Finding the Pure Note

Walking a Broken Path

So you're probably wondering what happened that night after I left home. Sean didn't live at his parent's home; he rented a flat close to the city. It's a fair drive, but I had nowhere else to go. Supposing Fletcher was back home now, I know he wouldn't take me in. Forget our marital woes, (that's a joke, by the way) dude's such a reasonable douchebag he'd order me to go right home and apologise. I don't need that kind of useless feedback tonight of all nights, thanks.

I c... I can't look at him after everything I've done. I'm no good for him. He sent me some texts asking what was going on with me. I felt so fucking pissed. After he dodged me... I ignored him, even blocked him. Not a permanent affair but I need the space. I don't let the heartbreak consume me. I let the drugs do that.

I sent a text Sean's way, but even if I rocked up unannounced I know he'd be cool with it. There are different levels of neutrality in people, a cool meter, if you will. There's one extreme: Fletcher. Then the stoner's bliss levels of calm I know as Sean. He never raises his voice, never takes any of this shit seriously. I know he has my back.

I crashed on his couch and texted Andrew a bunch of dirty things, just shy of dick pics. But when he told me he wanted to ram me into the wall, I groaned just a little. It's fucking rough and we don't talk sweet. I don't know if I prefer a quick fuck from Andrew or the long-game with Fletch. The long game just fucks you over. I can't hold him longer than a week, clearly. I...

I'll mourn over—and continue to mourn over that at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, tequila. You name the poison. Then I'll take that next high. I don't know who I am anymore, just some guy who won't slow down. I guess it's a good suit to don.

That first night at Sean's, I said goodbye to the old Clay, the weak Clay. I didn't know the guy. It's easy to erase the broken panes of glass you left on the floor when you stop worrying for one goddamn second and just await that next high, and bit by bit all the insecurities chip away, paint particles lost to the wind.

I said goodbye by clearing all the messages and missed calls from my history, mostly mum. But there was a long-ass paragraph from Chelsea thrown in. Gone. I start a new man tomorrow, so I have to kill everything. Everything.

I drift off in the perfect blackness of Sean's living room, my back stiff against a crappy couch with some springs loose, but my mind clear. I'm calling the shots from here on out. I choose sweet freedom.

******

This life where I call the shots? That meant not giving two shits about mum's plan, about conforming to everyone else's standards of how I should throw myself headfirst into a life I never asked for. Fuck uni, and fuck everyone that holds me back by expecting the world of me. Homework, assignments... expectations... poof. They didn't matter.

More and more days I spent in detention. I was threatened with a suspension twice, but nothing had come of it yet. The teachers... the school, they don't know how to deal with me. I'm a special case. By all accounts, mum should have been contacted; we'd have to go in together to talk shit out, and then I'd get a stern talking to, mum would scream. 'Cept none of that applies.

Mum can't get hold of me, and I won't give in to their hollow threats. I'll ride the line as far as this baby goes. They can throw all the homework and detentions my way. The teachers and coordinators can issue all the threats they want. I'm not scared of any of this shit. It means nothing. I've grown up, man. Sorry I don't feel intimidated by your rules, that I see through the crap and can make my own damn decisions. Let them be afraid of me. Let them remain stuck in this weird limbo, wondering how the fuck to deal with a dangerous entity like me. The old Clay is gone. This new persona gives me strength, puts an edge to my smirk.