08/10/2021 02:17 PM  can i come? ft. jacob brooks Their eyes meet when Jacob comes unexpectedly up the ladder to the tree house — abandoned, nestled almost too deeply into the trees to find if you didn’t know what you were looking for. It’s the first time Casey’s ever been found there. They stare at each other for way too long, Jacob with his head tilted to the side, still just barely peeking through the entrance; Casey, wide-eyed, with a newly lit cigarette in hand. “Are you running away too?” Casey takes a quick glance at his backpack, stuffed with whatever clothes and necessary junk he’d have needed for a few days. “…Kind of.” “Can I come?” In that moment he realizes they’re not so different after all. 0 Comments

08/10/2021 02:17 PM  missing link. cw :: domestic violence, blood “Are you sure you’re okay?” “I said I was fine.” Sarah stood at the frame of the bathroom door, shoulder leaned against it, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hadn’t looked up since perching herself there. Instead, she stared at the blood in the sink. Casey stood in front of the mirror, one hand using the counter to support himself while the other secured a rag to his forehead. He was shaking, face drained of any color beyond what the blood created along the side of it. “Your ash tray’s f***ed though,” he remarked. “I said I was sorry, Casey…” Sarah muttered, shaking her head, finally looking at him. “Look, I really think you should go to the ER. That’s not stopping.” “What, now you care?” She was right though. He’d been in the bathroom for close to a half an hour trying to stop it. He felt sick to his stomach looking at it — the way it pooled near the drain, the way it spilled down his cheek, over his mouth, off his chin, even down his hand. He shut his eyes, drawing a deep breath through his nose to settle his breathing, then decided to sit down on the toilet before his knees could give out on him. Sarah pushed herself from the door frame and inched her way into the bathroom, lighting up a cigarette. “I’m upset too, you know. I gave a sh*t before and you know it.” She took a long drag from it, then passed it to Casey as she knelt down in front of him. He felt the warmth of her hand, brushing his own out of the way so she could hold the rag instead. He didn’t protest. He wasn’t sure he could have held out much longer anyway. “Alright, great, but you’re not the one bleeding all over the place, are you?” He took a drag from her cigarette, then handed it back. “I don’t know why it has to get to this point before we can actually talk to each other.” “I don’t know…” Her eyes were swimming in tears, but Casey remained like stone, staring off somewhere behind her. “I don’t really have a good handle on myself right now. I know I don’t, this has just been really hard on me…” She took a final drag, then tossed the cigarette into the sink. “It’s hard, okay?” It was easy to pinpoint exactly where the disconnect started. Amelia had become the link holding Casey and Sarah together, and without her, they fell apart. Everything around them slowly began to crumble in the absence of that one missing piece. Drug use became necessary instead of fun — became like a medication instead of a vice. Tempers flared like crashing waves amid a hurricane. Simple conversations felt like walking a tightrope over the Grand Canyon while everything below was on fire. Sitting there in the bathroom, with Sarah only a few inches from him, Casey had never felt further away from her. “Yeah, well, it’s not just hard for you.” Sarah opted to focus on his forehead rather than answering. “It’s starting to stop,” she deflected. “I still think you should get it looked at though.” “Well, I’m not going to, it’s fine. Look, are we ever gonna talk about this and fix it or is this just us from now on?” Casey moved his hand over the rag, pushing hers away. “I already apologized, I don’t know what else you want me to say, Casey…” Sarah sank back, staring at the ground. “I want you to care about what’s happening, Sarah.” Casey snapped. “Casey.” “No, this is bullsh*t, what we’re doing right now, you know it is. And I get that it’s messed up, and you’re messed up right now, but so am I, and we’re only gonna get worse if we can’t even talk to each other.” “Everything just feels so empty right now…” Sarah’s voice cracked, and with it, the ice around Casey did too. