Page 175 of Wrath

I’m never doing that shit again. I don’t like to feel weird.

Ever since the pot, things have been weirder. I’ve been sleeping a lot. It might be the new sleep medicine, but the sleep is weird and heavy, I guess like drugged sleep always is. I should maybe quit taking the stuff.

This weekend, I stayed in bed almost the whole time. Only ran once and only lifted once.

You know what I did?

It’s so fucked up.

I watched him. Like reality TV watching.

Like he’s mine, something I need to consume to feel happy. I think this is a “crush” but it’s the kind of one that hurts. HE gives me the clawing feeling I remember from my mom’s house. Like I’m falling too fast through thin air and I need to grab a hold of something, but I can’t.

You know that quote that says “Everything I ever let go of had claw marks on it”? I’m leaving claw marks on my freckle-faced stepbrother. Makes me feel like a freak, especially since I don’t know the guy. And I don’t know if I ever really did.

Tomorrow, I’m starting yoga w/ a tight end named Stephen.Seems like a weird thing for football players to do, but I’m hoping maybe that can help my mind get back on track.

Maybe I should delete Snapchat and Instagram.

But I can’t. I guess that’s the truth.

I don’t have anything else.

Josh Miller is not at Montevallo.

Josh Miller appears to be at Auburn.

I’m going to tell you something else. Okay?

He said he’s going to Atlanta Thursday. On his Insta, on that post on his stories- he posted a motherfucking

-rainbow-

Seven

Josh

June 27, 2019

"You good, brother?"

Something slaps my back, and I look up from my drink.

Daniel. I give him a drunk grin.

"Damn, Josh Miller. Lost in the sauce again."

I try to roll my eyes at Daniel, but that makes me dizzy. I laugh at myself.

"Like you're not," I say.

He takes his ball cap off and puts it on backward, flashing me a big grin as the cap presses blond hair down into his eyes. He leans in, so close I can smell the liquor on his breath. "I got a real ID, Mills. I'm not gettin' drunk off Jack and Cokes on a fuckin' Thursday."

I shake my head. I'm too drunk to tell him togo fuck himself. Something pings in my head, like this little distress signal. But the liquor in my system blots it out.

I feel happy. Sitting on a barstool in the fucking Hardwood House, up in Atlanta. I laugh at the name now, and Daniel leans back over, slings an arm over my shoulder. I can feel the warmth of his chest on my back. It makes my dick twitch even through the veil of being fucking drunk.

"I'm gonna hug up on ya," he murmurs. "That way we'll catch someone's eye. Then you can both get us some bussy."

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