, this time more slowly: I’m a fool. Then two more: I’m sorry.

  Suddenly, he screamed aloud, “You fucking idiot!” He yelled it at the top of his lungs, making the walls vibrate. He tossed the phone again toward his feet without ever sending the text.

  Time fluttered by, songs playing on the computer. It was growing dark outside, and the rain tapered away. A song played that reminded him of the night he’d taken Tiffany up to the towers on the mountain overlooking the city. That one night he’d treated her well and sweetly, like a proper boyfriend. How was it possible that he could be two different men at once? And more importantly, which one was real?

  His phone lit up, showing him where it was in the mess of covers. It was Lindsey texting, and Patrick read it wearily.

  Lonely?

  He texted back with a chuckle: U have no idea

  Reaaaaallllyyy? she sent back, obviously taking his text a different way than he had meant it. She followed with: Sorry about today

  His thumb hovered, not knowing how to respond to that. He knew what she meant by it. It was odd that he felt no anger toward her for anything. Finally he settled on: shit happens and sent it without another thought.

  A text from someone else blipped in the center of the screen. It was from Reagan. He smiled just seeing her name. Sober today : ) she wrote.

  He hadn’t had a lot of time to think about her that day. Why of all people had she gotten involved with him, Patrick wondered? He considered not texting back and saving her the hassle of ever having someone like him pirating her innocence away from her, but her text was too positive and happy not to respond.

  Proud of you he sent back.

  Its because of u : ) she replied.

  That made him pause.

  You saved my life…did u forget?

  Patrick had honestly never thought of what he did that way. In fact, he was of the opinion that he’d almost killed her by giving her some of his wine on the river when she was already drunk. But reading the words over and over, he realized that maybe he had saved her. He replayed the day on the river in his head.

  She texted again: I’m not going to waste it now, so I’m sober. And I’m staying that way.

  It warmed him. It made him still feel like he was salvageable as a person. Everyone closest to him might hate him now, but there was a girl out there who didn’t.

  Can I come see you later? Reagan texted.

  He hesitated, then texted: u don’t wanna see me like this.

  Why? she replied.

  Reverberations of guilt and weakness rattled through him. I’m drunk.

  Bahahaha, she replied. Its ok. besidz, u’ve seen me at my worst

  Reagan at her worst was a far cry from what he’d achieved today in terms of destruction, but in principle that was true. A smile breached his lips.

  Come now, he texted.

  Cant : / at dinner with fam. in an hr or two?

  Ok he replied. Txt me when ur done.

  During this back and forth, some texts from Lindsey had accumulated.

  Hers read: My friends ditched me. Then: Do u wanna meet?

  His thumb moved over the glass in contemplation. I’m staying in tonight.

  Patrick took a long, full swig of the Jack as he sent it.

  :( was all she sent back.

  Patrick sighed, got up off the bed, and changed the music. Reagan would be over in a little while. All would be okay. The thought of her presence and how she never j
udged him was a reprieve for his mind. At the same time, he was saddened at recalling that she was going off to California in a few months.

  Patrick lay back down, still nude, and slipped off to sleep after a few minutes, softer tunes now emanating from his computer.

  He was awakened from sleep some time later, twenty to forty minutes by his estimation. The handle to his bedroom door was jiggling. He groggily rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. It crossed his mind that it could be a hallucination, but after the brass knob continued to wiggle he felt a sudden rush of fear. Someone was trying barge in. Josh never did that. Neither did Tiffany.

  He sat up and barked. “Who’s there? Reagan?”

  “It’s Lindsey.” Her voice bled right through the door.

  Lindsey? Had he somehow texted her to come over in his drunken stupor? He quickly found his cell and looked through the texts—no, he hadn’t. He found his boxers, held them out and stepped into them. When he unlocked the door, she was there leaning against the frame, the edges of her lips turned up.

