07/14/2021 03:14 PM  please don't send me home | pt. 2 pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 “Hopefully you don’t take this as a mark against your talent. You actually received the highest number of votes this week, but because of the week before, we’re really concerned that your lifestyle isn’t conducive to the image TALENT! is trying to represent.” The reassurance came with undeniable sincerity, but the blow that followed felt like the verbal equivalent of being pushed on the ground and kicked in the stomach until he couldn’t breathe. Casey couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything but stand there in the conference room — front and center — completely dumbfounded. “I’m sure you realize how many strings I had to pull to get you off the hook last week,” Byron went on. “And just how dangerous it was for you to show up like that.” Casey didn’t answer — couldn’t answer. He stood in silence, picking at his nails, lips pursed together. It wasn’t in him to complain or expect special treatment for anything. In fact, he’d hesitated even telling anyone about his living situation so they wouldn’t try and coddle him. In the time he’d been there, he always just tried to push through any exhaustion he was feeling, but it caught up to him, and now it was the end of him. “You know, some people have gone home for reasons like this, then came back to try again in later seasons. I did.” Felicia Moore was a winner-turned-judge from a few seasons prior. Casey already knew her story, had actually shared a few good conversations with her about it, but it wasn’t enough to save him. Sitting across from him, she sounded like a completely different person. “You can always come back next time, Casey,” she insisted, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t have the resources to just come back next time. The solace he’d taken in the idea that, if he failed, he could just call his grandparents was only comforting when he was sure he wouldn’t need to. “Trust me, kid, we really wanted to keep you,” Byron cut in when Casey still couldn’t bring himself to speak. He felt sick all over again. “We don’t want to have to do this, but it’s not just about us here. Believe it or not, it’s about you too. If you’re too sick to perform, you have to speak up, you can’t just walk in like that. And if you’re not in a position to properly take care of yourself, you need to take a step back and prioritize, then come here when you’re good and ready. This isn’t the place for someone who’s not even on their feet yet.” By then, panic was starting to set in, the idea of it all being just a really bad — really long — nightmare squashed, forcing him to consider his next move. What was his next move? How could he call his grandparents and tell them he messed it all up? Would he ever see Jacob and Isaiah again? Casey finally managed to breathe, and then after a deep breath, he choke out at least a word. “Cool.” Now that it had settled in, all he wanted to do was run away before either of them had to see him cry about it. Byron took the lead again, clearing his throat. “Now even though we couldn’t keep you in the competition, we would really like for you to perform one last time on the show.” Everything suddenly stopped. His heart, Byron and Felicia, everything in the background, processing coming to a screeching halt. ( — Maybe it was lingering delirium, but Casey couldn’t get the comedic record-scratching sound out of his head. ) “Wow.” The word flew off his tongue before he could catch it, carrying a new found rage with it. “You don’t wanna do it?” Byron asked, glancing at Felicia, who shrugged. “No, I don’t wanna do it,” Casey snapped at him, taking a step back toward the door. Once everything un-paused, everything kicked into overdrive, a fire ignited within him. “This is humiliating enough with just the three of us, you want me to go out there and humiliate myself more for ratings?” “Casey, that’s not —” “— I really think it’s crap that this whole time, you guys were pretty supportive of me, and now you’ve just completely changed your minds. I was upfront about myself. I was upfront so that you could have the chance to eliminate me right off the bat, but you choose to do it now? After showing off my story to everyone to get them to vote for me?” “This has nothing to do with ratings, Casey,” Felicia said, hushed, like she was hoping he’d follow suit. “The performance was mine and Byron’s idea, we just wanted to give you something. We don’t usually do this for contestants who get eliminated this way.” “But it was about ratings,” Casey argued, eyebrows arched. “Because the reason you’re kicking me off is because my moral standards or whatever might cause people to not watch