Page 12 of King of Pain
Butters:10-4 DD.
Me:DD?
Butters:Donkey Dick.
Me:Bye, Butters.
Butters ends our text exchange with a kissy face, an eggplant, and a horse head emoji. I laugh at his ridiculousness and allow the smile that tugs at my lips. Both he and Jen have this relentless energy that’s become a lifeline for me, even if I hate admitting it.
Jen is the person I’ve let get the closest, though I continue to keep her in the dark about the things that matter most.
I don’t let many people, especially men, into my inner circle, but Butters’ golden-retriever-like enthusiasm somehow broke through my defenses. Even though I keep them both at a certain distance, I’m grateful for their friendship.
As grateful as I am for the few friendships I have, there’s a thought constantly nagging at my heart. Is there more than this? Would I even recognize it if it was standing in front of me?
Or worse. Would I push it—or them—away?
TRACK SIX
Take My Breath Away
Chance
The stupidly bright Arizona sun blasts through the thin curtains of my bedroom.
Fuck, no wonder people that live here are so active. Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes, and take a moment to ground myself.
Today’s the day—my first shift at a real job.
A flicker of nerves run through me, but I push it aside. If I let myself sit with the anxiety too long, it will turn into something bigger, and I don’t have time for that.
I throw on a pair of gym shorts and a hoodie, lace up my running shoes, and head to the apartment gym. The mornings here are too fucking hot to run outside this time of year. The air is thick and unforgiving even before the sun fully rises.
The gym is small but functional. Just a few treadmills, some free weights, and a couple of machines lined up against the mirrored walls. It’s empty right now, the rattle of the air conditioner the only sound as I step onto a treadmill and start my warm-up.
My heart pounds harder with each stride, the familiar burn in my legs building until it drowns out everything else. Running clears my head in a way nothing else can. It provides a rhythm I can control, a rare constant in the chaos that’s been my life.
I push myself harder, increasing the speed until the sweat dripping down my back makes the hoodie cling to my skin. I slow my pace to a jog when my chest heaves, and my mind feels quieter. The treadmill beeps as I come to a stop, my handsgripping the rails as I catch my breath.There, that should get your head in the right mindset for today,I think to myself.
Back at the apartment, I grab a protein shake from the fridge and settle at the small table by the window. The apartment is small but modern, with clean lines and just enough space for me.
The walls are painted a crisp white, and the floors are a faux-wood laminate that catches the sunlight streaming in through the sliding glass door. It leads to a tiny balcony, barely big enough for a chair, but it’s the perfect spot for morning coffee.
The kitchen, though small, has stainless steel appliances and sleek counters that make it feel more expensive than it is. There’s a single barstool tucked under the counter that doubles as a dining area until I get a table.
The living room is sparse, furnished with a basic gray sofa, a matching overstuffed chair, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Aside from my bed, they’re the only things I’ve acquired so far. I need steady paychecks coming in before I will feel comfortable making any more large purchases. The Doves would set me up and pay for everything if I asked, but that would defeat the purpose.
The only personal touch is a stack of books on the coffee table, my sneakers by the door, and the photo of my club hockey team hanging on the wall in the living room. The rent is manageable—thanks to the savings I squirreled away running jobs for The Doves. Six months paid upfront means I don’t have to stress about bills while I figure shit out.
I chose Arizona because it’s far enough from home to start over but affordable enough that I can make a real go of it. The heat takes some getting used to, obviously, but it’s different from the stifling atmosphere of my life in Boston. This is a clean slate.
Grabbing my laptop, I pull up the community college website and navigate to the course schedule. I’ve been avoiding this since I got here, but I promised myself I’d make an honest effort tostart over. A fresh start means more than just escaping my past—it means finding myself, setting goals, and pursuing things I never had the courage to before.
The course catalog is overwhelming. Business, Marketing, Communications, English. They’re all practical options, but none of them spark anything in me. I keep scrolling, and a section for art and design catches my eye. General education classes are a given, but maybe I could mix in something creative. I’ve dabbled with drawing, painting, and experimented with design programs on my laptop, and I think I might be good at it. Back in Boston, I never let myself believe it was worth exploring, let alone showing anyone, but here? Here, I could try. Maybe even thrive.
By early afternoon, the heat has crept in, and I’m standing in front of the mirror, deciding what to wear. I don’t want to overthink it, but it’s my first real job and my first real chance to meet people outside of the only world I’ve ever known.
My hand lingers on a long-sleeve shirt hanging in the closet, but the thought of riding my motorcycle in this heat makes me grimace. I still wear my jacket when I’m on the bike, even though I’ve noticed a lot of people here don’t bother. Road rash isn’t worth the risk, especially when this ink cost a small fortune.
