Page 4 of Twist of Fate
You seem to have forgotten a few things while you’ve been abroad. I’m poor now, remember?
Rian
Not poor. Just temporarily lacking in funds. You’ll be living the high life again in no time.
Yeah, no thanks.
That’s what got me into this mess.
After nearly two years working a job I never thought I’d ever have, living in an apartment I never imagined I’d occupy, and seeing my friends jet set around the world as they live their dreams, I kind of just want to throw in the towel and say fuck it.
Fuck it all.
Would it be so bad if I just boarded a plane one day, jetted off to a foreign country, and never came back?
Yes. Yes, it would.
I let out another withered sigh and send a goodbye text to Rian, wishing him a safe flight…to wherever it is he is headed.
Despite the fact that this is not where I thought I’d be at twenty-five—or ever—it’s my reality, and I have no one to blame but myself. Growing up, there was never a question as to what I’d do with my life. My family owned a large company, and it was always assumed I would take over one day.
Eventually.
My father dedicated his life to that place, rarely coming home. I had no intention of rushing that bleak future into existence.
I admit I may have taken things a bit too far.
After numerous incidents where he paid off newspapers, a few clubs, and one very unsanctioned office party, he had had enough.
Until I learned some humility and could prove to him that I was worthy of the role I was meant to play, I was cut off. From him. From the money. All of it.
It’s been nearly two years. Two years in this crappy apartment, working a job I never thought I’d do. Two years of my life being broken down into one-week segments. It’s not the worst job a person could have, but it sure is a grueling one.
Six days and seven nights on a bus.
It’s called the Heritage Tour, and it takes forty or so tourists, mainly from America and Canada, around Ireland to visit some of our most popular destinations.
And you guessed it, I’m their tour guide.
I stare at the luggage I’ve already packed and shoved next to the door in anticipation of the late night I was planning with Rian. Now, it just looks sad, a pathetic reminder of how predictable my life has become.
Even my best friend—whom I haven’t seen in weeks—knows my mundane schedule. Meanwhile, Rian flies all over the world for his job.
Lucky fucking arsehole.
I stare at the luggage a second longer and then look down at my watch. It’s still early, and I don’t have to leave until tomorrow morning.
“Fuck it,” I say to the empty apartment.
I didn’t need Rian to have a good time, and God knows, this may be the last opportunity I will have to talk to someone my own age in a while.
Best enjoy it.
* * *
In Dublin, there are pubs for tourists and pubs for locals.
And then there are the pubs that fall somewhere in the middle.