the show.” ”Eliminating you wasn’t our decision solely, you have to understand that,” Byron interfered. “And you have to understand how it looks on my end to be told ‘well we don’t want you on the show because of your life choices, but here, give us one last pity-performance’. I don’t want it. I just wanna go.” “That’s fine,” Byron said, holding up his hands. “It’s fine if you don’t want to do it, we definitely won’t make you. You’re free to go then, but you can’t yell like that in here. Okay?” “Fine.” Casey backed down, taking a few steps back toward the door with his arms folded tightly over his chest, teeth grit together. Nothing about it made sense; it felt like being scolded by a parent in a family not even living on Earth. “Can we arrange a ride for you?” Casey’s head was spinning, heart pounding like it might jump out of his chest. If he took a step, he felt like his knees might collapse, but he’d accept the risk just to get out of there. At Byron’s final offer, he rolled his eyes, already pulling the door open, already running. “To my car out front?” He remarked. “No, I think I can make it, man.” 0 Comments

07/08/2021 11:16 PM  if you lose a limb 3. cw: domestic abuse pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 “You missed all the fun.” If you lose a limb, it’s possible to reattach it if you get help in time. That being said, even if it appears salvageable at first, the tissue can still rot after reattachment, resulting in an amputation despite the effort. That was what Sarah and I had become. And Christian had become my crutch. I know there’s something in there about phantom pains too. Maybe that was why my chest hurt so bad. Maybe that was why I felt physically sick when faced with the prospect of losing Sarah, even though I had Christian. “Date didn’t go so well, huh?” He asked. We sat together on the porch outside his house. He still had some friends over drinking still, but I didn’t really want to see them. Christian was drunk enough not to care about me making him sit outside apparently. I shook my head, staring at the sidewalk. “I don’t know what to think of it.” “Youuu really need to decide what to do, bud.” “Okay, this isn’t lecture time.” “Okay, but it can’t always be Casey Sulking With No Solution time either. That sh*t’s clearly not working.” I rolled my eyes at him, but he was right. “Eventually, you really are gonna have to decide what you wanna do, dude. If you wanna fix things with her, tell me to get lost, but if you don’t, you can’t just leave her hanging, or then what? You both just live together and never talk? Just pretend nothing’s going on?” Christian was slurring; he’d practically launched himself down the porch steps when I got there, but still had more sense than me at that point. Part of me admired it, but a bigger part of me wanted nothing to do with sense. “No…” Christian leaned in a little closer to me, kissing my temple. I crumbled into him. ( — How did he always get me like that? ) He let me stay there for a minute before he went on. “Listen, kid, I wanna be what helps you forget this sh*t, but even more than that, I wanna be what helps you break away if you want to. I can’t just stand by while you drift back and forth between us. It’s gonna cause problems if she finds out before you tell her, and that’s all not even talking about what Savannah’s seeing over there, you know? You gotta take care’a you, but her too, she’s probably seen way more sh*t than she needs to.” “I don’t wanna do it anymore,” I admitted. It occurred to me I’d never put it in actual words before and the tangibility of them, the fact that they came out of my mouth so easily when he was around, brought the pang in my chest back in full force. “Any of this — the sneaking around, the fighting with her, I just wanna be done with it. I don’t know why I keep hanging on.” “Because you really hate change.” Christian teased me. “You always have.” I scoffed through my nose. He was right about that too. “Why don’t you come in? You don’t have to talk to anyone, we’ll just hang out, okay?” “Sure, just…” I started to pick myself back up, moving away so I could look at him. “No more serious talk right now, okay?” “I really don’t want you to keep pushing that off,” he said, but he was smiling at least. For some reason he was taking pity on me, but I knew I didn’t really deserve that. “But for right now, let’s just enjoy the night.” 0 Comments

