Page 24 of Toxic Wishes

“What about music? I thought you wanted to pursue that. It was your dream to be a famous rock-star artist.” My tone is soft now, pleading almost.

He turns his gaze away from me. “Well, sometimes the wishes we truly want don’t come true, sweetheart. So we have to make new ones.”

“But you're good, Blake. I’ve heard you. You can pursue the guitar, I just don’t-”

“Stop,” he says, cutting me off. “It was a stupid dream, like my dad said. I have better luck with trying to go pro. I already have an upper hand since my dad and brother are in it. Sometimes fate isn’t about what you want it to be, but what you must do because it makes sense. Besides, when you have a parent down your back constantly pushing you to play football, you tell me how you can keep your passion alive for something you used to live for?”

I stared at Blake, dumbfounded. It was like he was a completely different person, and I hated his dad for it. I never met him, but I already hated him. I hated his brother, too, for not stepping in and defending Blake. That’s what older siblings did, stood up for their brothers or sisters. People glorified football in this country and even more so in this town, and it made me sick.

“You talk about brainwashing,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.

“Look, you have no idea what it’s like to live with parents that have never been there for you. Parents that are fucking strangers. I look at my dad, and I don’t even know the guy. Your parents may be fucked up, but at least they are together, and at least they remember your fucking birthday, and not only that,they make an effort to be there when it happens once a year.”

I hold back my tears as I see the pain etched on his face. Uncrossing my arms, I have the urge to reach for him, but he’s so stiff now that I know I shouldn’t, so I refrain, even though he looks so tempting. Broken and all, Blake Killian was beautiful. He was a dream, a toxic wish came true.

“Then stop.” I finally say.

He furrowed his eyebrows at me. “Stop what?”

“Stop shutting me out. Whatever you want to say, say it. I may understand more than you know, Blake. Hell, I don’t even have a car like my sister does. So, I know what it’s like to feel unwanted like life isn’t fair because it isn’t. And just because my parents are together doesn’t mean I’m treated differently than you are. So instead of feeling sorry for yourself, be my friend, like you used to be, and I’ll be yours.”

He looks over at me and smiles. Reaching for my face, “God, you are so fucking perfect.” And we stay like that for what seemed like hours, but I didn’t want him to stop looking at me. Taking me in the way he was, like I was the air he needed to breathe.

Reluctantly, he breaks away.

“C’mon, I need to get you back home. But I have one more stop on the way.”

I reach for my seatbelt again, and the pit of my stomach screams at me. I hope he is telling the truth, and he isn’t dealing hard-core drugs and only steroids. That was bad enough, but I could at least tolerate people who wanted to get big. If they wanted to screw up their hormones and shrink their balls for the sake of muscles, that was on them. I took a deep breath as he put the car in reverse, and we pulled out of the parking lot. I prayed we didn’t end up in jail tonight or, worse, the hospital.

11

Abigail

“Music is the emotional life of most people.”-Leonard Cohen

I felt like a complete stalker waiting outside Blake’s house, but it’s been two weeks since the night he took me home and kissed me for the second time. Not to mention, I was minutes from letting him take my virginity in his car. The last time he kissed me, I looked into his eyes and saw a bundle of emotions all at once, but a promise was the most prominent in that dark forest he calls his mind. I woke up to his missed call and a haunting voicemail when I went to bed that night. His words still replay in my ear like yesterday when I was lying in bed, hearing his words blare through my phone speakers.

Call me when you get a life. You know, when you are ready to experience things. Get on my level.

He left it at three in the morning, so after he dropped me back at my house, Lord knows how he ended his night. There's no doubt in my mind that he was on drugs again, so I didn’t even take the random voicemail personally. I wanted him to talk to me and stop playing these games. If he did, I wouldn’t have to be here acting like some psycho girl who is super attached because we kissed. Okay, I would be lying if our kisses didn’t evoke emotion, but I’m mainly here because I care, even if he doesn’t care. Sometimes, I wondered if I cared more about him than myself. I shouldn’t even be worried about him. I should be focused solely on my recovery, but I can’t help it. Blake makes me feel connected to him, even when we aren’t connected by our phones daily. More than just our birthdays aligned and our magnetic pull, the music reminded us. The talks we had, the little glances we shared, his ever-lasting touch on my skin, and his scent. The musky, cedar plant smell that I became addicted to would forever linger on my pajamas because I refused to wash them. I inhaled them every night and tucked them away in the back of my drawer, afraid my mom would find them and wash away his scent.

Right now, the way I’m feeling, all I want is to confront his piece of shit dad or brother, whoever I see first, and tell them that they were horrible at caring for another human being. I hated them with every fiber of my being without looking at them. How can someone be so incredibly selfish? The dad was a complete douchebag who was only into himself. I didn’t want to burst Blake's bubble about his dad because he was so hopeful since he was back in his life, but it was clear Cliff Killian popped out kids and didn’t think it was his job to take care of them.

He was a deadbeat dad who needed to stop chasing women who could support him and focus on himself and his kids for a change. He needs to stop thinking of quick ways to get rich and put his pecker in his pants, and be a dad. And for God’s sake, stop holding onto the fact he played in the fucking NFL. He was an athlete. Get over it. It’s not like he was famous. If I mentioned his name to anyone on the street, I doubt they would know who I was talking about.

Then there was his brother. I had mixed emotions about what I felt for Colt because he shared the same dad, but somehow, he managed to make something of himself, even if I despised his profession. I’m not sure if it’s because Colt had a mom who helped care for him, like Blake said, or it was just who Colt was, someone who never gave up. I never met him, nor did I have a desire to, until now, so I can tell him off. He was probably going to end up like his dad anyway. Spreading his seed as much as he can because the fact he is in the NFL will get to his head, making him think he’s God's gift to earth, then he’ll spend all his money on shiny new toys, women, and child support, eventually go broke and have nothing in the end because he was careless, just like his dad.

I stewed like a crock pot waiting to explode the longer I sat here. I looked at the clock in my sister's car. It had been almost four hours, and no sign of life had left Blake’s house since I arrived. I figured the dad would at least come in and out. He did work from home doing his stock marketing bullshit that Blake mentioned briefly, but the guy didn’t come out to check the mail, smell the fresh air, or anything.

I saw someone faintly push back the curtain, but it was so miniscule that I didn’t know if it was my imagination or Blake’s doing. If it was Blake, I know he saw me sitting out here by now, and I’m sure he thought I was a quack. But if his stubborn, moody ass would just let me know he was okay and acknowledged my existence, then I wouldn’t be here, lurking in the shadows outside his house.

When a text message goes off, my heart races. I expect it to be Blake. To my surprise, it was my sister when I reached for it.

Hey, when are you coming back with the car? Mom made dinner, meaning Dad cooked, so you need to get home ASAP before they know I let you borrow the car.

“Shit,” I murmur to myself. I forcefully throw my phone onto the passenger seat and look at Blake’s house before leaving.

I park the car in the driveway and spring to my bedroom window. I look through to make sure it’s clear and open the window slowly. I hear faint voices that tell me they are in the kitchen. Once inside, I quickly shut the window, lock it, and slip off my shoes. I grab them and quickly walk past the front door, discreetly placing them in the foyer. I suck in a breath before letting out a deep sigh and stepping into the kitchen.

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