Page 18 of Pulse
My life has been lived, and it’s been lived a hell of a lot harder and faster than most people. I’ve traveled, survived explosions, and saved lives. I’ve partied, read books, and climbed a volcano. I have a job I love, a house I never imagined I would afford, and a small number of people around me who I care about deeply. But still …
“It’s just what?” Travis asks.
I lean against the fireplace and look at my brother. “I don’t know. Pointless, maybe. Hollow. What’s the purpose of it all?”
His face sobers.
“I’m being dramatic.” I stop. “You know, Iwasaround Lincoln Landry all day. It kind of makes sense that I’m acting like an asshole.”
Travis laughs.
I move back to my chair and sit. “You’re right when you say I’ve chosen to live a life that keeps me occupied, and I’ve loved every damn minute of it. It’s afforded me a great standard of living.”
“Speaking of which, will you pay me back for dinner?”
I ignore him. “But the danger I used to get off on isn’t thrilling anymore. The high-pressure shit isn’t as exciting.”
“Sotake a vacation.”
“And then what? Sit around, thinking about all of the shit that’s gone wrong in my life?”
“I hear it’s good to face your demons.”
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“I’ve been fucking Lola. I’ve done more than face a demon lately. A demon would be a walk in the park.”
I grin.
“Maybe you need someone to spend time with. Have you seen anyone in a while?”
“This isn’t a problem I can fuck my way out of, Trav, but thanks.”
“It couldn’t hurt to try.”
Instead of answering him, I flip on the television.
“Leave it to you to watch the local evening news,” Travis says. “I didn’t know that was still a thing.”
I motion for him to pay attention to the headlines and not me.
“Have you seen anyone in a while?”
Travis’s question wasn’t meant to be serious … I don’t think. Little does he know that’s the crux of my problem.
I’m fucking lonely.
A burning sensation prickles my chest.
It hit me a few weeks ago in the middle of the night. I woke up at three in the morning after a nightmare and, for the first time in my life, wished that someone was here. That I wasn’t alone. That the bed beside me wasn’t empty. That someone might be here when I came home from work, excited to see me.
The idea has followed me ever since. Eating alone has bothered me. Sitting in the living room and reading a book by myself feels off. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve enjoyed up until the nightmare, all feels … wrong. Less. Incomplete.
But what can I do?
Maybe it’s a midlife crisis. I did turn thirty-seven last month. It’s the only explanation for why the job I love no longer fulfills me. It must be why I’m suddenly wishing, or at least considering, that I had a significant other—something I’ve intentionally avoided most of my life. There’s no other reason I’m suddenly wishing I could have more in my life when I know I can’t. People don’t change directions that fast without a catalyst.
“Hey, isn’t that Dahlia’s dad?” Travis asks, pointing at the screen.