07/08/2021 11:15 PM  if you lose a limb. cw: domestic abuse S a r a h ' s P O V. pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 Casey said he still loved me, but it was hard to believe him when he couldn’t focus at the table, or flinched every time I put my hand on his shoulder, or became rigid as a board from me putting my arms around him. He didn’t shiver the way he used to when I kissed his neck or ran my fingertips along his chest; when I kissed him, it was almost like he was too stunned to kiss me back. Even at home where no one could see us, Casey receded from me, as if I were embarrassing him — as if I were a stranger randomly coming onto him. I must have gotten too ambitious reaching over to brush my fingertips along his leg while we were sitting on the couch, because suddenly, he grabbed onto my hand. I wanted to run away and never look at him again. I wanted to yell at him for treating me like some rabid fangirl, but I didn’t want to waste a moment with him. “Sorry…” I retreated to a separate cushion while Casey straightened up. He was tense from his jaw all the way down his shoulders, face burning red. I couldn’t make sense of his expression. Was he wide-eyed in disbelief at himself or me? “No, don’t be…” He was out of breath. I used to love it when he would whisper things to me with the only breaths he could work up, but it lost his magic when we were so far apart. “Look, I love you… I really do, and this was nice, I just — I can’t do this right now.” What did he mean he couldn’t? He couldn’t love me? He couldn’t touch me? He couldn’t try? I was getting fed up. I didn’t think Casey realized how much I put into this, only for him to brush it off. If this and my thousand apologies weren’t good enough, I had to wonder if anything would be. We had a nice conversation at dinner once we got the awkwardness out of the way. We laughed together, talked about the world, kinda like we used to. But somewhere during the drive home, he seemed to forget it all. “How am I supposed to take that, Casey? I don’t know what else you want from me at this point.” “I don’t want anything from you.” “If you don’t love me anymore, why can’t you say it?” I knew I was being demanding, but I’d have rather been demanding than a coward. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?” “I’m not —” “No, you are. You keep saying you love me still and that you wanna work it out, then every time I get near you, you act like you’ve never met me. How do you think that makes me feel?” My words burst through like an opened floodgate. I was spiraling and there was no stopping me.“I wish you’d just man up if you don’t want this instead of jerking me around, stop being a coward.” Casey didn’t say anything, just stared at me, somewhere between outraged and heartbroken, but too afraid apparently to admit to either. When he did speak, I knew for sure our night was ruined. “You really didn’t think about how I felt when you hit me in the face, did you?” “Casey, that’s not fair…” “I’m serious.” His floodgate had opened too. He started getting up. I wanted to reach for him, but I knew he’d just shrug me away. “You didn’t think about how I felt every time you smacked me across the face or when you threw an ashtray at me. Or every time you snapped at me for checking on you, did you? This hurts, dude, and as nice as this was, a dinner together doesn’t just magically change that it’s hard for me to get past that.” “Then what the f*** do you want?! If that’s how you feel, why are we doing this, Casey? What, you’re afraid I’m gonna come after you if you break up with me, is that it?” Casey rolled his eyes, standing there with his arms folded over his stomach. He was able to simmer down, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t stop myself. I stood up too, shoving at his shoulders, trying to shake some kind of sense into him, trying to get him to look at me. I wanted him to go away, but I didn’t. I wanted him to tell me, but I didn’t want to hear it. Mostly, I wanted him to forget everything and just love me again. “I’m trying so hard to make things up to you and you don’t even wanna try. You don’t wanna be the one to do it? Because I will, just say the word.” He said something, but I wasn’t hearing him at that point. I just kept going. I kept yelling, kept shoving until his back hit the door. “Where’s all that strength you had coming off the streets of LA, huh? If you want something more than an apology, why the f*** can’t you just ask for it, or do I have to sit around forever and wait for you to feel like trying? Right now you just look really weak to me.” Casey held his hands up.“Whatever, you think that if it helps you, Sarah,” he whispered. The tone of his voice was a dead giveaway the night was unsalvagable. “Call me whatever you want.” I was shaking. I wanted him to come hug me, but at the same time, I wanted to shove him out the door myself for making me feel like this. “You really have nothing to say?” “Nope, not at all.” Casey reached behind him to grab the doorknob. Even though I wanted him out, it felt different when it was his choice. I didn’t want to spend the night alone, but we couldn’t even look at each other. Casey looked at me before he let himself out. His eyes were glossed over. His face was still red. “I hope you have a good night.” 0 Comments