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He suddenly couldn’t look at her. Their missing link. The one piece. It was gone forever, and neither of them knew what to do without it. Going back to what they had been before Amelia was even a thought in their minds was impossible, a restricted area that Casey couldn’t help but think he’d taken for granted. Had he known he could never returned to it, he’d have done more reveling. Casey took another deep breath, then started to slide off the seat so they could be more leveled. “I’m sorry, okay?” “I need to go to bed.” Sarah shut him down. “I just need some space from you right now — from like —.” She started motioning around with her hands. “From this.” As much as he wanted to stay and talk, if he pushed any more, he’d likely end up with another dent in his head, and he’d probably deserve that one. He backed down, leaning against the wall on the floor. He’d lost. They both had. “Sure.” “You really don’t wanna go to the ER, right?” “It’s stopping,” Casey muttered. “Just go.” “I’m sorry too.” “Sure.” Normally, Sarah would have snapped at him for his lacking responses, but she was backing down too. She touched her hand to his knee, then stood up to walk to the door. “Get me if you change your mind.” Casey stared at the ground, nodding. He didn’t think he could get up to get her if it came to that. He wasn’t strong enough, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “I know.” “I do love you.” He let out a deep breath. Everything he was holding back exploded into the forefront of his mind. The tears he’d been desperately trying to conceal broke out across his face. He couldn’t say it and he regretted it. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the three words she probably needed to hear without choking on them. Instead, he just shook his head at her, looking at the ground. “I know. Go to sleep, okay?” 0 Comments

07/31/2021 10:02 PM  sad kid. “Kid’s not gonna come out n’ eat lunch with us?” “He’s just being a brat. Let him stay in there if that’s what he wants.” They didn’t think he could hear them, but the bathroom door was as good as paper at blocking any noise. After years of overhearing Jennifer’s distress calls to his grandparents, Casey wasn’t entirely convinced she even cared if he heard her talking about him anyway. In fact, he’d have dared to say she wanted him to sometimes, though he couldn’t back that up with anything more substantial than ‘it seems like something she’d do.’ The hotel room was cleaner than it had ever been, or probably ever would be unless Richard opted to stick around, but it felt anything but comfortable. Huddled into the corner of the bathroom, knees to his chest, he was far more concerned about the state of his hideout and where he might sleep than eating. “Sorry he’s so rude to you, by the way,” Jennifer spoke up again. “I’d say he’s not always like that, but he kinda is.” Casey rolled his eyes, so familiar with that last line he found himself muttering “but I kinda am” in unison. And maybe she was right about that one; maybe he was always moody and maybe he did always act like a brat. Maybe that was just as much a part of the routine as Richard or whoever else she decided to bring home. ( — How long would it be before Richard got sick of the routine like the rest of them? ) “Oh, I think you’re being a little too hard on ‘im. We had a good time in’ere cleaning up that bathroom. You know ‘e sleeps in there though?” Casey’s eyebrows furrowed. He’d found a sanctuary in the notion that Richard was just like all the other ones, a comfort in the predictability of it all. The sudden break in the routine had him sick to his stomach from the newfound uncertainty. “No idea why, there’s a perfectly good pull-out out here,” Jennifer mused. “You know what I think, Jenny?” “What do you think, Richard?” There was some shuffling around outside the door, someone walking around the kitchen, throwing a plate into the sink. It had to be Jennifer based on the jarring amount of force behind it. Richard going up to bat for him wasn’t part of the script and Casey could already envision her red in the face over someone defending him, telling her she might be wrong about him. “I don’t think he’s a brat at all, I think he’s just a sad kid.” The kitchen went quiet. Casey wanted nothing more than to disappear from the hotel room entirely and pretend he never heard that, yet he couldn’t tune them out either, chin lifting from his knees so he could listen more intently. “Sad?” Jennifer asked. It wasn’t a question she asked out of curiosity, more a dare for him to elaborate. “Yeah, sad. Go easy on ‘im, it doesn’t hurt me any.” “Well… sad or not, he could still have some manners since you’re helping us, and he’s not gonna say sorry, so I will. You ready?” Another dish crashed into the sink, more deliberately than before, followed by the sounds of shuffling around, keys jingling, then finally the front door shutting, leaving him to himself with a conversation he wished he’d ever listened to. Maybe that was true too; maybe he was just sad, but that realization wasn’t part of the routine either. 0 Comments

