Page 42 of Faithful

That trip to Nashville was the deciding factor.

“Hey… so,” I mutter against the gust of wind that rustles the small flowers around the grave. “I don’t know why I never told you that… I think you’d get a kick out of it, but I’m gay.”

Silence.

“Like very gay… Dad hates me. But I mean, what’s new, right? He hated me since the moment I was born. I’m pretty sure of it.”

Silence.

“Another thing. And I honestly have no clue if it’s good or bad, but… ummm… about Kai…” I exhale raggedly, my throat closing up all of a sudden. “I don’t fucking know what I’m doing, sis. I can’t control it. Have no way to put a stop to it. Don’t wish to put a stop to it, actually. Do you loathe me now?”

Silence.

“Do you loathe me for feeling things? For not wanting to give him up?”

My desperate words are met with the subdued hum coming from the trees, the branches slapping each other lightly in the shifting air. Somewhere in the distance a dog barks and a car honks.

I grab a fistful of grass and crush it with my palm, then let it fall back to the ground.

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by lately. I guess I’ve got a lot going on. I know it’s not an excuse, but I miss you, sis. I miss you so much.”

A small part of me is expecting some kind of sign from above, from my sister who’s partying in the afterlife. But I realize it’s dumb. Kai said it himself. There’s no god or higher power. There’s just death and that’s something certain. And I’m long overdue to make peace with it. Because sooner or later it’ll come for me too and I’ll have nothing to show for it, nothing to be proud of at the end of my road.

And that doesn’t sit well with me.

“You think I should raise some hell?” I ask, staring at the headstone. “Piss Gavin off?”

The thought of making my father’s life difficult has my adrenaline spiking and my blood rushing.

An image of my Ava with her hair pink and her face defiant slides into my mind.

Yes, she would have loved this–someone continuing her legacy.

I guess it’s gotta be me.

6 THINGS TO BE RUINED

“Voltage will be with you shortly,” a guy my age informs me from behind a small counter as I hand him the forms I just filled out along with my ID.

He gestures at a line of leather chairs and disappears behind a glass partition.

I sit down.

Rub my palms over my jean-clad thighs.

Study some of the artwork on the walls.

Just like the haircut, getting ink is a spur-of-the-moment thing.

Long story short, but now I know why the Candy Drive is called that. 'Cause with Halloween fast approaching, it’s been driving everyone in the office nuts.

Today, I couldn’t leave until after dinnertime, and on the way back to my place, I stopped by a ramen joint Leigh recommended to check out.

Now I’m sitting in the reception area of a small tattoo salon that’s located conveniently close to the aforementioned ramen eatery.

And I’m about to get inked by some dude who calls himself Voltage.

Yeah… talk about having a life crisis.

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