06/27/2021 02:01 PM  don't ever let her see it. cw: domestic abuse, blood based on this piece.  The bleeding’s stopped, but not the tears; those come in full-force as soon as he’s alone, unstoppable, dam collapsed with no hope of repair. He asks himself over and over how it’s come to this, and though he can quickly retrace every step to this point, he still can’t manage to wrap his head around it. “Dad…?” The little voice from the doorway doesn’t quite register at first — not until it sounds a second time, more urgently. Casey looks over his shoulder. Savannah stands at the door, just behind the wall like she’s waiting for permission, big eyes staring up at him, glazed over. It’s his worst nightmare, a longstanding fear ever since things took a nosedive in the Caverly household. ( — Hit me, yell at me, take it out on me if you want, but please don’t ever let her see it. ) How many times had he watched his mother and one of her boyfriends argue and shove each other around the living room? How many times had he convinced himself it was his fault? His expression softens and instantly, he’s knelt down in front of Savannah, beckoning her to come the rest of the way through the door. “You okay? How come you’re up so late?” “I heard a loud bang.” The ashtray, he assumes. It makes him sick to his stomach that she heard any part of it.“I’m sorry, sweetheart…” Savannah shuffles toward him, but not too close, stopping short once she gets a look at his face. “Ow,” she whispers, pointing at her own forehead, but Casey gets the point. He smiles at her. It’s weak, but it’s all he has at that point. “It’s okay.” He’s always promised himself he’d never lie to her. Breaking his promise hurts a thousand times more than an ashtray to the head. “Promise?” He can’t say it; he can’t lie twice. “C’mere,” he whispers, holding his arms out. She finally comes all the way in. Casey holds her as close as possible to him, shutting out the rest of the world — the bathroom, the noise, the blood in the sink, everything. “All you need to worry about is getting some sleep, okay?” 0 Comments

06/15/2021 12:10 PM  the lowest i've ever been. ft. jacob brooks and randy, who can be found here. I’m lower than rock bottom; lower than that, even — the lowest I’ve ever been or would be, or so I hope, but there’s always more room to fall. I’ve come to find I’m becoming a shining example of that, in fact, and my presence at Randy’s house only proves it. I’m stuck with my realization on the front porch at three in the morning, head ducked into my knees while Randy sleeps inside, an enviable lack of concern for how much we’ve just seen of each other. It’s more of me than most have ever seen, more than anyone should see again at this point, much less my former drug dealer. ( — The word former feels like a joke, and as much as I love to partake in morbid humor usually, it only makes me sicker as it crosses my mind. ) The door opens behind me. At first, I can’t bring myself to look, but soon Randy’s sitting beside me and it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s a loud breather; I hate loud breathers. What the hell was I thinking? “You look pretty f***ed up,” he teases me. It feels more personal now than it would have, say, a year ago — even a day ago. I just shake my head, looking out into the street. I still can’t see straight. The comedown always makes my teeth chatter, even though it’s not particularly cold. “I am.” Randy starts lighting up a cigarette. It’s the first time the smell of smoke has ever bothered me. “This doesn’t mean things are gonna be weird with us now, right? It was just for fun.” He’d told me he always had a thing for me. I took solace in it. Things are totally weird. “I should go home.” “Like that?” Randy remarks. He’s not wrong; I’m too screwed up to find home if I tried. He softens up pretty immediately. I feel guilty that he has to. “So, things are weird. Look, I’m sorry, I can take you —.” “Nah, it’s my fault, man.” I finally stand up. “I shouldn’t have got you involved in my crap.” “You really gonna drive like that?” “I’m gonna call someone.” I can’t bring myself to leave it that open-ended, but I wish I could; I wish I could walk down the sidewalk and never look back again, let the moment fade with the marks on my neck, and eventually maybe not remember it. But I can’t do it. “Look, we’re friends and I cherish that, I really do. We can’t — that can’t happen again, okay?” He laughs at me. Now I’m really wishing I’d just