Puke the bad news out later.
Spit anger with vomit onto the floor.
Punch the walls that won’t bear a trace of it tomorrow.
For some time, I stand by the window that overlooks the deck and infinity pool and stare at the darkness ahead, the yacht lights, and farther into the blackness.
There’s an entire world beyond this island. A world full of pain but also happiness. And not a single person out there that I can share the grief with.
Is it grief I feel? I’m not sure. Not yet. I try not to lose my shit. I know how to control my emotions.
I know.
I know how.
I know how to deal with things.
But the word seems out of place.
Twelve years ago, when Mom and Adam died, I remember roaring, crying, and lashing out at Dad, who brought the news, like it was his fault.
Now all I feel is emptiness.
The whole world is gonna try to reach out to me with their insincere condolences, more concerned for Gen-Alpha than anything else. My father was the core of it all. No one is irreplaceable—hiswords—but tomorrow is going to be a transformation. People are less concerned with his death than with extra inconvenience because of it.
Sad, really.
Do I want to deal with it? No.
Sadness doesn’t make sense. Shock, maybe, confusion. We spent so little time together in the past years that I’ve always felt alone.Thisalone doesn’t feel the same, and I try to analyze it.
Being alone is a different kind of pain. It’s transcendent. Bishop once told me it makes you stronger. It takes all the feelings you would share with others and projects them into yourself.
Feeling alone when you are surrounded by others though adds extra grit.
I’m not sure I want to feel strong. It’s exhausting. I wonder what it’s like to be old, really old when you’ve lost every single loved one, dear friends, family, even people who are younger than you.
How is that not hell?
I don’t want to grow old.
Who wants that burden?
The sudden sound of an explosion and sharp whistling in the distance outside jerks my attention to the window.
Fireworks.
Another one shoots in the air, and I chuckle and can’t stop as I feel my eyes burn.
Fucking fireworks!
It’s one of the worst nights of my life, and there is a celebration.
Hoorah!
I lean forward and press my forehead to the cool window.
It’s a crazy thought, but I take the phone out of my pocket. There are fifteen missed calls and twenty-five messages. But I go to the phone directory and dial Dad.