My go-to response to a statement like that is to get offended, defend myself, and probably say something shitty. Josh is my brother and probably the only person in the fucking world who actually gives a shit about me. So I bite my tongue.
“You know I don’t believe that nothing happened,” Josh goes on. “You take a girl home and nothing happens…” He arches his eyebrows and shakes his head. “You two looked pretty cozy this morning.”
“I am serious,” I say with a laugh. “She was pretty far gone, so I took her upstairs to lay down with the intention of taking her home later. She passed out until this morning.”
“So noble.”
“Shut up.”
Josh snickers. “You like her.”
“She’s all right.”
“Just all right. Sure.”
“She’s hot,” I admit and press the sides in on my can. “I’d fuck her if I had the chance.”
Josh raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you have the chance last night?”
I did have the chance and it would have been easy to put the moves on Sierra and have her begging for more. But I didn’t. And it didn’t even cross my mind.
“She was wasted.”
“You do like her.”
“Not like that.”
Josh’s face turns serious. “Why would liking someone ‘like that’ be a bad thing?”
I take a drink, buying myself a few extra seconds. I don’t get emotionally involved because I don’t want another human being to impact my happiness. Giving a person that kind of control is the dumbest thing we can do. I don’t depend on anyone. Never have. Never will.
“Like you said before, we’re different people.”
Smarter than he lets on, Josh just nods, not buying it for a second. “Thanks again for helping this morning.” He finishes his drink and gets up, stretching his arms above his head. “I need to get home to watch Dakota before Melissa has to leave for work. See you tonight.”
Once Josh leaves, I go upstairs and crash in my bed. Sierra’s sweet floral perfume clings to the sheets, and the scent calms me and turns me on at the same time. I toss and turn for half an hour before giving up. I grab my phone and go right to the voicemail.
I stare at the unheard messages, heart lurching at the thought of hearing her voice again. I should have told her. Confessed it all and gotten it over with. She might not have wanted to see me again, and I didn’t want to risk that. Because I do have feelings for Sierra.
I press play on the next voicemail and a rush of adrenaline goes through me. My heart swells in my chest at the same time. I close my eyes and bring the phone to my ear. No one has ever made me feel this much.
“I dreamed that I died,” Sierra starts, voice flat and void of emotion, “and when I woke up, I was disappointed. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to live but I feel guilty for wanting that. I try to think what you would say, but if you were here to give me advice, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I know what’s right isn’t easy, and what’s easy isn’t always right. But right now…right now I feel like I have nothing left inside of me.”
Her words hurt and I feel a maddening desperation to make everything better. I play the next messages, pulse racing. Eventually, I’ll get to a message where she says she’s okay. That’s she’s moved on and is enjoying her life again.
But—fuck—I know she’s still struggling. Still hurting. And I hate it.
“Your voicemail changed,” she starts, and this time she’s trying not to cry. “I knew it would happen, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. It still feels familiar to dial your number though.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I went to the hardware store and got stuff to work on the garden today. I drew out a plot of how I want it to look and everything. Now I just need the motivation to actually do it.”
Lacking all self-control, I play the next message. “Mrs. Williams fell today. She sprained her wrist and is all bruised up, but she’ll be okay. Her son called me from the hospital. I wanted to go, but the thought of walking through those doors…I haven’t been there since…since…and I couldn’t do it. I feel bad. She said she understood though. And I’m working the rest of the week so she doesn’t have to come in.”
I exit out of my voicemail and open the internet, doing a search for this Jake guy. It’s a bad idea, and I’m well aware. It takes a few keyword changes to get his obituary and an article about the accident pulled up. Jake McLeland died from complications of an accident when a truck failed to yield and struck the driver’s side of his Jeep. He was taken to Mercy Hospital and died from his injuries several hours later. No wonder Sierra can’t go to the same hospital. She must have been there with him.
From what I can tell from the article on the accident, he was alone in the car and on his way home. His way home to Sierra. According to his obituary, he was doing his residency at another hospital, lived here in Summer Hill with Sierra, and was from a nearby town. A list of his accomplishments follows, and Jake was a model fucking citizen, not counting the fact he was on his way to becoming a doctor.
He went overseas and volunteered his time and medical skills to children in Africa. He led activities with the Boy Scout Troop he was part of as a child. Worked at a free clinic in a poverty-stricken town in the bayou.
There’s no fucking way Sierra would go for me. Not that it matters. Because it doesn’t.
I stop by the river, slowing so I can catch my breath. I’m not a morning person, but going for a run this early was nice. Not as hot. Though standing here in the sun I can feel the heat.
I followed the deer path this time and found another direction to follow instead of going along the Belmont’s field. I’m back at The Mill House now, looking at the rushing water that Sierra and I sat by last night. The river is about ten feet wide here and takes a slow curve wrapping around the brick building. The old wooden wheel that used to roll in place from the current of the water is rotting at the bottom, and I can’t help but think it’s a shame something so historic has been left to just rot away.
The surface of the water is a good foot and a half below where it was back when the mill was working, and the erosion along the bank leaves tree roots exposed, dry and hanging over the water, like hair on corpses. I pick up a hard lump of dirt and chuck it into the water. It breaks apart as it hits, sinking down and becoming mud. I sigh and go into the apartment to shower.
Exhaustion hits me once I’m out, so I eat and lay on the couch. It’s only nine in the morning, and already the sun coming through the large window is heating up the room. I strip to my boxers and flip through Netflix, and eventually fall asleep.
Four hours later, I wake, startled by a dream. I don’t dream often. Or if I do, I don’t remember them. The dream started well, with Sierra back in my bed and this time I was next to her. She was naked and her perfect tits pushed up against me as we kissed. I moved on top of her, ready to fuck, and suddenly I was inside a casket buried deep in the ground, yet was still able to see what was going on above me.
Nothing.
People carried on with their lives. No one missed me. No one even noticed I was gone. Sierra stood on top of the grave, crying, and her tears penetrated the earth and dripped inside the casket. I thought she was crying for me, but then I realized I was inside Jake’s grave.