walked away. “Won’t happen again.” I can’t tell if he’s kidding around or pissed, and I can’t bring myself to ask. My throat goes completely dry when he stands up and gets closer to me; my heart stops when he touches my cheek. “Take care of yourself, Casey.” He’s pissed. “Text me or something when you get home so I know you got there, yeah?” He asks. I can’t fathom why he cares but nod anyway and finally bring myself to take off, tail between my legs. This is the lowest I’ve ever been and it’s absolutely disgusting. I make it to the corner of the street by the time Jacob finally answers. I can tell I woke him up. “What’s goin’ on, dude?” “I really screwed up,” I blurt out. “Can you come get me?” 0 Comments

06/15/2021 12:09 PM  sabotage :: pt. 2 cw: blood, violence pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 The sight of blood causes his vision to tunnel as he hauls himself off the floor. Casey swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, heaving air through lungs that have turned to stone — nothing in, nothing out. “Get lost before your mom gets back. Don’t let me see you out here again.” And so he does, because even scrambling into hiding is somehow less humiliating than passing out in the middle of the kitchen over a little blood, but Casey can only hold himself up for so long; as soon as he reaches the bathroom — as soon as the door is sealed shut — he collapses against the wall and huddles into himself, his arms shielding his head as if he’s taking cover from a falling ceiling. He can’t breathe. He can’t stop himself from shaking, despite the excruciating ache it causes. If he cries any more, he'll throw up, but he can't stop that either. In the kitchen, he hears Allan slamming dishes around in the sink, hollering something about how Jennifer wouldn’t believe him if he told, and he’s not wrong. Jennifer hadn’t believed Casey’s lie about the whiskey in the bathroom, nor the very true story of Allan locking him in a closet while she was gone. She won’t believe this either. She won’t even ask. After a few minutes, he finally manages to pull himself up again, though the strength it took is quick to falter once he gets a good look at himself — the blood dribbling off his chin, the mangled hair, bloodshot eyes. His lip doesn’t even look real, bright red and swollen entirely out of proportion. When he touches his fingertips to it to catch the blood, he realizes it’s gone almost completely numb. This is his life. The realization of that makes his chest ache. This is his life, his lip, his too-tiny apartment. His absent mother. His sorry excuse for a new step-father, or babysitter, or whatever else she chooses to call him. His blood. A sudden banging on the door causes his heart to jolt again, where it’d previously stopped short at the sight of his face. Casey holds tightly to the counter to stop his hands from shaking, but lets it go, thinking Allan might go on ignoring him. No such luck. After a few more obnoxiously aggressive knocks, Casey flings the door open. “What do you want?” They stare at each other for a long time, but Casey can’t figure out whether Allan is feeling remorseful or not. For some reason, the part of him that had once naively regarded Allan as a harmless goofball clings to the idea that he could show some semblance of humanity and apologize, but he doesn’t. “I changed my mind, you can come out and help clean this up.” Casey looks beyond him. The only thing left is the blood on the floor. He feels woozy all over again. “No,” he snaps. “That’s technically your problem.” “I’m not gonna tell you again, get out here and help clean this. The hell’s the matter with you? Didn’t your mom teach you to listen when someone’s in charge of you? C’mon.” Allan latches onto his arm. It’s fight for flight; a knee-jerk reaction in the wake of desperation. Hitting hasn’t worked in the past. He’s not strong enough to yank his arm back, so instead, he hawks a mixture of spit and blood into Allan’s face. With his arm free, Casey stumbles back into the counter. Everything stops. Casey and Allan stare at each other, jaws both identical in the way they come completely unhinged, but neither say a word. Allan wipes his face slowly, looks at his hand in some kind of disbelief and then sees himself out, slamming the bathroom door behind him, causing Casey’s entire body to ignite. He missed his chance. Pent up adrenaline propels the fist that would have been headed for Allan into the door, then again and a third time before he finally recedes right back to the wall where he had been, huddled up in hiding. Unable to catch a breath. Crying, again? Right back to square one. “What the f***…” 0 Comments