  Her deep brown eyes looked down for a moment, completely abashed, yet in a coquettish way. She gave him that devilish smile of hers that he’d found out she was now famous around campus for. He’d asked others what they knew about her. They all harkened back to that sex-fueled grin she carried.

  Lindsey’s arm was bent at the waist and pinned behind her back, holding something. She revealed to him a bottle of red wine. Patrick guessed it was purchased with that fake ID of hers.

  “I couldn’t let you be sad all night,” she said. “The front door was unlocked.”

  His mouth firmed up. “It’s really not a good night. Nothing personal.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” he said, glancing at the bottle, almost in a way where he knew he would be inviting more demons in if he let this girl into the room.

  “C’mon, Patrick. I go home in a few days.” She pouted. “Don’t you want to see me once before I go?”

  Before he could answer, she slipped past him into the room.

  Patrick sighed, lifted his arm, and then let it fall to slap his thigh. “Come on in, I guess.”

  The girl sauntered over to his bed, noticing the bottle of Jack. She was dressed in a short skirt and a loose black top. She peered over her shoulder at him. “I don’t judge, Patrick. You don’t need to feel bad around me. Not about today, or anything else that’s happened.”

  “That’s a relief, but—” he pointed at the bed “—I was just about to hit the sack, so…”

  Her fingers wrapped on the neck of the Jack and she lifted it to hold a bottle in each hand, and she held them in such a way as to insinuate certain things. “Who’s Reagan?”

  “What?”

  She rolled her eyes playfully. “When I was at the door, you asked if it was Reagan. You’re not trying to push me out the door before some other girl comes in here to cheer you up, are you?” She gave a melodramatic frown. “Because I thought after, you know, the other day, you’d know that I like girls too.”

  “How could I forget?” He went to the dresser and threw on some pants and a shirt.

  “So this Reagan girl, she likes whiskey, does she?”

  “She’s in high school, so I don’t think so, no.” It was a lie, but she wouldn’t know that.

  Lindsey laughed, almost broke into a cackle. “I’m eighteen, hello! I was in high school just a year ago.”

  “Yeah, but she’s fourteen.”

  That shut her up.

  “I’m kidding,” he said. “She’s seventeen.”

  “Seventeen, wooooooow.”

  “Like you said, you were that age just a year ago.”

  “I just didn’t expect you to go fishing in those waters, that’s all.”

  “She’s a friend,” Patrick shot back, beginning to be annoyed with her.

  She tossed the wine onto the bed and focused on the bottle of Jack. The lid unscrewed with the persuasion of her small, nimble fingers. She took a large gulp, more than even he had, threw back her head, and he watched her throat click and push it down. “Ahhhhh,” she exalted. “Just like momma made it.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Impressive.” He thought to himself that she might make a great salesperson one day. It would not be easy to push her out the door.

  Lindsey slowly came over to him, close enough that he could hear not only his own heart beating but hers as well. “I can be both tonight,” she said, leaning in with a crooked smile. “A friend and…” she slowly peeked her tongue out of her mouth and ran it along his lower lip. “Whatever else you want me to be.”

  He did have one, maybe two hours to kill. He pointed a paternal finger at her. “Fine, but I’m going to bed soon.”

  “Of course, of course,” she replied, then laughed at how she’d gotten her way and jumped onto his bed, banging her knee on the wine bottle. “Ow,” she screeched and then giggled. Once again, she’d been drinking beforehand. That much was obvious.

  He lay down right where he’d been before, nudging her over a bit, took the bottle from her and sipped it.

  They kissed a little bit, mostly playful pecks. They talked about everything that had happened that day, the avalanche that had transpired after he left the graduation. He told her about having sex with Simone. How Josh and Simone were pretty much dating. Patrick even told her that he suspected Simone wasn’t in love with Josh, not truly.

  “But she’s in love with you?” Lindsey asked. It was the first words she’d uttered while he’d told her the whole story.

  “Some days she is,” he said with a disheartened laugh.

