It was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning waking on the crummy brown leather couch. The smell may have woken her up before the sun, the mix of body odor, rotten food, and beer sour in the air. Sitting up, memories of the previous night had her face in flame as she quickly looked to her left, grabbing her shirt that had been discarded on the floor the night before. She was careful not to wake the body next to her while she slipped the shirt over her head. She stared at the shirtless figure next to her, facing the other direction, snoring loudly.
Blonde hair, pale skin. Was it…Michael?...Max?... Something with an 'M', for sure.
The three-bedroom house held none of its charm or humor in the daylight. The floor was sticky as she sat up with bleary eyes, cursing the terrible taste in her mouth. Looking around, she noticed she was the first one awake in the room full of about six or seven other people lying about on the floor and couch. The tables were still littered with trash- sticky red cups, cigarette butts, food wrappers, moldy dishes…
A typical rental of a few college junior guys.
Praying to leave the scene without being noticed, she quickly smoothed her hair back, ignoring the pounding headache behind her eyes. She stood, thanking God that her pants were nearby. Slipping them on carefully, she tiptoed through the passed out crowd out the front door, grabbing her shoes as she went.
The cool morning air was a welcome, clean sensation as she began walking down the street barefoot. She hadn't driven the night before, but had walked with a few of the guy friends currently passed out in the house left behind her. In the same clothes she wore the night before, barefoot, makeup dirty and smeared on her face, smelling of cigarettes and booze, she trekked the five blocks back to her dorm with only one phrase on her tongue.
Walk of shame.
Luckily not too many people were out so early, and she managed to reach her dorm room without interaction. After discarding her clothes and a long shower, she flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Laying an arm across her eyes, she hiccupped softly, the tears pooling wet around her ears.
Wasn't all of this supposed to be fun?
Why wasn't any of this fun? What was she looking for?
She needed to feel normal. She wanted to feel like… herself again.
Would things ever be normal again?
What is normal, anyway?
She laughed, thinking of her version of normal.
The thought brought up a deep sadness, and the uncomfortable feeling of homesickness radiated in her stomach.
Sitting up, she reached on her dresser to grab her phone. Unlocking it, she touched the 'H' icon on her home screen. She cleared her voice and wiped her nose, putting the phone up to her ear.
"H-Hello?"
"Hey Morty! It's Summer!" she replied in a cheery tone.
"O-Oh hey, Summer! What's, how's it going?"
"Not much, I was, umm… thinking about coming home today for a visit. Is… is anyone home?"
"A visit? W-We're actually just getting ready to leave. Little cousin Ricky is here, and we're taking him to see a movie!"
Summer stood, her brow furrowed.
"Ricky? I didn't know he was visiting… is Sam there too?"
"N-No, just Ricky. Rick just showed up with him, s-said Sam needed some time off, o-or something."
Summer was silent as she absorbed Morty's words. The breakup a couple months ago had been tough on Sam, but he was a really devoted father. He never seemed the type to 'need a break' from their kid…
"S-Summer? D-Did you need something?"
Morty's stutter disrupted her thoughts as she gave a hollow laugh.
"No! Sorry, Morty… tell mom and dad I said hi."
Christ, the place hadn't changed one bit. Even after all these years, the old damp, dark trailer park looked completely frozen in time. Broken down, torn apart trucks in the yard littered with beer bottles, trash, and three or four pit bills tied to a nearby tree. The sun was falling fast, and Sam walked a bit quicker passed the dogs up the dirt pathway to the decrepit porch. He steps to avoid a hole in the moldy wood.
Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the thin white door. He heard a few more dogs barking inside, making him even more tense. He swallowed, hands in his pockets. The ringing in his ears started as a low grumble at first. His hands are trembling as he shakes his head.
Open the door.
Open the door.
Open the fucking door, Sam.
Sam jumps as the door flies open before he can touch it.
A very large, dark-haired man in a stained white t-shirt appears in the frame, shouting back inside.
"Shut the FUCK UP, already! Goddam dogs…" The man turns to walk outside, and a look of surprise wipes across his greasy face, quickly turning smug.
"Well, fuck, if it isn't pretty boy Sanchez. Haven't seen you around in quite some time, kid."
Sam feels his stomach heave. But he pushes it down, looking anywhere but at the man's face.
"Y-Yeah, Chuck, it's been… awhile." Sam replies. He feels frozen.
"Hah, well, suuure good to see you kid. Come on inside!"
Sam feels every inch of his skin burn as the man grabs him by the shoulders, ushering him inside.
The inside looks exactly as Sam remembers. The tiny round table in the disgusting, smelly kitchen. The dark walls with the smell of cheap vodka. The red lamp with the grey lampshade next to the plaid couch.
That fucking plaid couch.
"Well, have a seat, Sanchez." The man grunts, gesturing to the couch.
"N-No thanks, I think I-I'll stand." Sam mutters, hands still in his pockets.
"What the fuck ever, suit yourself." He replies, plopping down on the couch. Chuck reaches underneath the coffee table to pull old an old Christmas tree-shaped tin.
"What are you looking for?"
"H-Half an ounce."
Mike tosses the small bag of white powder towards him. Sam catches it, gazes at it into the light.