07/31/2021 10:01 PM  wayward, 3. pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3   “Gotta say, kiddo, I don’t think this is the best place to be sleepin’.” Richard starts pulling blankets out of the tub one by one. The ones crammed into the very bottom still maintain some kind of oval shape until he shakes them out, then ultimately tosses them into the trash pile. When Casey looks over, he catches the grimace, the look of realization and maybe horror — the look that has him wondering how long it’ll be before Richard goes running like everyone else, and in his spite, he hopes not long at all. “It’s fine,” he mutters, shrugging, then returning to his own task of scrubbing the counter. He’s not sure which he’d rather be stuck with, Richard in the bathroom or his mother slamming things around in the main room. Off the balcony sounds more pleasant than both, but he doesn’t have a clear path there with all the piles. “You got the pull-out couch, right?” Casey scrubs a little harder, trying to tune out the questions, but it’s little use against the sheer awkwardness of Richard staring at him. “Hell, I’m sure an air mattress wouldn’t be too hard to get in here... don’t you have to use this?” Richard points to the shower. “You just take ‘em out every time or what?” “Look, I don’t like the couch, okay?” He tosses the sponge into the sink, shaking his head. Casey knows he shouldn’t have to sleep in the bathroom, knows there’s plenty of places that should be some sort of comfortable, knows they’re all essentially off-limits when they’re already occupied. Most of all, he knows it’s only a matter of time before Richard sees it all, realizes he’s bit off more than he can chew, and walks out because it’s too much to handle. Because he’s too much to handle. “Why do you care? It’s not like it’s your problem.” Richard stares for a second, quiet, but Casey can’t make sense of his expression. When he looks away and goes back to focusing on the tub, it’s not clear whether he’s disappointed in Casey’s answer or the grime he’s failing to scrub out. “You’re right, it’s not my problem. I could walk outta here if I really wanted to, go t’the bar n’ never worry about it, but sometimes we do stuff ‘cause we wanna help people.” Casey furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look away or move. “I know you don’t like me much yet,” Richard goes on. “That’s okay if y’don’t, I did just kinda crash your place. But no one should be livin’ in a hotel. And no kid deserves to sleep in a bathtub ‘cause he doesn’t have his own space. ‘Specially not a kid who’s gonna be a star, right?” At that, Casey scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Whatever.” “I meant that when I said it!” “I’m sure.” Casey turns back to the sink. When he catches himself in the mirror, star is the literal last thing he can see. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do all this. If you can walk out any time, you might as well do it now.” 0 Comments

07/20/2021 12:16 PM  alone. cw: suicidal thoughts. The whole room engulfed in steam; the idle hum of running water not quite loud enough to block out the embarrassing way he heaves after crying, but at least this time, he’s alone. Casey is entering the second hour of being huddled into the corner of his bathroom on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest. The water’s gone cold, but he can’t will himself up to turn it off. On this day, even his self-made purgatory — his most long-standing defense against the outside world — can’t save him, thus he succumbs to indulging in the ridiculous hope that all the steam will somehow suffocate him in a freak, but freeing, accident. That’s the only sanctuary that feels real. It’s the only proven painkiller for the way his chest aches. The only muscle relaxer for the way his shoulders lock in place to stop themselves from shaking. Ironically, it’s also the most highly condemned, for it has one extremely adverse side effect; and that’s that it puts all the pain on everyone around him. How long is he supposed to stick it out before that consideration is no longer necessary? He knows he’s being stupid. It’s ludicrous to stand at the top of the world, hoping he might fall. Still, the thought of moving forward makes him sick to his stomach with dread. Grow up, he internally scolds himself, but maybe the teenager who’d once furnished his bathtub with blankets and pillows to further distance himself from his mother will never quite leave him. His phone starts to ring from on top of the counter. It’s successful in distracting him, but he can’t bring himself to reach for it because he can’t stand the thought of embarrassing himself in front of anyone else. He can’t stand the idea of letting others pick up the pieces when he’s the one who dropped the glass. At least here, when shards are scattered everywhere — when he's entirely failed to keep himself together, he’s alone. 0 Comments

