Blindness(104)

I’ve practically lived at the office, working with the drafting team on 3-D renderings and models for hours at a time. I’ve learned so much, and every day I spend there makes my decision to stay here feel more right. I let Jessie come up during lunch one day, so she could get a sneak preview of everything, and ever since then, she’s been after me to show Cody.

I plan to. But I think I’ve been putting it off because I don’t want Cody to come back to me just because of some drawings or some big gesture I made—even though he’s really the reason I ever tried at all. I want him to want me, over everything. And I know it’s selfish as hell, but I’ve already tried being in love for someone else’s sake, and I lost a piece of myself going down that road. I won’t do it again.

“You pissed her off, you know?” Gabe says, bringing in the last of the plates from tonight’s feast.

“Yeah, but she’ll get over it,” I say, smirking at him.

“Yeah, she will…” Gabe says, leaning on the counter and folding his arms, watching me finish. “So tomorrow’s New Year’s. I don’t suppose we could talk you into coming over for our party?”

“Nope,” I say, not even looking his direction. I’ve gotten fast in this response, and it’s the easiest way to deal with this question. Cody will be here. They haven’t said so either way, but somehow I know he will. They throw this party every year, and all of their friends in the area from the pits and the tour come.

“Yeah, I kinda thought you’d say that…again,” Gabe nudges my shoulder, teasing me. “But…you change your mind? You’re always welcome—anytime. You know that, right?”

I dry the last dish and take a deep breath before turning to face him, and I want to hug him instantly when I see the sincerity in his eyes. “I know it,” I smile and lean my cheek sideways into his arm. He wraps it around me softly, kissing the top of my head.

“He might not be there, you know. He’s been working a lot at the shop in Warren,” Gabe says. I just shrug, mostly because it still hurts to think about Cody. I haven’t seen him since our fight, and I can’t bring myself to call or text. I know he’d be excited to see his dad’s shop replicated in my project, and I’ll show him when the time is right. Or I’ll let Gabe show him. Or maybe I’ll just let him find out on his own.

I’m pathetic.

All I have are bits and pieces, a hazy sketch into Cody’s life. I know he’s living with friends a few miles away, and he’s working at one of the commercial mechanics with Gabe, just trying to earn some cash. Gabe says he’s stopped rehabbing, and his leg is hurting all the time. But Cody won’t take anything for it; he doesn’t believe in numbing pain. Gabe says it has a lot to do with the neighborhood they grew up in—the drugs and overdoses they saw. Cody has a fear of addiction, and helping Gabe overcome his made it all too real. But I wish he’d just give in a little, listen to a doctor and ease his suffering, because I know he won’t rest.

He’s also stopped riding his bike, and I overheard Gabe talking to a friend about Cody selling it. I don’t like him riding, because I don’t believe he knows the line between joy and recklessness. But the thought of him giving up completely seems worse somehow, and I think I’d rather risk him doing something stupid on two wheels over him disowning his passion and abandoning his craving for adventure. I don’t want him to lose himself…like I did.

I leave Gabe and Jessie’s house with my small bag of leftovers, and I tuck them in my fridge at home to take with me for lunch the next day. I kick off my clothes and turn the heat up as high as it will go before I crawl into bed—my apartment never feels warm, because of the concrete floors and bare walls. My fingers instantly find the thin thermal shirt tucked under my pillow, and I pull it close to my body. The smell has faded, but if I breathe it in deeply enough, I can still find it. Cody lent it to me to keep warm in Louisville, and I never gave it back—like I knew I would need it somehow.

Just like I have every night since I left the shop, I clutch it to my chest and push my face into the collar, forcing my eyes closed, compelling myself to remember his eyes, his smile—his hands on me while I sleep. Of course, my eyes immediately reopen, and I’m left with nothing but the what ifs.

What if I told him about Jim right away? What if I never left Trevor? What if I never see him again?

The clock passes time slowly at night, and I think it’s my penance.





Sleep is a fantasy lately. I’m lucky to squeeze in two hours in a row on any given stretch. Somehow, though, I’ve managed to function during the hours I’ve been putting in on the project—from sunrise until seven or eight at night—and today will be no exception.

The office is closed for New Year’s Eve and day, but I have my own key, and I plan on spending a few hours in the afternoon on some of the final touches for the council presentation. Jeff said it was a pathetic way for a 21-year-old to spend New Year’s Eve. He was laughing when he said it, and I know he meant it as a joke, but it still stung a little. Regardless, I think it’s slightly better than bringing a take-and-bake pizza up to my apartment and having a solo movie party on my cardboard-box dining table.

I fine tune things for most of the morning, taking a short break for lunch before going at it again on the 3-D program. Everything takes me longer, because I’m still learning, but the work requires so much of my mind that it acts as a placebo, letting me forget everything that’s going wrong on the other side.