ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(25)

I caught it and started flipping through the channels, grateful for something to do with my hands besides bite the side of my thumb, which was a habit I’d never had any luck at successfully giving up, although I’d been trying since I was a kid.

Dirty hands and all.

“You know, you’re the only person I’ve told that story to who didn’t apologize.” Nolan said.

I pursed my lips. “Why would I apologize? I’m not the one who shanked you,” I said. The TV screen flashed in the dark, illuminating the room with every click of my thumb like lightening across a night sky.

“No,” Nolan chuckled. “No you’re not.” We were both silent again for a moment before Nolan suddenly asked, “How are you even doing that?” He pointed to the remote in my hand and then the TV. “You’re flipping through too fast.”

“So?” I asked, continuing my assault on the channel-up button. “And are you sure you’re okay with me staying here? I mean, maybe your parents won’t like it so much?”

Real f*cking smooth, Rage.

“Yeah, it’s more than fine. This place was my grandparents before they died.

“Explains the plastic,” I said, shifting around and making the couch squeak.

“Yeah, that was my Gran.” Nolan said. “My parents were never really in the picture. They sell international real estate or some shit. Months usually go by without me hearing from them. This time around, it’s been a long while. Haven’t seen them since Gran and Gramps passed, and honestly, I’m not exactly sitting around waiting for the phone to ring or anything,” Nolan said and I knew there was more to the story. More I needed to find out for Smoke but I didn’t press, not wanting to raise his suspicions.

“Are you close to your parents?” Nolan asked. “Or are they who you are running away from?”

I mulled over his question and thought about our daily calls. I might have spoken to them every day, but did telling lies count as being close? “As close as we can be,” I answered, and thankfully that seemed to be enough of an answer and he didn’t pry.

Nolan pointed to the TV again. “There is no f*cking way you can see what show is playing, never mind make a decision to move on with your happy trigger thumb on the button over there.”

I smirked, but not because he pointed out my channel surfing skills, but rather at his use of the phrase, “trigger thumb.” “Don’t judge me the way you judged Delilah. I watched so much TV growing up, I could probably tell you what’s on right now without even flipping, but I don’t know your channel numbers here so keep your holier-than-thou remote rules zipped up over there while I work my magic.” I wrinkled my nose, stuck out my tongue, and just like that I was ten years old and back on Cody’s porch.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of cute when you’re angry?” Nolan asked.

I paused, my thumb hovering over the button. “HA! Not in this lifetime. And trust me, this isn’t angry. You don’t want to see me angry.” The beer must have been going to my head because my anger wasn’t something I wanted to have a conversation about.

There was definitely something wrong with me. Like more wrong with me than usual. I was sure of it. I made a mental note to re-download WebMD after Nolan went to sleep.

I glanced back up at the fan that had caught my attention when I first walked in. That fan was what was wrong with me. And the universe. Yeah, it was most definitely the dirty f*cking fan that was wrong with everything in the world. The air conditioning kicked on with a shake sending dark grey dust bunnies falling over the edges of the fan blades, landing on the dining room table. I cringed.

Nolan didn’t seem to notice. He cocked an eyebrow at me. “I’m curious to see what you would look like all pissed off,” he said, “all red and flushed,” but he wasn’t making fun of me. He wasn’t laughing. The way he said it was low and deep. He might as well have been saying, “I’m curious to see what you’d look like naked.” To me the being naked thing would be less invasive then him seeing me during one of my episodes.

It was getting too personal.

Too much.

Reaching for the forgotten bag between us, I ripped it open and grabbed a handful of popcorn, stuffing as much into my mouth as would fit. I tossed the remote back over to Nolan, who seemed all too eager to take over a much slower-paced clicking regimen while I went back over to the refrigerator to grab more beer, even though mine was still half full. “You shouldn’t be curious,” I muttered to myself. “Cute is the last thing I am when I’m angry. Just ask my parents, my shrinks, my teacher, Smoke, or Cody.”

“What was that?” Nolan called out. Luckily, the TV erupted in a blast of gunfire. I sat back down on the couch and folded my feet up underneath me so I was sitting on my calves.

Much to my dismay, the drooling germ ball of fur Nolan called Murray came waddling out of the back room. Within a few minutes, he was asleep on the couch between us, snoring louder than Smoke did after a night of heavy drinking.

“I love this movie,” Nolan said, taking a swig of his fresh beer. Just then, on the screen, Jason Statham ran through a courtyard. A second later, a car behind him blew up, lifting off the ground in a dramatic ball of fire.

So unrealistic. Cars don’t even make that kind of noise when they explode in real life. Fucking unrealistic sound effects. In reality, a car explosion is nowhere near as dramatic. It’s actually very underwhelming as far as explosions go. “Have you seen this one before?” I asked. “What’s it about?” I smirked.