07/14/2021 03:16 PM  the apple doesn't fall far. cw: miscarriage Their table is especially silent among a whole diner filled to the brim with noise. Silverware clanking around on plates, chattering among tables and staff, yet Casey and Savannah remain stuck in a silent bubble across from each other in a booth toward the back. Savannah hasn’t touched her food. Even though strawberry pancakes are her usual favorite, she’d ordered them halfheartedly, as if trying to preserve some normalcy, as if she knew it’s what everyone expected from her. But there’d been none of the usual celebrating when they got there, no requests for “ extra EXTRA ” whipped cream. She just pushes them around on her plate, not looking at him. They’re not all that different. Casey hasn’t touched his food either, a longstanding habit in the wake of any sort of stress. He can’t even take a sip of coffee without feeling sick to his stomach. ( — He thinks of the saying “ t h e a p p l e d o e s n ’ t f a l l f a r f r o m t h e t r e e ” and how cliche, yet scary accurate it is. ) “Mom’s really mad at you, huh?” Savannah finally breaks the silence. Casey had been staring out the window, but immediately looks over, eyebrows knit together. “She was yelling at you.” Savannah’s always been a perceptive kid, but she didn’t need to be to see what was going on, and Sarah never had any concern over whether or not she could hear it when they argued like they did. “It’s okay.” “How come she was yelling?” Casey has no explanation to give, only apologetic eyes accompanied by three words that sting his tongue a little more every time they leave his lips: “I don’t know.” Maybe the pairing of “ sweetheart ” or “ kid ” to soften the blow, but it’s lost its meaning after so many times. It’s halfhearted, just like her order; uncertain, just like their lives had become. “She’s not mad at you though, you know that right?” “I don’t want her to be mad at all,” Savannah mutters, then no sooner excuses herself from her seat. Maybe it’s because they’re so similar, but he half-expects to be chasing her out the door, because it’s exactly what he’d have done — run away, but she doesn’t run. Instead, she climbs into his side of the booth, laying her head on his shoulder. “I don’t like when you guys fight.” His heart sinks in his chest. A deep breath through the nose doesn’t offer any clarity. Savannah’s words shake him more than anything Sarah’s ever said to him, shake him more than anything anyone’s ever said to him. “I know,” he whispers, leaning his cheek on top of her head. “I’m sorry you heard it.” “Do you think I’d have been a good big sister?” The question comes out of the blue, though somewhere in the chaos, the pieces all connect. As excited as Casey and Sarah had been about Amelia, no one could have ever been as excited as Savannah. She’d started asking every single day if it was almost time, how many days were left. She’d gathered up her favorite selection of toys to share shortly after learning the hand-me-down concept, and then it was all gone. Jarring as it was for two adults, it’s a lot to explain to a kid, no matter how perceptive. No matter how smart he knows she is, he can’t help but want to protect her from brutal explanations that might tarnish her the way they’ve tarnish him. The way they’ve tarnished Sarah. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but maybe it doesn't always have to mimic the tree, right? There’s a conversation looming, an impending need for explanation, but he decides not to do it at the diner. “I think you’d have been the coolest big sister in the world,” he finally answers, bringing an arm around her shoulders to bring her closer to him, tears budding in his eyes. He’s hurting, Sarah’s hurting, but he’s sure no one’s hurting as much as Savannah and it kills him to put that on her. It kills him that she even has to worry about it. “She’d have been extremely lucky to have you.” 0 Comments

