chapter five
Knox
Unknown: Finnyyyyy, it’s your boy, JT.
He’s so fucking annoying.
I’m walking to class the next morning, re-reading his stupid text for the tenth time. How can he be so smug? It’s like he enjoys my hatred for him, which is weird.
Saving his number into my phone, I finally send him a response as I’m walking into my English class.
Me: Quit fucking calling me that.
If you were to ask what possessed me to ask him to smoke me out last night, I wouldn’t even be able to tell you.
Smoking pot has always helped mellow me out, calm me down enough to get to sleep at night, and being here, it can be hard to find. I’m not quite old enough to get it from the stores and you can’t just ask anyone to buy it for you. None of my friends here smoke.
It doesn’t mean we’re friends.
Taking my seat in the back of class, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
JT: Don’t be so sensitive, Finny.
Me: Fuck off.
JT: I’m hurt, Knoxy boy. I thought we made some great progress in our friendship last night *crying emoji*
Me: We aren’t fucking friends.
JT: Whatever you say, BRO.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I attempt to pay attention to whatever my professor is rambling on about, but it’s pointless. My mind is too busy right now to focus on anything.
Branson called last night. He and Luca are coming back tomorrow afternoon. I’m relieved his stepdad is doing better and that they’re able to come back to campus.
Speaking of fathers, I haven’t spoken to mine since I was home for winter break and I’m thankful for that. Considering all he does it bitch about everything I say, I’d rather avoid talking to him and the headache that comes with it. My mom isn’t much better. She may not be the same vile, angry person he is, but she puts up with him and has never stood up for me. That’s not much of a parent in my eyes either.
I often wonder what it would be like to have a normal, loving father. There isn’t one memory in my mind when he was caring, loving, nurturing. It was always drunk, angry, violent.
Without my permission, my mind begins to wander to memories I choose to not think about often, and bile threatens to slither up my throat. Memories of a drunken, raging dad on a warpath to prove his point, women that smell like cheap perfume and Aqua Net, and a mother turning a blind eye to it all.
Shoving that shit out of my head, I tune back into the end of this boring ass lecture. Thank God tomorrow is Friday and I only have a half day. I’m so ready for the weekend; to get fucked up and ignore all this shit.
Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket again, I take it out and see that it’s Weston.
Weston: We’re going to Cash’s party Saturday, right?
Me: Yeah, sounds dope. I’m down.
Weston: Cool, cool. See you at home.
This class goes on for what feels like an eternity, and I’m relieved when it’s time to go. I have a little bit of a break before my next class, so I decide to hit up the coffee cart. Per usual, I still slept like shit last night, despite the little smoke sesh, and a coffee is the pick-me-up I need.
Walking briskly, I make it across campus in a few minutes. Thankfully, there isn’t much of a line right now. Most of the students are still in class, and I get to reap the benefits of that. The girl working looks familiar. I’m pretty sure we have a class together, but I can’t pinpoint which one it is, though. She’s cute. Her hair is an auburn color that goes past her shoulders, and it’s currently braided over her left shoulder. I swear she wears glasses, but she isn’t wearing them right now, and she’s tall for a chick, at least five nine, if I had to guess.
When it’s my turn, I walk up, and she offers me a warm, friendly smile. “Hey, what can I get for you?”
“Hey, yeah, can I get a quad shot vanilla mocha, please?”
“Yup, what size, babe?”
“A large?”
“Like a twenty ounce? Or twenty-four?”
“Twenty-four would be awesome.”
She grabs a cup and gets to work making the drink. “Knox, right?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s me.”
She smiles. “Thought so. We have Business together on Tuesdays. I’m Katie.”
Katie, that’s right. I knew she looked familiar. If I’m not mistaken, she sits in front of me a few rows to the left. She sits next to some guy I’ve seen numerous times at frat parties, whose name I can’t remember, and they seem to be tight.
“Oh, hey. Yeah, I remember you,” I reply, as friendly as I can. I’m tired as shit and probably look like I’m pissed off.
Smiling back, she hands me my drink, which smells heavenly.
“That’ll be four dollars, please.”
Handing her six dollars, I tell her, “Here you go, keep the change.”
“Oh, thank you so much. Have a great day.”
“Yup, you too. See you around.”
Taking a sip of my coffee, which is very fucking hot, I groan at the flavor. Shit, she makes a mean mocha.
As I’m checking the time, I see that I still have a half hour before my next class, and that isn’t enough time to head home. Putting my AirPods in, I turn on my Spotify and Lie To Me by 12 Stones starts playing as I head in the direction of the library. I guess I can get a little studying done before my next class starts.
******
The rest of the day drags by painfully. My last class ended at three-thirty, and after grabbing a late lunch, I’m getting home now, close to four-thirty. Branson and Luca won’t be home until tomorrow, and Weston won’t get home for at least another hour, so I decide to get a little playing time in. I’ve been so busy lately that my guitar has taken a spot on the back burner, and I miss it.
I normally prefer to play with both Branson and Weston, but sometimes it’s nice to jam by myself. The three of us have played together musically since we were in middle school, but it’s always been just for fun. We’re all pretty good and could probably take it further, but we have no desire to.
Grabbing my guitar and plugging it in, I start with my favorite song to play, Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. I originally started trying to teach myself this song right before high school started, but I didn’t fully master it until sophomore year. Songs made today don’t compare to music from back then.
Music has always been a form of therapy for me; I listen to it and get lost. I remember as a teenager, on days when my dad was being exceptionally awful, I would put headphones on, lie on my bed, close my eyes, and let go—let the lyrics take me away. It’s why I jumped at the opportunity to play with Branson and Weston as kids.
We would meet together after school at Weston’s house, playing and playing until our hands were tired and blistered, and our voices were hoarse. On the nights we had practice, his mom would always make us all dinner afterwards, and we’d get to eat as a “family.” Those evenings were always my favorite. His family is so normal and loving, and I’d get to avoid my dad the most on those nights.
Jumping right into the next song, I begin playing Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin, another favorite of mine. I can vaguely hear my phone vibrating on the table beside me, but I ignore it all. This right here, with the music and the melody, this is my happy place.
Playing a few more songs, I finally put the guitar away and go to the kitchen to get some water. Remembering my phone going off earlier, I head back into my room to grab it off the end table. I have a few text messages from a few different people.
Weston: Hey, man. I won’t be home until later.
Weston: Got a study thing.
JT: I’m going to the fields tonight to smoke again if your grumpy ass wants to join.
Red: Hey, cutie, want to hook up tonight? ;)
Jesus Christ, she’s annoying as shit. Ignoring her, I respond to the other two.
Me to Weston: A study thing, huh? Is that code for something? Whatever, man. I’m heading out soon too. I’ll just see you later.
Me to JT: What time?
JT: Idk, like six?
Looking at the time now, it’s five-thirty. I guess I could shower and make it there by six.
Me: Okay, see you there.
Me: Still doesn’t mean we’re friends. Still fucking hate you.
JT: Sure, bud. Leave the grumpy pants at home.
Me: Fuck off.