  “And what about you? Do you love her?” she asked, a scrutinizing and surprisingly concerned look plastered on her face.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  She backed away from him, caught a little off guard by his honesty. “I don’t know how I feel about this, Patrick. I knew you got around a little, but I thought it was all for fun. Nothing serious.”

  “It was for fun. But I realized today, it’s about more than just having fun forever. And it took me losing her and my best friend to finally get that.” He ran his whiskey-smelling hands over his face.

  Lindsey crossed her arms. “So you want to be with her then?”

  “She doesn’t want to be with me after today, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Answer,” she said, her tone suddenly indicating a feeling of betrayal. “If you had to choose between her and me, who would it be?”

  Patrick snapped his head around to look at her. “You’re really asking that question?” He rolled to grab his phone and looked at the time. He lunged back, realizing they’d been together for almost an hour and a half. And while he was stuck looking at the time, a text from Reagan came through: Be there in ten?

  He glanced back at Lindsey, who was scowling. Sounds good, he sent back to Reagan, thinking that was just enough time to get Lindsey out of the house.

  Lindsey steamed while sitting there, completely cold toward him now. She grabbed the Jack off the bedspread and began to take deep chugs off of it. An amount that startled Patrick, and frightened him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked and tried to pry the bottle away, but she shielded him from it with her body and took a few more big swallows. “Lindsey. Stop! You’re going to get sick.”

  “I’m gonna have to get pretty wasted to hook up with you now,” she yelled back.

  “We’re not hooking up, and I thought there was no judgment?” he said. “I opened up with you. Now you can’t handle it? How many guys have you been with this year? Twenty? Thirty?”

  She slapped him.

  “Good, that’s good,” he said. “I think you should go now.”

  The mask had come down. She began to get hysterical, calling Patrick a ‘piece of shit’ and ‘douche bag’ and a whole host of other names. The sheer volume of whiskey she’d taken in was unravelling her.

  He ripped on her wrist and she began to cry. He yanked,
trying to get her off the bed, and she fought even harder.

  “Get the fuck out!” he screamed, sensing he was coming unglued himself. “Now!”

  She tried to tear his hand away, heavier tears coming out of her eyes. “Why don’t you like me?”

  He gritted his teeth and felt his jaw flex. “Because there’s nothing to like!”

  Lindsey got really quiet and grabbed her bottle of wine. She stood up off the bed and went to the door. She slammed his bedroom door so hard that it shook the whole room.

  Patrick hustled to the door and opened it. “Don’t slam my fucking doors!”

  She was at the front door about to go out. She didn’t look back but made sure to slam that one too. Even harder.

  His heart was pounding. Fury was suddenly smoldering in him. He chased her to her car, which was parked in the driveway. She fired up the engine and Patrick pounded on her driver’s side window. She rolled it down and he screamed into her face, “Don’t ever come back here! Ever!”

  She was sobbing uncontrollably, out of control drunk. Lindsey reached for something on the passenger side and then swung it out the window at him. He jumped back and it missed his face by an inch or two, but her small wrist couldn’t stop the momentum from whipping the object back toward the rear driver’s side window. Broken glass exploded along with a spray of red liquid. He realized that she’d swung at him with the wine bottle like a lunatic.

  The car lurched into reverse and she screeched out into the road without even looking for traffic. Another screeching of tires on asphalt and she was ripping away down the road. Her engine sang a salty roar as she gunned it. She was already up to about fifty miles an hour before her tail lights disappeared out of sight.

  Crickets chirped as the sound of her engine faded down the road. Patrick’s chest heaved. He felt himself calming down. Then there was a loud BOOM from down the street. It made him jump it was so loud. A chill ran down his back.

  Frightened and unsure what to do, Patrick hurried inside without picking up the glass or running far down the road to see if she was okay. He made sure all the lights in the house were off, then stowed himself safely back in his room. His mind was swirling with drunkenness now. His vision spun. Terror latched onto him and wouldn’t let go. He didn’t want to believe it, but he full well knew Lindsey had wrecked into something. He reached for his phone.