07/14/2021 03:15 PM  please don't send me home | pt. 3 pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 ft. J a c o b “Casey!” Jacob was jogging to catch up with me. I’d been running with my head ducked down toward the door; I didn’t want to face him, but now that the opportunity was right there, I couldn’t turn it down. “What’s up, dude? Where you goin’?” I couldn’t speak at first. I just stood there staring, resisting the nagging temptation to run. It hurt less if it was on my end — me severing the tie before they could. Before they made it big and forgot about the pact we’d made. I shook my head, feeling like I was choking on my words. Just as I didn’t recognize Felicia earlier, I didn’t recognize myself. “Home, I guess.” “Wait, what do you mean home?” Jacob asked. “You quit?” It would have hurt a lot less if I had. I wasn’t ready to talk about it, so instead I just pulled Jacob into a hug. At that point, I probably needed it a little more than I wanted to admit. “You and Isaiah go out there and kill it, okay? Tell him I said seeya’ later.” I hugged him a little tighter, then let go and continued on out the door without another word. I wanted to turn right around and tell him everything. I wanted so badly to give him a better answer — an explanation — but the hallway was suffocating me. Too many people had seen me already. I sat outside the venue for some time, staring at my phone, thumbing through contacts, but never got up the courage to call anyone. I needed to call my grandparents, but I didn’t want to. I just wanted to sit and sulk for awhile. How could I tell them about how I screwed it all up with my train wreck personal life? My chest hurt. I couldn’t stop shaking. Blaming Byron and Felicia didn’t make me feel better. Yelling didn’t make me feel better. Crying definitely didn’t make me feel better, but once I was away from everyone, I couldn’t hold it back. “I was hoping I didn’t miss you,” a voice came from the door. Byron coming to sit down beside me. “Sorry for what I said.” I set my phone down, looking out at the street. My stomach churned at the mere thought of eye contact after what I said to him — to both of them. “I don’t really think that, I was just freaked out.” Byron laughed a little. “I get it, kid. But you know what, this doesn’t have to be the end for you. I don’t want to see it be the end for you. This was one avenue that didn’t work out this time, but you have what it takes to make something of yourself.” I wiped at my face, nodding. Still couldn’t look at him. “It just sucks, man.” “You’re right, it does suck,” Byron blunted, pulling out his wallet. “Tell you what, though… clean yourself up, get your act together a bit, and then stay in touch, okay? Like I said, I don’t want to see this be the end for you.” I looked over the business card he handed me. There was a part of me thinking the number written on it was a dead end — a consolation prize, or maybe an attempt to get me the hell away from the venue. But I held onto it, because at the time, I had nothing else. “Thanks,” I answered, finally hauling myself off the ground. Byron stood up with me, dusting off his jeans. “You know, Casey, you were someone I really thought was gonna win.” At that, I couldn’t help but scoff a laugh, but it meant more than he realized, and more than I dared to tell him. “Ch’yeah, so did I.” We shared some kind of sad laugh together over that before he straightened up. “You sure you don’t wanna do the performance?” “I really think enough people have seen me cry today, and probably for a lifetime.” I knew Byron and Felicia had their hearts in the right place, but I still didn’t want the network making anything else off me if they were kicking me off. “I’m gonna go, I’m sure you have better stuff to do than tend to my stupid hissy fit.” Byron laughed a little, pulling me into a hug. “We’ll miss you, kid.” “I’ll miss you too.” I took a deep breath as I pulled away, staring at the venue door. I didn’t want to start my trek back to my car. “I’ll miss all of it.” “Be good out there, okay?” “Sure thing.” I nodded and started walking off. “And keep in touch.” “Same goes to you.” I felt a little lighter after talking to Byron. Even though I was on edge about it initially, his business card gave me a sliver of hope my time wasn’t entirely wasted. Maybe it didn’t have to be the end of me. 0 Comments