06/15/2021 12:09 PM  sabotage :: pt. 3 pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 “So, are you gonna tell me what happened last night?” Jennifer’s supposedly getting ready for work, but still finds time to interrogate him while searching around for her keys. Casey sits in the corner of the living room, doddling on his keyboard, humming to himself — tuning her out. Her question goes entirely ignored as he scribbles something down in a notebook on his lap, then keeps playing. “Allan came at me about how he’s sick of watching you,” Jennifer goes on, still ignored, but it doesn’t seem to phase her. When she’s mad, she only wants to hear herself anyway. “Did you spit in his face?” At that, Casey smirks, but doesn’t look up; strokes of the keys become a little more deliberate, a little louder. “Casey.” Jennifer stops her stride at the kitchen. “Did you spit in Allan’s face?” “Yes.” Casey scribbles something else down, still not bothering to look her way, or maybe he can’t bring himself to. “Are you trying to ruin this for me?” Casey ignores her. Exhaustion’s catching up to him, but he’s still trying to play away her voice, the residual throbbing in his face, the haunting memory of his blood on the floor; it’s the only sense of normalcy he can cling to, and he does with as much strength as he can muster. “Casey.” “Can you like, leave me alone?” They finally lock eyes; hers are wide, her jaw unhinged. Casey doesn’t budge. “I’m sure Allan would love to tell you all about it.” Jennifer doesn’t speak at first, just stares at him. Casey searches her expression for something — not empathy, but maybe realization — although he was dead wrong when he’d tried to see the same thing in Allan. Finally, she backs down, hands at eye level.“Fine, you don’t wanna talk about it, we won’t. You can sit here by yourself.” “I will.” Point proven. Casey turns away again, fingertips finding keys again, playing her words away, playing the stinging sensation in his chest away. He hears the front door slam shut, leaving him alone again. Had he explained, he knows she wouldn’t believe it anyway. 0 Comments

05/22/2021 01:49 PM  summer job. Pahrump is like actual Hell in the Summer; ungodly hot, even at seven in the morning, sun blazing down on you from every window - every crack it can find. Not a single cloud to shield you from it for even a second, and most of the time, you’re not even safe inside. Wanda and I have been sitting in the heat for hours, side-by-side at a counter that the sun shines directly on. Drenched in sweat. Red in the face. Every five minutes or so, Wanda mists the air with a little spray bottle full of water, but it doesn’t do anything. We haven’t said a word in hours because we’re both too focused on not passing out from heat exhaustion. The only noise is an obnoxious rattling from a little fan behind us that’s on its last legs. According to her, the AC’s been out all week, which is annoyingly fitting for the occasion. I’m really in Hell over stealing a stupid toothbrush. There hasn’t been a customer in a few hours, Wanda’s being just far enough out of the way to miss all the Vegas commute traffic, though she swears up and down that it picks up during the afternoon when the kids start waking up. We spend most of the morning dividing receipts from the previous week; coupons, then returns, then credit - coupons, then returns, then credit. Coupon, return, credit. Return, credit, coupon - ? I don’t know how she does this all day. I feel like if I look at them any longer, my eyes will start bleeding. Her phone starts ringing. It’s apparently her sister, and she doesn’t seem thrilled about that, but answers anyway. I go back to what I’m doing. “Ain’t seen a soul in two hours. Terrible’s really ruined me, you know,” she complains, placing a receipt down. Whatever her sister says on the other end makes her roll her eyes. “Yeah well, this place means too much to me, I guess… it’s not Terrible’s, but it’s sure as Hell mine.” She makes a joke about how they’ll bury her there. Her sister says another thing that makes her roll her eyes. She shakes her head, looking at me like can you believe this? but I don’t say anything, just smile a little. “Mm, well, listen, I gotta go - got an newbie I’m supposed to be training.” She says newbie, but I’m really just here for the Summer because I’m in trouble. My mom was more enthusiastic than I’d ever seen her about handing my whole break over to Wanda after the toothbrush thing, but I don’t think it had as much to do with punishing me as it did the idea of getting rid of me for a few weeks. “When you get done with that, you can organize the toiletry rack,” Wanda remarks once she hangs up the phone. I can’t tell if she’s teasing me or not. She abandons clarification anyway upon noticing my receipt