Page 90 of Dark Knight

Is this what it feels like, walking around in your own grave?

And if this is how empty and meaningless life is only a day and a half after Tatum‘s departure, what’s in store for the rest of my life? I can barely stand days of this. I’m supposed to go through it for years? When I try to imagine it, when I look ahead and attempt to create an image of the future, I get the same result; I always have. Nothing. Blank.

When I open the refrigerator door and barely anything inside, it’s harder than ever to see anything good coming my way. One day after another, just staring into an empty refrigerator. Asking myself why I hadn’t been to the store. Going through the motions. Working remotely for Callum, taking care of the high-level administrative shit that can be done from a distance while other men, those who aren’t as broken and empty as me, do the actual work. The work that used to make me feel alive. The thought of it makes me slam the door closed without meaning to. Somebody else is going to live the life that was meant for me.

Stop kidding yourself. Was any life ever meant for you? The past ten years have only been a reprieve.

The sight of the espresso machine Tatum insisted on ordering brings back too many memories of her. I have to look away, turn my back on it, and force all traces of her out of my head. I might as well try to breathe underwater. Considering there is no pushing her out of my head. After all these years, I should know that. I’ve tried. I’ve made it my life’s mission at times. Still, it was no use. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering, worrying. Telling myself things would be different if she were simply mine.

She could’ve been. I scrub my hands over my face and groan under the weight of one memory after another. Memories of being so close, of sweet, quiet moments when it was all laid out in front of me. I had the entire world at my fingertips. When her eyes shone with that special light, when she melted against me, moments that even now make it tough to breathe. She could’ve been mine. I only had to say the words. I only had to share myself with her — but that’s impossible, right? Because there isnothingto share. I've been hollow for years.

Except with her. It always comes back to her.

I need to get out of here. Every time I turn around, something reminds me of her. Every time I round a corner, I expect to see her. Her scent still lingers in my bed, even after changing the sheets. I’ll have to buy new pillows if I want to get rid of her completely, though I can’t imagine doing that. I can’t imagine it any more than I can imagine a future.

I slam my fists through the sleeves of my leather jacket and head out before I can stop myself. The starless, cold night leaves me zipping up to my neck and jamming my hands into my pockets before starting down the steps. I pass houses with the lights glowing through the windows. Halfway up the block, a guy in a set of coveralls opens the front door to his home, and from inside, the word “Daddy!“ rings out. It’s a happy sound. The sound of the kid looking forward to their father coming home. I wouldn’t know what that’s like.

Where am I going? There’s no question since my feet carry me down the familiar route to O’Neals. Before I know it, I’m opening the storm door and stepping inside, where the sense of the past being frozen in time damn near knocks me on my ass. Nothing has changed, right down to the few regulars still haunting their favorite stools set up before the long, chipped bar. The smell of beer and fried food fills the air — it hasn’t been legal to smoke in this place in years, but they’ll never get rid of the odor. It’s seeped into the cheap paneling on the walls, the floor, and definitely into the ceiling tiles. They’re the same, too, right down to the water stains.

It’s Monday night, meaning it’ll be time for football later. It’s still a little too early, but that hasn’t stopped the locals from staking out their spots in the booths lining the wall opposite the bar, where a flat-screen TV is mounted close to the ceiling. That’s changed, anyway.

“Yo! I must’ve drank a lot more than I thought if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

Right away, I find the source of the outburst. Dex makes a big deal of rubbing his eyes like he can’t believe them, while Austin only gapes with his mouth hanging open. I knew they’d be here, didn’t I? Somewhere inside, I knew I’d find them.

“Since when do you slum it with us?” There’s an edge to the question that cuts through the smile Dex wears.

I won’t pretend I don’t hear it. “I’m not slumming, man. Don’t do that. Shit’s been… Shit.”

“I think that’s his way of apologizing for blowing us off the whole time he’s been back,” Austin tells him, smirking at me.

“Buy you two a beer?” They might be pissed at me, but they won’t refuse. I hold up three fingers to the bartender and take a seat at one of the few remaining stools, unzipping my jacket before settling back.

“How’s your girl?”

“Not my girl, and I don’t know. She went home. The shit she was dealing with worked itself out.” When I look their way, I catch them exchanging a knowing smirk. “What? What’s that mean?”

“I should’ve put money down on how long it would take you to fuck it up.” Dex shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. “You don’t have a great track record with women.”

“That’s not how it was. And Tatum wasn’t my girl in the first place.”

“So that’s why you almost ripped my head off over her?” Austin’s smile hardens into something closer to a challenge. “Because she wasn’t your girl in the first place?”

Dammit, I forgot about that. Watching him try to kiss her by the fire. The rage damn near consumed me. “She’s not here now, so I can tell you: I was sort of her bodyguard. That’s the truth. That’s why she was here. Some bad shit went down, and she needed to get away. I guess I took my work a little too seriously.“

He quirks an eyebrow. “Sure. If that’s your story.”

“It’s the truth.”

Dax accepts his fresh beer, taking a long pull from the bottle before smacking his lips. “Don’t tell me you haven’t forgotten the line between work and play.”

“And how would that be any of your business?”

All it takes is a glance at each other before they burst out laughing. It’s a habit, the bitterness that blooms in my chest. Nobody likes being laughed at, and especially not me. “Hey, man,” Austin urges when he sees my expression for what it is. “We’re just busting your balls. For real, dude. Have you been in solitary for ten years?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You lost your sense of humor. You used to be fun. You used to be funny.”

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