07/14/2021 03:15 PM  wayward. location: saddle west hotel p a h r u m p , n v pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 Casey peeked around the corner to get a look at the hallway. Ten minutes had passed since he’d last spotted Thomas or heard him running along the hall upstairs. That could have only meant he’d found a secure hiding spot — one which Casey was confident he would be able to find, no problem, but the threat of Thomas finding him first still lingered, so he knew he had to keep moving. To the other residents passing by, Casey was just an annoying kid doing a serpentine down the second-floor hallway. But to Casey, he was the self-proclaimed villain in a race against time — in a battle of wit and skill. Anyone he happened to run into, or trip over in the process was just a casualty and villains weren’t supposed to care about that. Without a single apology, he jolted down the hall. At the end of it was an exit that lead to an outdoor staircase and if Casey got out there, he could sneak back in on the second floor and catch Thomas before Thomas even realized he’d left the building. Unfortunately, he was thwarted before he even made it to the door. “That one?” “Yeah, that’s the one! He ran into me three times out in the lobby. He damn near trampled my wife coming down the hall! There’s another one upstairs doing the same thing!” A brown-haired guy in an ugly polo was yelling, pointing at him. Shirley from the front desk was staring at him, shaking her head. Casey contemplated running, but thought better of it considering he’d already been in trouble the week before for splashing water on people from his balcony while they were coming in, and then a week before that for purposely running out in front of peoples’ cars while they were trying to park. Judging by the look on Shirley’s face, she was no longer amused by him. This was no longer a case of “kids being kids.” “I’ll take care of it,” Shirley said, then parted ways with Polo Shirt. Before Casey could do or say anything, she snatched the water gun from him with one hand, then latched onto his shirt with the other so he couldn’t take off. “What is this?” Casey didn’t say anything. In that moment, his demeanor had gone from cool, collected villain back to his usual self. Small. Wanting to run, but there was nowhere to escape to. Shirley prodded further. “I sure hope you weren’t running around trying to shoot people with this, Casey.” “I wasn’t,” Casey said, trying to shrug her hand away, but the grip only tightened. “Okay, then what WERE you doing with it? And what were you doing running around tripping people?” Casey rolled his eyes. “Look, hands off, we were just playing around. I didn’t even run into that guy, he’s full of sh*t…” “Uh-huh… Well that guy’s not the only one giving me complaints, so forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” Shirley remarked, beginning to walk. “Walk.” Usually, when Casey would get into trouble, Shirley would just walk him back to his room. On the off-chance his mother was home, she would scold her for not watching him while making the point that a thirteen year-old boy shouldn’t have had to be watched so closely anyway. There was once a time where Casey pretty popular there, but that was before its residents got to know him and became aware of the fact that his mother basically allowed him to run rampant around the hotel while she was nowhere to be found. When they reached the top of the stairs, Thomas was in the midst of an encounter with the some family next door, quite similar to the one Casey had just had with the polo guy. Casey didn’t say a word as Shirley gathered Thomas too and began ushering them back to Casey’s hotel room. Shirley asked several times where Jennifer was. For some reason, it took her actually seeing their suite for herself to realize Casey hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t know. In fact, he hadn’t seen her in two days, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Last time she disappeared, she was gone an entire week, and before that she was gone so long Casey gave up counting the days all together. Because she was so absent, she didn’t really know or care what the room looked like. Thomas was always remarkably unfazed. He walked in so casually it looked like he’d memorized all the junk piles. Casey was more hesitant, at least trying to step over things or kicking them out of his way when he became frustrated with that. He wanted it clean. He wanted to do something about it, but at that point, where was he supposed to start? Casey expected a rampage when Shirley saw the state of their room, but she seemed more sad than anything. “You should go home, your parents probably worried about you,” she said to Thomas, then focused on Casey. “You stay in here for the rest of the night, okay? We’ll try and track down your mom.” “Ch’yeah, good luck,” Casey muttered under his breath, but didn’t look at her. Instead he started spitefully picking up some of the dirty clothes off the floor. “Do I have to go home?” Thomas asked. Shirley glared at him, which got him up off the couch. He looked back at Casey. “See you tomorrow, man.” Casey acknowledged him with a small nod while dumping some plastic dishes into the trash can. “Yeah, sure.” It was nearing midnight by the time Jennifer rolled through the door, ranting about how Shirley had