Page 116 of Fight or Flight
The silence in my room feels stifling, so I start playing a different song from memory, and it takes a few seconds to realize what I’m playing.
It’s the first and only song I ever wrote, and the only people who’ve ever heard it are my siblings.
My chest squeezes as a wave of grief hits like a wrecking ball, and I put my guitar on the bed next to me so I can pull in ragged, sucking breaths as I try to stave off the panic attack that’s been threatening to overtake me since I woke up.
It’s been seven years since they died, and I don’t remember their voices anymore. I can still picture them, and I still have memories of them, but the actual sounds of their voices are gone unless I watch a video and hear them again.
How can I forget the voices of the people who meant more to me than anyone else in the world in just seven years? How many more years will it be before I can’t remember their faces? Before my memories of them fade, and all I’ll have left of them are pictures and videos?
How long before no one remembers them, and it’ll be like they never existed?
Knock.Knock.Knock.
I jump a mile as the sharp rapping at my door startles me out of my daze.
“Who is it?” I call, my voice cracking slightly on the words.
“It’s me,” Paxton says through the door.
“It’s unlocked,” I shout back.
The door swings open, and Paxton steps inside.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, giving me a quick once-over.
I smile, or at least try to, but it probably looks more like a grimace. Or maybe a bit like I’m constipated. “Doing okay. You?”
“I’m good.” He shoots me a dubious look. “How’s your head?”
“Fine,” I say dismissively, and I’m not lying.
The bruise is dark and angry-looking, and it hurt like a son of a bitch yesterday, but it’s only a little tender today. I spent almost five years playing hockey, so bumps and bruises are nothing new to me.
“Still going to The Crypt tonight?” he asks, still looking at me like he expects me to keel over at any second.
“Hell yeah.”
The Crypt is an old, abandoned house on the outskirts of campus that’s surrounded by an open field on two sides and the woods on the others. It’s a popular place for parties, but since it doesn’t belong to any of the frats or houses, anyone can use it as long as no one else is.
He shoots me a sly grin. “Brianna and the rest of the Belmont council have promised us a good night.”
Brianna and Paxton have had a casual thing for the past three years where they hook up, go exclusive for a few weeks or months, then go back to casual. They don’t fight, don’t really break up or anything, they just decide that they want to see other people for a bit, and when they change their minds, they go back to being exclusive. I don’t understand their dynamic, but it works for them. And it’s honestly healthier than most of the relationships around here, even if it is unconventional.
The Belmont council literally just means the student heads of Belmont House, which is basically Brianna and her clique of besties, and they’re known for throwing killer parties. Hopefully tonight is no exception.
“We’re pregaming in my room in an hour,” he adds.
“I’ll be there.”
“See ya then.” He gives me a little wave and closes the door as he leaves my room.
I reach for my guitar but pause when my hand is hovering over it. I should probably start getting ready now so I don’t lose track of time and get lost in my thoughts again.
Drinking and partying when I’m like this is usually the worst thing I can do, but sitting in my room and drowning myself in sorrow and memories until I can fall into a medicated sleep isn’t helping either.
At least this way I can get fucked up and escape reality for a while.
Hopefully I don’t do anything I’ll regret later.
