Page 19 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy
with the marriage of Farrah Ann Wellsburg and Ryan Dupo Jones,” I
breathe, unsure what to feel at this moment.
I’m angry, but I’m also scorned and sad. I’m upset and frustrated,
but I’m also shocked.
I’m everything and nothing at the same time. I’m numb to this news
that I never thought possible but also a little relieved it’s not my
picture on the invitation.
Breaking up with Farrah was hard, and I fought for a while to make it
work with her even after I found out about her extra activities on the
side. But to see it plastered in my face like this is slightly insulting.
Years together and backstabbed in front of the whole town, and this
is how I find out she’s engaged to that pompous football prick? She
didn’t even have the decency to say something to me about it! I wad
the paper up and throw it aside, my body physically trembling while I
try to tame my ferocity. I need the barkeeper to come back soon, or
I’ll release myself from my sobriety—something that seems more and
more appealing as time passes.
Is living in the back office of a bar the best idea for a man with
looming alcohol addiction?
Probably not.
Is it the only place I have available to sleep for the trade of keeping
an eye out on the place at night and sweeping the floors every so
often?
Yeah, I guess.
I have been here since I was seventeen, the downhill destruction of
my life happening right after graduation. My father’s addiction led
him to overdose. My mother didn’t take long to follow in his
footsteps. I wanted a place to stay where I could be out of the
elements, and the owner of the bar is kind enough to let me sleep
there and allow my band to play gigs for notoriety instead of cash.