embarrassed her out in the lobby while stumbling over the remaining piles Casey failed to clean up. “I can’t believe she would tell me that!? Who is she to tell me that?” She rambled on, only stopping when she reached the bathroom and found the door was locked. “Casey!” Casey, who’d been listening the whole time, was in the midst of scrambling around trying to dispose of the cigarettes he’d stolen from her purse the last time she was home, homework scattered in a disarray across the floor. When Jennifer shoved the door open, it stopped short after hitting him in the shoulder. Just in the nick of time. He’d shoved the cigarette — only half-smoked — into the sink and washed it down. “Hey, occupied!” he snapped. “And now you’re done, get out here!” Jennifer fired back, snatching his arm and dragging him out into the room. She was still stumbling. She reeked of alcohol, rage alone propelling her through her spiel as if it sobered her to some extent. “Well, first of all, I’m sure you know we gotta get this cleaned up since I have Shirley on my ass now. I can’t believe you let it get like this, look at this! You wanna tell me what the hell happened in the hallway also?” Jennifer was using every trick in the book to get her point across, but the only thing she was successfully doing was igniting a flame in Casey, who leered at her the entire time she was talking. “You wanna go back to grandma’s basement? Huh? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if we can’t make this work.” “Grandma’s not a dead beat,” Casey remarked, gaze trailing from her, over the mess of their hotel room. If they got kicked out, he thought, it might not be so bad. Jennifer paused, her eyes springing open, somehow wider than they already had been. “What did you just say?” Casey folded his arms, shaking his head. “Noah Casey Caverly, what did you just say to your mother? What did you say to me? I will beat it outta you, you little brat —” “Hit me then, mom!” Casey snapped. “Come beat it outta me so someone can call the cops again and you can clean this up by yourself tomorrow.” Jennifer took a small step back, her mouth open, but Casey had her coming up short for words. “Exactly.” 0 Comments

07/14/2021 03:15 PM  wayward, pt. 2. pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 Casey and Jennifer ultimately parted ways, Jennifer falling asleep on the couch-bed while Casey forwent his air mattress on the floor beside it for the bathroom. He had the bathtub lined with blankets so he could lay inside, staring at the ceiling, finally simmering down. When he shut his eyes, it at least started to alleviate the oncoming headache. He felt too young to be complaining of headaches all the time, but it was the third in a week for the same reason. He thought of running away. Imagined himself taking off down the 160 and never looking back, just running as far as his feet could carry him. ( — Wherever he ended up, it had to be better than Pahrump, right? ) Casey hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the buzzing from the vacuum cleaner woke him, an obnoxious and incessant thumping against the door, voices hollering back and forth in the background. His eyebrows knit together. They didn’t have a vacuum. Who did she bring over? Casey realized he didn’t care as long as he didn’t have to be a part of it and rolled over. Sleep started to win him over again, but a tickle on his cheek caused him to shoot up and start swatting at his face. He ruffled his hair a bit, and from somewhere, flung a small bug that scampered underneath the cabinet as soon as it was free. Maybe he was still dreaming. It had to be a dream. The vacuum bumped up against the door again, then again, louder each time. It wasn't a dream and he had no chance at getting back to sleep, so he finally hauled himself out of the tub, rubbing his eyes. He pulled the door open slowly so he could get a sneak peek before committing. “Good morning!” Casey backed away and the vacuum shut off. A strange guy with long gray hair and a biker’s bandanna for some reason felt he had permission to push the door open completely. “Those are some interesting pajamas,” he teased. Casey had never changed from a T-shirt and ripped up jeans, just went to sleep. “Who are you?” Casey demanded flatly. He didn’t want anyone in their space, much less another strange guy that would just run off in the end. So he decided to try something. Before this guy could hurt him, he’d act up first. He’d be the one to sever the connection, and he’d do it before it could even start. “Casey,” Jennifer scolded, eyeing him over her shoulder while piling bags near the front door, but the guy just laughed. “Ah, he’s fine. My