Page 72 of Your Echo
I let out a strangled laugh as I remember the look on his face when I flicked the lighter on.
“I haven’t seen them since. So cheers to that, my friend. Fuckingcheersto that.”
I’m slurring now, bracing my hands on my knees so I don’t tumble forwards.
“But here’s the fucking plot twist: the beautiful blonde woman who changed my life is thesamelittle blonde girl who was rolling that snowball. I’m the reason her mom is in a wheelchair. She might not have lost her legs if she’d gotten help faster. I’m the reason Stéphanie grew up poor. I’m the reason she missed all those dance competitions. I’m the reason she wasted years of her life wrapped up in the same booze and pain-fueled landslide as me. I stole her fucking future when I was just ten years old.”
The champagne bottle is empty now. I grab it and smash it on the ground. The homeless man doesn’t even blink. He stares at the broken glass and then drains his mug before he stands and walks over to his cart.
“Great. Evenyoucan’t stand to be around me. That’s just great.Tabarnak.”
He ignores me and digs around in the bags and boxes that fill up his cart. After a moment of searching, he pulls out a faded leather flask.
“Fuck love,hein?”
He sits back down on the bench and offers the container to me. I sniff whatever’s inside, grimace, and then shrug. The alcohol is so strong that more tears prick the corners of my eyes, and my throat burns like it’s on fire. I still drink about three shots’ worth in one go, and after I’ve let the flask’s owner have his fill, I take it back and drink more.
* * *
“Stéphanie?”I call, watching the woman’s blonde ponytail thump against her back. “Stéphanie!”
She’s a few metres ahead of me on the sidewalk. When she glances back over her shoulder, I see that she’s not who I thought she was.
Why does my brain think every blonde is her?
The woman runs across the street, looks back at me again, and then takes off around the corner and out of sight.
I don’t blame her.
I’d run away from me right now too.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I mumble to myself, my feet heavy as I drag them along the pavement. “I’d run away from me too.”
My lips feel numb. My fingers feel numb. I thought my heart did too, but then I saw that blonde hair and it roared to life in my chest.
I ruined her life. I ruined her life.
My hip bumps against the mirror of a car parked on the side of the road. I reel away from it, stumbling backwards into someone’s front garden.
“Fuck you, mirror.”
There’s a flower stuck to my shoe now. I find that fucking hilarious and laugh to myself as I continue up the street. I don’t even know where I am. I sat in the park until long after it got dark.MonseiurFuck-Love left with his shopping cart right after we ran out of alcohol, but I just sat there, watching the lawn in front of me get emptier and emptier as the minutes ticked by.
There’s a group of guys coming toward me on the sidewalk, laughing and shoving each other around. I keep my head down as they pass me, but one of their shoulders knocks against mine.
“Watch it, asshole,” the kid sneers. He can’t be older than nineteen.
“Watch it?” I slur. “Watch it?You wanna go or something?”
This kid needs to learn some fucking manners.Hebumped intome, and suddenly all I can think about is punching him in his smug nineteen year-old face.
“You’re wasted, man. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
His friends all hoot and whistle.
“I’m not fucking wasted.You’refucking wasted.”
I swing my arm, and he dodges it with ease. More hoots. More whistles. More blood pounding in my ears.
“Look, dude, just—”
My punch hits him hard in the stomach. He looks shocked for a moment, and then his eyes narrow to slits. He curls his hands into fists and takes a step forward. His friends aren’t laughing anymore.
“Asshole,” he growls, “you are gonna regret that.”
He’s right. I already do.
