Page 62 of Pippin & Nacho

“Ugh!”

Frustration, anger, disappointment, and depression filled my veins, burning me from the inside out.

I pushed my board over the edge, moving as fast as I could before I reached the lip on the other side, catching air and doing a lipslide before going back down to reach the other side.

For a moment, as I moved back and forth, doing tricks, a calmness finally washed over me, and I was able to blank out all my problems for a while, just focusing on making the trick without having to bail. I pushed myself harder and harder, chasing that blank wall, not wanting to feel anything but pure pleasure and thrill. No thoughts. No pain. No suffering. Just nothingness.

I came down too far from the lip. There was no compensating as I crashed to the bottom, losing my board somewhere. I landed hard on my back, but I was careful not to slam my head on the ramp. A stabbing pain shot up from my ass to my spine. Now I hurt inside and out.

“Fuck!”

I lay on my back, staring up at the thick, ominous clouds as the first drop of rain fell onto my face. The sky wanted to cry as much as I did. As another raindrop hit my face, everything came pouring out.

My hands covered my face as I bawled like a fucking infant. Everything just came to a head as I let out all my pent-up pain that I’d hidden behind carefully constructed walls—walls that I’d relied on Nate to maintain for me because I was too weak. He was so strong.

But I wasn’t sure I could trust him to hold me up anymore. Yet, I would never leave him. He was mine, and I was his. I loved him too much for that to change, and I still needed him to help keep me whole.

“God, you’re so stupid, stupid…” I hissed at myself.

The smell of cigarette smoke yanked me out of my crying. “You alright?” said a familiar voice.

I spread my fingers open to peek out at the smoking man squatting next to me.

Cueball.

“No. Not alright. Never alright. All wrong. I’m all wrong.”

My fingers closed as the tears spilled again, as if I could hide my weakness from this person who seemed to have non-existent emotions.

“Can you walk?”

I nodded.

“Let’s go to the picnic tables with the roof. It’s starting to rain harder.”

When Cueball tugged on my arm, I held tight to my face, not wanting him to notice how upset I was. He would see everything in my eyes. My fears, my past, my broken mind. I had to hide it. No one could see how messed up I was. They would hate me, dismiss me, abandon me.

He tugged on me harder. “Up.” His voice demanded no argument from me, and I instantly responded. “I already know you’re crying, so stop trying to hide it. Get the fuck up so we don’t get drenched.”

A sharp pain in my back made me wince as I stood, quickly wiping my face with my jacket.

Oh, shit, please don’t be injured.

I couldn’t handle going to the hospital again. I was already balancing precariously on a thread.

“Do you need help walking?”

I shook my head.

Cueball walked toward the covered picnic tables, and I followed, limping slightly, but I’d be alright. Nothing was broken or bleeding.

He stood as tall as Ajax, maybe slightly taller. He was built, too, like he could crush you with his bare hands. Cueball definitely had an intimidating vibe, and he never smiled, but he had intelligence behind his amber eyes—amber like you see in museums that have ancient insects inside. His pupils were the insects. His eyes were ancient—old before his years. Suffering made eyes old, not happiness. Happiness kept you young. Pain aged you.

I felt one hundred years old today.

By the time we reached the tables, it started pouring, but I instantly stopped in my tracks when I noticed Blaze. I should’ve known. Blaze and Cueball were always together. They were pickles and peanut butter—an odd combination that worked. He sat on the bench backward, leaning back with his elbows on the table, smoking and scrutinizing me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said.

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