stacks. “What’s going on over there, kid?” “Filing…?” I look at my stacks, then hers, raising an eyebrow. Hers are almost perfectly aligned; mine are more like little piles, but I don’t really get what the big deal is. “You said they’re all just going in envelopes, right?” “If you put your receipts in an envelope like that, I really will make you organize the toiletry rack. We don’t cut corners here.” With that, she reaches over and splashes her hand through my receipts, stirring them together again. “Clean ‘em up, I got another task for you.” It takes me three tries to get it as neat as she wants it, and I really think she’s just messing with me, but I know I’m not in a position to complain. The next task is stocking the soda cooler, which we do together; me in charge of bringing the boxes over, her in charge of the fridge-filling. Not a single customer the whole time. “Holdin’ up okay over there? Told you they were heavy.” Wanda turns to me as I bring over the last box. We’re both drenched in sweat, but she’s smiling somehow. “I wish I did the receipts bad a few more times,” I admit, mostly joking - mostly. She laughs and drags a milk crate over. “Come take a break, it’s kinda like air conditioning over here.” She has the fridge wide open, her head inside of it. I sit down beside her on the milk crate, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. After a few minutes, Wanda pulls her head out and shuts the fridge, but doesn’t stand. “You know… you’re not here because I think you’re a bad kid, Casey.” “No?” I can’t help but laugh. “No… if I thought you were, I’d have kicked you out and you wouldn’t set a single foot in here again, let alone work with me.” My eyebrows furrow. I miss when we were too busy filing receipts to talk. I keep getting a pang in my chest, not knowing where this is going or what she might say. Not wanting to know. “So, why didn’t you? Kick me out, I mean.” “Well.” Wanda checks the front door like she’s making sure we have enough time for her to explain. Unfortunately for me, we do. She scoots her milk crate over so she can lean her back against the fridge. “You remind me a lot of my son.” “Your son?” I don’t know much about Wanda. Tommy always says she’s a lonely cat lady, so I always thought of her that way too. “Yeah… he was a good kid. Pretty blonde hair like you.” “Oh-kay.” I roll my eyes. My hair’s a botched at-home dye because I wanted to look cool, the patchy blonde’s not on purpose and it really isn’t that pretty either. “Where is he now?” “Jail.” She says, flat, to-the-point, annoyed. “He was a good kid, but I wasn’t the best mom. I spent so much time gettin’ this place off the ground, I wasn’t looking close enough at what he was doing.” I nod along, but I’m not sure what to say. “I see all you kids almost every day and I know a lot more about you than you realize,” she goes on, arms folded over her chest, eyebrows raised. She’s talking about my mom - my upbringing that’s probably a little too close to home for her in a weird way. “I don’t wanna see that happen to you.” 0 Comments

05/22/2021 01:49 PM  summer job pt. 2 * based on this.  Coupon, return, credit. Coupon, return, credit. Return, credit, coupon. Switching the order around makes it go by faster — makes it feel less monotonous. Credit, coupon, return — “I didn’t know you worked here.” A voice interrupts him, the final receipt instinctively crumpled in his hand, muscles suddenly rock solid. Sweat’s been coating his skin since he got there, but seems to get even thicker when he hears her voice. Alyssa Moore stands at the counter with her arms folded, her two friends — Casey can’t recall their names — flanking either side of her. They all smack their gum in some kind of obnoxious symphony, timed like a series of beating drums. “I don’t usually.” He goes back to sorting. “It’s just for the Summer 'cause I got in trouble.” “The uniform’s kinda cute.” Alyssa points at his name tag specifically. The outward display of his first name felt like a punishment too. Casey’s eyebrows raise, eyes flicking up. “It’s not cute.” “So, you can’t hang out all Summer, huh?” At that point, Alyssa’s friends start to wander off around the store. Casey had never called her after the Spring Fling a few months back. He’d tried his hardest to avoid her in the halls, skip past her in between periods — had even ditched classes they both had at the same time, but here he can’t escape her prodding. “I don’t think so.” “That’s too bad. Well, maybe you can call me sometime then. The fair’s coming up, so.” “Sure.” The single word is spoken in a rush, just to keep things moving. Before Alyssa can say anything back, Wanda returns from the back office, her eyebrows knit together, face as scrunched as that final