Page 164 of Toxic Wishes

Font Size:

Page 164 of Toxic Wishes

“What did she give you to do this? You know she’s strapped for money just like you, so she’s not like your rich women who give you handouts. Abigail is struggling to get by herself. And she’s too stubborn to ask for help, unlike some people.” I insinuate.

My dad’s shoulder deflates a little, scrunching over, and for the first time, a sliver of guilt sets in from my remark only because I can see he is trying.

“Nothing. Absolutely Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.” I deadpan.

“Is it hard to think, maybe I’ve changed?” He retorts.

“People like you don’t change dad.” I look at the woman he had on his arm who’s now sitting in one of the chairs by the elevator doors, taking selfies on her phone as she shows off her fake boobs in her low-cut dress.

“Maybe you don’t know everything, son.”

I clenched my teeth as the words son came out of his mouth. I wanted to correct him and tell him we both knew I was just the product of him donating his sperm, but I was already tired of this conversation.

I raked a hand through my hair. “Apparently not, since I had no idea about your generous heart and Bodie. Thanks for telling me now. Does everyone forget how I’m the father? Just because I’m on the road doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know what is happening with my son.”

“I know, I know. Bodie loves the guitar, but I wanted you to know that those words Blake wrote were true to his words in the album. I didn't want to change anything, and neither did Abigail. We wanted to keep the lyrics as close to the original as possible.”

The truth was that I did listen to the album, and it was tough enough to hear the song he wrote about Brothers from Other Mothers. At first, I thought it would be a funny song. It was full of witty lines and sarcastic remarks, but it turned out to be a song about us. How he wished we could be brothers in another life since we weren’t that great of ones in real life, on earth. But I hadn’t listened to the whole journal CD. That’s what Abigail called it anyway, and something was telling me I needed to before I lost Abigail for good.

53

Blake

“When we listen to music we are not listening to the past, we are not listening to the future, we are listening to an expanded present.” — Alan Watts

So I wanted to talk about my brother. Especially since I just finished making a song about him, and he’s fresh on my mind. I wouldn't be in here if it weren’t for him this time. My mom is dead, and my dad is dead-broke, and we all know these places love to suck you dry of your money. It’s almost a fucked up thing when you think about it.

Hey, you’ll die if you don’t pay money to get clean, but on the other hand, if you can’t do it on your own, then you’ll die, too. The Basketball Diaries all over again.

I hated my brother in the sense you hated your vegetables growing up. You know they’re good for you, but you don’t want to eat them because you’re unable to stomach the taste. In other words, I hate him for the wrong reasons. He cared. He cared almost too much, giving me hope that I’d get through this that I won’t ever relapse again. And in a weird fucked up way, I liked his control-freak ways, especially when it came to me. I knew I had my daddy issues, but also my mommy issues since my mom died when I was so young. So the way he liked to control every little thing, down to the fucking macros he ate for the day, made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I would never tell him that, but it was the truth. And this is my confession, so I can say what the fuck I want on here.

What else? Oh, he’s an asshole. I know he’s dating that Martha Stewart slash Jessica Simpson wanna-be to fill in for a mother role. I know because now that he told me once they get their big fucking mansion, I’ll be living with them. His fiance is already decorating all our rooms, including mine. I told her not to worry, but she thought I was crying out for help when I meant what I said. Leave my shit alone. But then again, we are talking about a girl who thinks domestic bliss is wearing matching shirts for every damn picture that’s taken for the tabloids or just for damn selfies.

Dude, you’re about to go to the NFL. You can do better. Maybe get a girl that has more than half a brain. Big tits don’t make up for it. I know you’re about to have a kid with her, but for the love of God, don’t marry the woman. If you do that, you might as well tie your hands and feet together and be thrown off a cliff. I’m not sure how you came to your senses so late, but maybe you should take my advice and get a real chick. One that would be there for you even on your darkest days. Kind of like my friend Abigail. I never told you about her since you're too busy being a pro athlete and playing the perfect fiancé role now, but she’s one of the best people I know. I think the only good person I know. She’s pretty tough and strong. She doesn’t think she is, but she’s strong as shit. Even stronger than you, mentally anyway. She has assholes for family members, too, so she had to be. Still, my point is, that’s the type of girl you need behind you, not some fake-ass blonde joker that’s always smiling even when the world is coming to an end because she would be the type to laugh hysterically when a giant Metroid is coming to the earth and about to kill half the population.

Speaking of death, if I do manage to make it to thirty, then it’s a miracle, but if I’m gone before then, I want you to finish the pact I couldn’t. Find your way to her. She’s worth the wait; she’s worth the struggle. She’s worth a thousand wishes and more.

I guess this is the part I need to wrap up and end this by saying something nice. You know, the whole 12 steps bullshit. So here it goes.

Thanks for putting me in here and paying for it all. It’s the only place I feel like I can trust myself. Since I have no access to drugs, I think I could have handled being under your care after mom died and I found out dad was a loser if you acted like you wanted to spend even a little time with me over football. I know football is your life, but come on. And I know we got handed a bad start since it literally started with shit, but that’s what we could have bonded over. The fact we were Killian men. Our dad was a hoe, and if we are lucky, we will only fuck up half as much as him in our lifetime. That kind of shit.

I don’t know. If that had happened, maybe it would have felt like I had a family who cared, and I wasn’t doing this alone and fighting this shit by myself. That is why I wrote a whole song about what having a brother in another life would be like. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait that long for it to happen in the next one.

What else? Oh, my psychologist told me it's therapeutic to give and receive hugs, but since I can’t do the latter, I thought I’d admit I idolize you. In a way, I also…. love you, Colt.

54

Abigail

“Music is powerful. As people listen to it, they can be affected. They respond.” — Ray Charles

“This hotel is off the charts. My dad would even be impressed,” Mel says as she rolls in her suitcase. I had already met her downstairs, and she insisted on doing a little tour before coming to my room.

“You’re only here for two nights. Did you really need to bring that much luggage?” Josh says as I continue to apply my makeup.

“Do you not know me?”




Top Books !
More Top Books

Treanding Books !
More Treanding Books