The Art of Being a F*ck Up

30. Fool Me Twice

Today's a new day, and even though it seemed like maybe I didn't have any other options it still feels cruel that I made myself come back here, back to this apartment where I used to live. Maybe that's well deserved, I don't know, it hurts too much to think about for too long as I lay on this lumpy, threadbare couch and stare up at the ceiling. The paint is peeling, which is fitting, because when I lived here before I was coming apart too—little by little, so slowly that nobody could really even see it happening. I guess that's what happened with me now, again, so many little things that didn't seem so big on their own that just started adding up until they were strong enough together to do this kind of damage.

Jonah had came along, back then, to save me from coming undone. I still remember the day he tracked me down here, how much anger and fear and desire that was swelling inside me that very first time I kissed him. I tried to rationalize that away too, it's a habit of mine, I've never been good at facing my reality. I don't know if I ever will be but Jonah's not going to save me this time, he can't, not when he's the one I have to fess up to. After I woke up this morning and finally turned my phone on I saw the million missed calls I had—from him, Devin, Maddy, even Lilah.

When I leave here all hell's going to break loose, it's my reckoning, and I can't put it off any longer. I wish I could hide out for just a few more minutes, even if I have to do it here, but then this apartment's not so bad when my dad's gone. It's Sunday so he's not at the garage, who knows where he ran off to so he didn't have to bother with me. Why would he care though? I'm shocked he even let me stay last night, and while I can't really remember anything he said, I have no doubt he had a number of mean and spiteful comments. At least he had the decency to cover me up, to get me this pillow, so I guess in whatever pathetic way this is his attempt at being the decent father he's always thought himself to be.

I think about leaving him a note, but what would I say? Thanks for teaching me the only way to deal with my problems is to drink? Instead I break my silence by sending Jonah a text—just one text to tell him I'm okay, and that we need to talk. My mind's the clearest it's been in days after the bender I've been on, and I stop to consider popping a few Aspirin before I go but I open the fridge in it's place, drinking just one beer because I know it's the best way to make all of this go down easier.

When I'm finished I hop the bus that'll take me closest to home, ignoring the buzzing of the phone in my pocket. The end will be here soon enough, it doesn't need any help from me. I'm desperately praying that maybe Devin found loyalty in our friendship after all, that he didn't tell Jonah, or at least, that he didn't tell him everything. If I can't just bury it down like all the other bad stuff then maybe I can still somehow find a way of explaining it that won't sound so awful, that will leave me with a shot at fixing this thing that's been broken.

As soon as I get off the bus I walk right back to campus, straight to Jonah's dorm before I can chicken out or change my mind. My hands are shaking and I can't swallow this knot in my throat, and I'm far beyond scared of losing the only thing that's ever meant anything to me, but I can't run anymore. I finally get close enough to see Jonah, standing outside the door to his building, his face drawn taught as he speaks quickly with someone. Even from behind I can recognize my best friend, and my heart—already thumping erratically in my chest—only beats faster. Devin's supposed to be there for me, even when I fuck up.

I stop before I'm in earshot of them, debating on whether I should intrude or run the other way. But then Jonah sees me, and instead of his face lighting up the way it has a thousand times before, he taps Devin on the arm. In return Devin twists around before we lock eyes, uttering something lowly to the man I love. Then he walks over cautiously.

"What did you say to him?" I ask slowly, feeling my hands balling into fists instinctively.

"Where've you been, man? We've all been worried, we've been up all night. Let's go inside, we can take a minute and—" Devin reaches out, a patronizing tone permeating his words. It only pisses me off that much more and I smack his hand away before he can finish his sentence.