Christ, it's been so long since he's had a bump.
He doesn't notice when Chuck stands, walking towards him. Sam is jolted by Mike's booming voice, nearly dropping the bag.
"So, kid… What's payment gonna be this time?"
Sam feels sick as he sees Chuck give him a once over. Quickly he pulls out a wad of bills.
"Cash." Sam replies coldly, extending his hand with the money.
"Suit yourself. But, you know…" Chuck purrs. He pretends to reach for the cash, but instead quickly grabs Sam by the wrist holding the money. He yanks Sam a bit off balance, the pressure building around his grip.
"I could always just fuck that pretty mouth of yours again. Just like old times when you were around, yeah?"
He grins, and Sam shoves him away.
"Fuck off, Chuck. T-Take the cash, or, or…" Sam growls, taking a step backwards. Chuck laughs, a deep and low, terrible laugh.
"Or you'll what? Find another dealer? Not take the blow? You don't have the connections you used to."
The fight or flight reflex is making Sam's heart pound in his chest. Chuck is a pretty big guy, but he's slow. It wouldn't be the first time he's punched this particular asshole. A good right hook might send this whole situation to a halt. Or send it spiraling out of control. Either of which Sam wasn't prepared for. He sighs, shoulders falling.
"L-Look… you want the cash, or not? I-I'm not up to other forms of payment anymore."
Chuck laughs, taking a step forward. He slaps Sam on the back in a hug, taking the cash from his hands.
"Get the fuck outta here, kid. Maybe next time, then."
The drive home is foggy.
Parking the car, Sam glances in the rearview. He disturbed when he looks back to find he's been sitting in the parking lot for over twenty minutes.
His body feels as if it's on autopilot as he walks up the stairs, unlocking the door from muscle memory. The apartment is darker than he remembers, the living room wall a deep, disturbing purple. The color was wickedly comical, and Sam rushes by without making eye contact. He turns on the overhead light and it disappears, returning back to the calming light blue.
Reaching into his pocket, he tosses the small white bag across the room.
Was it moving?
They're laughing at him.
Calling him weak.
Calling him useless.'
What? You think you're actually not going to do it?
Who in the fuck are you trying to kid?
It's just us here.
Just do it.
"F-Fucking, Christ…"
Sam staggers to the kitchen, his hands scratching for purchase against the smooth granite. He opens the top cabinet to pull out a green can of coffee. Tearing off the lid, Sam stops when the smell hits him. The cruel imitation of warmth, laced with a sour undertone. Another farce of life in the dark.
The anger boils up too quickly to contain, and Sam hurls the open can towards the wall. It's a brilliant display of dark fireworks as Sam stands in the kitchen, seething.
"It's a f-fucking, FAKE! A God, God damn, FAKE!" he roars.
You're the fake.
You're the FAKE.
YOU ARE THE FAKE.
"I-I can't even, even have any fucking coffee."
You are so worthless.
A knock on the door has Sam jumping back into reality. He stares at the door from across the living room, willing it to knock just one more time. Something, anything to pull him back. Sam holds his breath, waiting.
Releasing a shaky sigh with the second knock, Sam runs a hand through his hair before rushing to the door. His eyes go wide as his mouth gapes, staring down at the girl in front of him.
"S-Summer? Wh-What are you doing here?"
Summer huffs playfully, hands on her hips.
" 'What are you doing here'? Come on, I don't need a reason to see my faaavorite Uncle!" Summer exclaims. Sam cocks an eyebrow, but steps aside. He watches her anxiously as she looks around the apartment. Sam's gut clenches as she walks towards the kitchen, passed the couch.
"What the hell happened?" Summer asks, swishing around the coffee grounds with her foot. Sam closes the door, leaning on it with arms crossed.
"Y-Yeah, just uhh… an accident." He mutters. He wills himself to stop, STOP LOOKING underneath the couch. This is too fucking close. Summer hums in response, entranced by the patterns and shapes she's making out of the coffee grounds.
"N-Not that, that I-I don't care about my niece, but… what the fuck are you actually doing here, Summer?"
Summer looks up with a sigh. She slings the backpack from her shoulder onto the couch, sitting down.
Sam's heart nearly stops. But he doesn't look down.
"Things are just… tough at school right now, Sam. And the family has been weird lately… I mean like, weirder than normal, I guess…"
Summer scratches her shoulder, looking self-conscious. She looks up at Sam, still frozen in front of the door. His body language is clear enough, and she stands.
"Listen, Sam, I'm sorry… I shouldn't have come here like this."
Grabbing her bag, she jumps when she looks up to see Sam taking hold of her bag in his hands.
"No, Summer, i-it's… it's ok. Y-You can stay as long as you like." Sam smiles a brilliant smile, and Summer beams.
"You mean it?! I mean, I won't over stay my welcome, of course!"
"Of course, I-I… could use the company." Sam replies, pushing her towards the hallway.
"Y-You can use the guest room down the hall. Last one on the right."
Summer stops and turns, smiling at Sam with genuine admiration.
"Thanks, Sam…"
Sam watches her disappear into the room, and he makes a beeline back into the living room, his heart pounded painfully fast. Sitting on the couch, he kicks the bag further back into the darkness.
You're such a fucking loser.