kids are cranky in the morning too,” he said, passing it off. “I’m just a friend, I came to help clean this place up.” Casey had heard that line a thousand times before — just a friend. Just friends didn’t mean anything to him. Just friends still wouldn’t hesitate to deck him in the face for nothing or walk out after getting his hopes up. “We didn’t really need the help.” “Trust me, kiddo, you certainly do.” “We REALLY do,” Jennifer added. “You missed all the hard crap, now come on, be polite and introduce yourself so you can start helping.” “Ooooh yeah, right,” the guy waved his hand, shaking his head. “Totally forgot, I’m Richard. And I’m gonna go ‘head and guess you’re Casey.” “Mhm…” Casey rolled his eyes. Richard laughed. He kept laughing at him and it was starting to get on his nerves. Casey idly wondered how hard it’d be to get him away from the door so he could lock himself in the bathroom again. The bug under the counter was better company miraculously. “You know what, back when I was workin’ in Hollywood, I knew this kid who looked just like you. Thought he was gonna be a star too — he had the face for it, but he went off, did a ton’a drugs and got ‘imself thrown in prison or somethin’, but man, he was so talented when he got a hold of a guitar.” “You saying my kid’s gonna get himself thrown in prison?” Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “No! I’m saying he could be a star!” Richard laughed. “Maybe he was tryin’a tell you somethin’ with the water gun thing. He wants to play a hero.” “Yeah right.” At that, Casey actually found it in himself to smile, though Jennifer was quick to interject and ruin it. “Well, he can play the hero of the hotel room and pick up a broom then." 0 Comments

07/14/2021 03:14 PM  please don't send me home | pt. 1 Byron's POV. pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 “Hey Casey — whoooaaa, hey, c’mere, c’mere.” We had about five minutes until showtime and Casey wandered in looking like he’d have passed out in the middle of the hallway had I not grabbed onto him. Leading him away from the frenzy, I got a bad mental image of him being trampled by his fellow contestants scrambling to get to their places on time. “I’m sorry…” He muttered, running his fingers through his hair, shaking. His voice was hoarse — probably too weak to sing, yet there he stood, using all his energy to apologize. He was never one to complain, despite his strange living situation. While Casey was notorious for turning up late, he never blamed it on living in his car, never blamed it on his obvious personal issues. He just apologized and got to work, but this time, he couldn’t; this time, he just slumped into the wall like he was trying to catch his breath after a run. “Are you alright, are you sick?” was all I really wanted to know, at least right then. We were already late, and frankly, Casey pushed that boundary every week anyway. He was a hard worker, would push himself all night if he had to even if he hadn’t slept, and I didn’t think for a second he took his place here for granted, but I knew he’d come with his own set of issues well beyond what we could help him with, which was why I always fought so hard for him to keep a place with us. This time, though, I was completely lost on how to manage him. He didn’t answer me, didn’t look at me. Nothing. “You need to sit down.” “I’m okay,” he insisted, yet couldn’t push himself off the wall. I caught him looking out at the hallway like he might try and jump in, but he didn’t move, still couldn’t seem to catch his breath. I was idly trying to work up a game plan in case we had to call an ambulance for him. “I’m okay, I promise.” “You can promise all you want, but you can't even stand. You can’t perform like this.” I was sure we had extra clothes somewhere for him to change into, but that didn’t take care of the bloodshot eyes or the trembling. It didn’t restore the color in his face or take care of his weakened voice. “Five minutes, By!” A tech called out as he whizzed passed us. Casey wouldn’t be ready in five minutes. He wouldn’t be ready even if we had hours. “Please don’t send me home,” he suddenly blurted out, grabbing my arm. It was the most strength I’d seen in him since he walked in. “I’ll get it together — I can go out there.” “Listen, Casey.” I started to lead him a little further down the hall to a bench he could sit down on. “I don’t know what’s going on here and you’re obviously not obligated to tell me, but I can’t let you go out there looking like you’re gonna pass out on stage. I can’t. I’m not giving you a choice here, you need to sit this one out, okay?” 0 Comments

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