Page 3 of Chasing Lynda

That’s the only place I might be able to call home in the end, but rather than being the solution to my problems, I just found out it’s another nail in the coffin of the shit storm that my life just became.

2.

All Is Lost

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Dodge

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I WALK ON THE COOLING sand, looking at the darkening sky in the rapidly declining daylight.

I keep drinking from the bottle of what I think is tequila. I wouldn’t fucking know because the fact that it wasn’t a plastic bottle didn’t automatically mean decent liquor. This shit burns like lighter fluid on its way down to my mostly empty stomach.

Combined with the strong painkillers they stuffed me with at the hospital, I should have a decent buzz going on or at least pass the fuck out. But obviously nothing will save me from the shit show my life has become in the space of a few weeks.

I’m walking ahead of the guys. None of them is talking but I feel the weight of their stares burning holes in my back. I know they have questions and I’m dreading having to answer them.

It’s as if the minute I admit everything out loud, things will become more real and there’s gonna be nowhere to hide.

I slow down when I see the lights of Pleasure Beach coming into view.

There’s the end of the old pier that’s part of the property and that I was planning to have restored to its former glory.

I stop, leaning against one of the old, rotting pillars that still keep the abandoned pier from crashing down into the waiting waters of the ocean.

The water in this spot is stagnant, dark; it smells of rot and decay and it laps poisonously against the weathered wood in an attempt to finish the job of making it crumble down in an inglorious surrender. My stomach contracts at the foul smell, like week old fish and I fight the urge to heave, emptying it of its contents.

I don’t want to fucking sober up. If anything, I need to drink more to make it all go away; even if it’s just for a few hours.

“Dude.” Carter places a hand on my shoulder, making me flinch in pain. “Sorry.” He immediately apologizes when he realizes that’s my bad shoulder.

I grumble something unintelligible, taking another swig of tequila. it must be tequila. The cap of the bottle has a weird shape. Is it a cactus or a sombrero hat? But regardless it’s something that makes sense on a tequila bottle.

“Dodge, will you tell us what the fuck is going on? What was that in there? Why were you begging Chrissie to marry you after you found her in bed with Mitch?”

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