Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
After I sobered up for the first time since that fucked-up night, I realized I didn’t want to become my father. I didn’t want to be on my deathbed, wishing I could go back and change it all. Dare insisted on driving me, and we hauled ass to get back into town at the crack of dawn. I was late, but I made it before I was forced to add yet another regret to my list. Two men were in the process of lowering him into the earth. Once they saw me approach, they stopped turning the handle to the device that lowered the casket. Silently, they walked away, one of them dipping his head as if to say take your time.
So, here I am, peering down at the box that holds what’s left of my father. The man who raised me. He never took me fishing or camping. He wasn’t the type. But he never missed a swim meet, and I knew he loved me underneath that tough exterior. It’s also the man who later neglected me, abused me, and blamed me for my mom’s death. I didn’t fault him for the last one back then. I blamed me, too. But, fuck. I was just a kid. A kid who needed his fucking dad.
I look over to the left, seeing my mother’s grave, and my throat gets tight. Every year, it gets harder to hold on to the memories, but I can still recall the way she smelled, like vanilla and coffee. And how she’d stay up until all hours of the night to help me beat Donkey Kong or Zelda—or whatever video game I was into at the time—but in reality, she was just as hooked as I was.
Even then, people had something to say about our family. We never fit in. My parents weren’t perfect. I remember being in third grade when I heard one of the other moms talking about my parents. She said she was too young, dressed too provocatively, and wanted too much attention. My dad didn’t make enough money, drank too much, and didn’t care to rub elbows with the right people. We were branded as being white trash, but back then, we were happy.
I think about how I would’ve reacted if I were in my dad’s shoes. How would I cope if the love of my life died in such a sudden, tragic way? Briar pops into my head, unbidden, with her long, blonde hair and the face of a fucking angel. I know without a doubt, if anything ever happened to her, I’d burn the fucking world down. I’m not excusing him or the things he’s done. It simply means I can understand him.
I’m truly alone now, I think to myself. I don’t have any family left, except my piece of shit uncle who’s either lying low or sitting in jail, judging by the fact that I haven’t seen or heard from him since he tried to act tough at my dad’s house. And I’ve managed to fuck up my relationships with the only two other people I considered family—three if you count Adrian. I’m sure I’m on his shit list by default.
A hand claps down on my shoulder, reminding me of Dare’s presence. He doesn’t say anything, just offers his silent support. His way of reassuring me that maybe I’m not completely alone. He knows better than anyone how scary a place your own head can be. Everyone has regrets, but some people are consumed by the mistakes of their past. Dare is one of those people.
“I’ll wait in the truck,” Dare says before walking away.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, unsure of what to say, what to do. I feel like I should have some epic last words. Something deep and life-changing. But I don’t. So, I say the only thing that feels right. The only thing that’s true.
“I forgive you.”
And I do. Not for him, but for me. Because I don’t want this shit to define me or control me. I look up to their shared headstone, and something catches my eye that I didn’t see before.
Succulents. Purple fucking succulents.
Everyone deserves to be buried by something pretty.
I step forward and squat down to inspect them closer, turning one with my fingertips. Fresh dirt still clings to the roots as if they’ve just been plucked. She came, even though she hates me—even though I abandoned her. She was most likely the one person to show up for my dad’s burial.
God, that girl. Could she be any more perfect? Could I be any more undeserving? Through it all, it’s always been Briar. Even when she was just a shy, yet curious kid, she cared for me. Defended me. Cried for me. Me, the asshole who took advantage of her childish crush and left her without a word, only to come back and fuck with her head some more. Me, who never gave her the benefit of the doubt, and just assumed she’d be quick to betray me, though she’d never given me any reason to believe she would.