receipt in his hand. She glances at his receipts, then him. “Kid, you workin’ or talkin’?” She snags the receipt, trying to smooth it out while looking at Alyssa. “He’s busy, hun.” Casey’s sure she’s unaware that she actually saved him, and for that, he’ll gladly take the heat from the ruined receipt. “Sorry. See you, Noah.” Alyssa giggles and Casey’s face lights up bright red as she scurries off toward her friends. He’s never been more tempted to throw the name tag straight in the trash, but there’s already too much going on. “She likes you,” Wanda remarks, handing him his receipt. He grimaces at the notion. “I know.” “You don’t like ‘er?” “It’s not really that.” Return, credit, coupon. Return, credit. “She’s nice or whatever, I just, uh — I think I might like someone else is all.” “Oooh, I get it now.” Wanda smiles at him. “The one boy with the brown hair?” Pause. Casey finally looks at Wanda, eyebrows furrowed. “How’d you know?” “Just a hunch. You’re takin’ too long with this, lemme finish so we can do somethin’ else.” Wanda takes the receipts from him and shoos him out of the way. “You gonna tell ‘im or what? You gonna tell her?” Wanda eyes Alyssa, none the wiser, strolling the candy aisle. Casey shakes his head. “No — I mean, I haven’t really — I dunno, it’s kinda harder to say. I don’t know if he’s… like that, you know? I guess I don’t even know if I’m like that…” Wanda shrugs. “I dunno, kid, I seen the way he talks to you.” “Okay, quit it.” Casey laughs. “I’m not gonna tell ‘im — I shouldn’t have even told you. If he thinks it’s weird, then I’ll lose him as a friend too. That’s not really a conversation I wanna have with my mom anyways.” “Well, you just gotta worry about what you think, not what anyone else things if that’s how ya’ feel, right?” Casey shakes his head. Once Wanda’s finished putting the receipts in envelopes, he takes them so he can file them in the back. Really, he’s just looking to escape somewhere away from the conversation. Some relief from the spark of pain in his chest that comes with imagining what might come of such a heavy conversation. “Eh… I’m just not trying to give her another reason to not like me is all.” 0 Comments

05/22/2021 01:48 PM  frozen in time | pt. 4 cw: suicide, relapse  pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 There’s little more explanation for Casey’s return than nostalgia. Down the 160, past the windy road, to the water tower; about halfway along Calvada, he’d even parked his car to walk the rest of the way, so he could feel the roads in all their uneven glory under his shoes, the familiar sensation of breathing in a little more dust with every step. That pride never does leave, even if it fades. As much as Casey pretends to be embarrassed by the unapologetic roads, or the stubbornness of evolving the city, it’ll always be his home, and therefore he can’t escape the undying need to experience it under different circumstances. On his terms. Without Jennifer there. Casey sits atop the water tower, his legs swinging outward underneath the rail, arms rested on cold metal, barring him at the ledge. Memories of his friends giggling and carrying on, pretending to push each other, linger in the back of his mind. He’d never laughed with them. He’d never understood the joke. He stays there for hours. Thinking, reminiscing, drinking excessively, crying - too much crying for his liking, but it does add to the nostalgia of it all. No one can see you up there; better yet, no one cares. It all feels the same despite the makeover. You can’t see the change in paint at night. Can’t see where they’d gone over his childhood vandalism, former rebellion at its finest. It’s the same loneliness. The same ache in the chest. The same cloudy vision. Despite Richard’s accident, the rocks that killed him were never replaced. They still wait at the bottom - calling out invitations, just as they used to when he was younger. Invitations louder than his friends could have ever been. Louder than his own inner voice could ever be. Over and over, as if he’s gone back in time, he imagines himself falling over the rail. If he shuts his eyes, he can see it better. If he falls the right way, there’s no chance of surviving - Richard’s story is living ( or dying ) proof. It’s the same tug - the same longing. The same mental image playing over and over, a sickening cracking sound in the back of his mind, hopefully the last thing he might hear if he’d ever worked up the courage. Casey lets out a deep breath, lowers his head into his arms and shuts his eyes. A call to his therapist looms over his head, but he can’t pick up the phone. The crippling fear of help is oddly nostalgic too. 0 Comments

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