Page 64 of Changing Lanes

But the thought of big, bad Beckett leaning over me, gingerly spreading medicine across my face fills me with a deep longing. A yearning to be seen, to be fawned over, to matter.

Fuck.

Another glance at the nightlight across the room and my gaze gets stuck there until my vision blurs all over again.

Grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the drink cart—I’ve had a craving since the first time I washed my hands here—I rip the front door open and walk outside, bare feet and all.

The pool is empty, as it should be in the middle of the night, so I cop a squat at the edge, not bothering with discretion. The cap is unscrewed and tossed over my shoulder in the next breath. The burn is swift. The flavor is shit. What was I thinking? Jack is never a good idea. I learned that the hard way on my eighteenth birthday.

I take another pull off the bottle, barely managing it without needing to plug my nose. It’s nasty, but a couple more swigs and I can’t even taste it anymore.

Unfolding my legs, I dip my feet into the water. First the toes, followed by the soles, then both feet. My jeans skim the surface and I watch, mesmerized, as the water climbs up the material. The rapid progression is almost overwhelming. How does one drop spread so quickly in such a short amount of time? And so blindly, too? There’s nothing the water won’t reach once it has an opening.

Another gulp of Jack and I dunk my ankles. The wetness climbs higher and higher as my legs sag lower and lower. Soon the water will swallow me whole.

Soon the water will swallow me whole.

Mouth on the bottle, scooting to the lip of the pool, I drop my calves into the biting water. The balmy night air isn’t enough to stave off the cold sensation and my soon-to-be saturated jeans aren’t helping either. Luckily, the alcohol makes everything warm so I tip the bottle to my lips again, dropping my head between my shoulders to get a good amount down my throat in one go.

An outdoor lamp flickers above my head and I can’t help but think it might be its last night in this world, struggling to shine at half power. In fact, it could blink out right now. The bulb could just fade into darkness, never to be seen again, and how many people would care? How long until someone would even notice? Until they realize it was struggling to continue on this whole time? That it tried its best to glow bright for everybody else until it just couldn’t anymore?

I place the bottle beside me and close my eyes against the sudden rush of tears.

It wouldn’t even matter. Not really. Things get taken for granted every day. People get taken for granted every day. In the end, it’d just be one more loss in an infinite sea of loss. A single drop.

Opening my eyes, I blow out a stream of air then press both hands on either side of me, lifting my ass off the concrete, but just as I prepare to slide into the water, a second light catches my eye. This one from my apartment.

It was pitch black when I left.

Except for that nightlight Beckett plugged in…for me.

I release myself back onto the concrete with a humph and feel for the bottle next to me, still gazing up at the sliding door of my back balcony.

Who’s up? And what are they looking for?

Another nip from my illusive friend, Jack, before I slowly tug my legs up one-by-one. I haul both water-logged limbs out of the pool before attempting to stand. The first couple tries end in sloshing. Copious amounts of sloshing. Everywhere.

I finally get it and can stand somewhat straight—the pants really are heavy—while I eye the pool one last time before returning upstairs.

The stairs prove to be another challenge but the handrail helps. A lot. I probably won’t even need a workout for at least two or three months after this.

By the time I reach the top, I’ve lost all feeling in them but I’m almost positive they look amazing—all veiny lumps of muscle.

Eww.

Standing in front of apartment B-26’s door, I blow at a stray hair that escaped my messy bun, only remembering my lubricated forehead when the piece doesn’t move.

Discovering the bottle in my hold is completely empty only worsens finding Marc’s scowling face on the other side of the door once I push it open with more force than necessary.

See? Muscles.

“You’re getting water everywhere,” he points out matter-of-factly.

“What’s you doing?” That’s not right. “I mean, what are you doing?” Better.

His frown dips lower like the emoji and I cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

“What’s wrong with you?”