ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(12)

Oh, I know how. Injuries, shit parents, and an athletic scholarship that was pulled out from under me the second the team doctor hinted that hockey wouldn’t be part of my future plans.

Fate is an evil and vengeful bitch.

My hockey dreams headed south faster than the Zamboni could clear the ice and before my skates even touched the rink for the upcoming season.

To top off the shit cake, was of course, the shit candles. Namely, Jessica. More specifically, Jessica and her sudden decision to fill her mouth with all the cock from Harper’s Ridge to Jacksonville Community College. Finding out what she was up to via an Instagram video of her doing said cock-sucking, wasn’t exactly a moment destined to make the highlight reel of my life. It’s not like she was my girlfriend; I’d never had one of those. But I thought we had fun together and she was someone I f*cked on a regular basis. To me she might have just been the closest thing to a girlfriend I would ever have and I’d just been thinking that maybe we could talk about being more to one another.

My gran used to say I had the stomach of a mountain goat and that I could probably eat tin cans and be perfectly fine. However, after seeing the video of Jessica’s grand tour-de-cock all over the Internet, my stomach rolled.

In truth, it wouldn’t have lasted much longer than it did anyway. We weren’t in love by any means, we were just comfortable.

At least I’d been comfortable.

I didn’t have Jessica, but at least I’d had hockey.

Until I didn’t.

I’d been destined for the NHL. Now my only future looked more like I was going to be working for my uncle, which I’d been doing every summer until that beautiful bitch named Hockey Scholarship knocked on my door and presented me with a new future on a silver f*cking platter.

The truth of the matter was that even though I loved my Uncle, any job after having my dreams crushed was going to seem like a shitty one. Any life other than the one I had envisioned in the NHL was going to f*cking blow.

No matter what I knew I had to do, I wasn’t in a rush to do it anytime soon.

It was safe to say that I’d been in a pissy f*cking mood, sitting in that dark living room feeling sorry for myself while inhaling the strong smell of mothballs and getting piss-ass drunk and higher than high. The mothballs used to be a smell that was comforting to me while Gran and Gramps were alive, but after they both died, it became a constant reminder they weren’t there anymore.

So there I sat, bouncing a blue rubber ball off the wall, jealous of the f*cking ball because I couldn’t maneuver my god damned wheelchair close enough so I could bang my head against the wall in place of the ball.

Murray, the ancient French bulldog I’d had since I was a kid, who I was pretty sure was even older than me, had been yapping for five minutes to be let out. I’d tried to ignore him, but the little shit grew more persistent as he aged, and since he was like seven hundred, he’d grown to be quite the annoying little f*cker. Besides the cottage, Murray was all I had left of my grandparents. “Come on,” I mumbled, wheeling myself over to the back of the house. Murray ran out the second I slid the glass door wide enough for him to scoot his little round body through. I positioned myself in the doorway while he did his business. I continued to contemplate the suckage my life had become when I had a thought.

Maybe I just need to get laid.

I’d been coming to Harper’s Ridge every summer since I was a toddler and had moved in permanently after Mom and Dad took off when I was in middle school. I was a local. I knew plenty of girls who would be willing to come over and let me f*ck them into oblivion for a few hours.

The kind of company that ended in orgasms and cigarettes.

I was trying to remember where I put my phone, when I heard a splash.

FUCK.

Murray was in the pool.

Sinking.

His little legs weren’t nearly strong enough to carry him back the surface or propel him back over the side onto the deck. A few small whines escaped his little mouth before his head disappeared beneath the surface and he became completely submerged.

I leaned to one side and tried to reach out to him, but it was an impossible thing to do while sitting in the wheel chair, so I tried to maneuver myself out of it so I could lie on my stomach, but in my haste I tipped over my wheelchair and suddenly my wasted summer no longer mattered.

Neither did all my whining and bitching.

Neither did hockey.

Or Jessica.

No. None of the complaining about the shitty hand I’d been dealt mattered either, because in the next few minutes, I wouldn’t have a life to complain about.

I was drowning. I was drowning and I was dying. I knew that because as I was sinking just like Murray had. I opened my eyes under the water and looked up to the surface. Standing up there on the deck was the absolute hottest girl I’d ever seen. Long blonde hair, wearing a tiny white bikini. She was on her cell phone looking down at me. It looked as if she was bickering with whoever was on the other end as she pointed down at me. As each second passed, I knew I was getting closer and closer to the end. I felt helpless, but wasn’t ready to give up. I flailed my arms, about to get her attention, but she held up her index finger to me like she was demanding for me to give her a moment to finish her call.

What the f*ck was going on?

This couldn’t be real. I was dying and my last vision before I went couldn’t even be a girl who liked me. I blame that one on Jessica and her lack of gag reflex. It had to be her fault I was imagining the most beautiful chick I’d ever seen and my own imagination couldn’t even pretend to be concerned that I just inhaled a lungful of water.