Page 4 of Meet Cute

“It’s fine,” I lie with a yawn.

“It’s not.” She’s doing that thing where she tries to be polite despite the fact she really doesn’t want to be. I love that she cares but I really don’t wanna talk about it right now. “But it’s late there, right? You should get some sleep.”

I shrug even though she can’t see it. “Yeah, I guess. Talk to you later.”

She says bye and then hangs up, leaving me alone in the silence of my bedroom. If I had the energy I’d put something on the TV so it’s not totally silent, but it’s not worth it—nothing is right now.

My stomach hurts. I could barely sleep well before everything happened, but how could I possibly sleep now? When I close my eyes all I can see is the disgust in theirs. The horror. The grim reality that my life is never going to be the same.

Maybe I’m just being melodramatic. Things might be okay. At least now I can be who I want to be. But who do I want to be? What do I want with my life? Everything seems so hazy right now—like things never mattered and won’t ever matter again.

When I wake up the next morning I’m not nearly as rested as I want to be. My eyes are heavy, my throat is sore, and the room is cold. I don’t dare look at the photos on my nightstand, the happy expressions would be a little too much to handle right now.

Shambling over to the bathroom like a zombie, I don’t bother washing my face. I simply brush my teeth, feed my cat, and leave without even sparing my pathetic self so much as a glance.

Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt.

My phone vibrates while being lost somewhere in the sheets of my bed. What if it's my parents? My cousins? Anyone? With a hollow stomach I grab it and watch as the screen lights up.

Not only is it not the morning, it's nearly six in the evening already. My wallpaper—a picture of my childhood dog—is the last thing I need to see right now. Fuck, the universe must really want me to be miserable.

Haley

dunk!! how are you feeling? u awake?

i feel a bit better. thx for being here

It’s a lie. I don’t feel better at all. But Haley has her own life and doesn’t need to have her day ruined thanks to me. I’m a grown man, I can manage perfectly fine on my own.

She replies but I don’t bother reading it. Even though deep down I know it’s probably not a good idea, I just wanna drive. Drive until everything is quiet and I can’t hear my own thoughts anymore.

As unsafe and stupid as it is I don’t hesitate to climb into my car and set off. I want to go back to that gas station, and I can’t even be sure why. The gas discount is whatever. It was nice to make a positive difference in somebody’s life, even if it was some slightly off-putting cashier.

I doubt he’s any harm. He paints me as the type of guy who doesn’t have a lot of friends, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Growing up without many friends sorta fucked me up too, I just do a better job at hiding it.

Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t do shit better and it’s all in my head. What is even real at this point? If I can’t rely on my own flesh and blood, what can I rely on? There’s this overwhelming urge to fucking wrap my car around a tree and put an end to this miserable life.

But I won’t do that. It hurts now, but I have to believe things will get better—even if deep down I know they won’t. How do things ever “get better” in a situation like this? My head aches merely thinking about it.

Similarly to yesterday, the tiny white gas station stands alone amidst the trees and tiny flurries of snow. It’s in surprisingly good shape, with perfect streaks of blue paint and well-maintained pumps.

It really does stand out so vibrantly in the dark. Even as the baby blue sky begins turning into a dark lilac, it’s not scary to be out here at all—which is funny because it’s so far away from home.

I must be really stupid to come all the way out here over a boy. I can’t say that intelligence was ever a strong suit of mine, though. There’s almost a sense of comfort in the little jingle that plays when I walk through the sliding glass doors.

At first I don’t recognize the cashier standing at the counter. Not once did I stop to think that maybe Finn isn’t even scheduled today. But then the staff door swings open, and even with his head facing the ground and a baseball cap on I know it’s him.

“You’re late, Murphy.” Finn’s coworker glares at him, swiping his work hat from under the counter and rolling his eyes. “Let’s not make this a habit, please.”

“I-I know! Sorry!”

He must just be starting his shift, since he takes off his fleece sweater and slips it into a cubby. The other cashier leaves, and a sleepy Finn stares tiredly at the lotto tickets resting behind a thick layer of glass.

Why am I nervous? I take a grand total of two steps before my stomach starts to hurt. Is this a mistake? What if he thinks I’m some weird creepy stalker? Should I leave now before he notices me?

“Duncan?” His voice makes my head snap up to find him eyeing me with curiosity and a smidge of disbelief. “You… came back?”

Why do I feel so sheepish? “Uh, yeah. Hi.”