Wreck (Sphere of Irony 4)

A large wave smashes over my head, catching me off balance and knocking me off my board. Gasping at the surface, I flail in the black water, reaching out blindly for my board. Each stroke through the icy darkness finds nothing. My lungs burn and my heart pounds…and I love every fucking second of it. The high is so potent, so perfect, I stop struggling to float on my back and let the moment consume me. The current pushes my body around, moving me with the natural ebb and flow of the ocean.

The stars are somewhat visible in the murky sky above, blinking behind the smog as if speaking to me in a staccato code only I can understand. What would happen if I let go? If I stopped trying and allowed the icy waves to take me? Another large surge crashes over me, filling my lungs with seawater. I choke, inhaling the water even deeper.

Will it hurt very much to die?

Air becomes harder to pull in, the lack of oxygen causing my vision to grow white and fuzzy around the edges. The white gets brighter and brighter, coming into focus as a point of light, until the sharp pain from the shining flare stabs my eyes and bores into my skull. I groan with pleasure at the freeing sensation as my mind and body shut down.

Then, total darkness.

* * *

“You fucking asshole!”

A loud, wet slap is followed by a fiery sting on my cheek. My eyes are heavy and my throat feels like it was hit with a blowtorch. Another slap and I force my eyes open, blinking back the grit.

“You stupid motherfucker.” Gavin’s blurry face is hovering over me. I wince at the blinding light shining from his head and hold up a hand to block it out.

“What happened?” I croak, licking my parched lips.

Gavin pulls off his waterproof headlamp, the one he bought when I insisted on going caving in Scotland during the year we spent in the UK with Gavin’s mother.

“What happened?” Gavin shouts, his voice edging toward full-blown hysteria. “I’ll tell you what happened, you fucking dick!”

I sit up and rub the back of my head while my best friend goes absolutely ballistic.

“You fucking almost died! After seeing you at the apartment, I knew you were going to do something unbelievably stupid. I called Ross and he confirmed that you picked up your surfboard to ‘go surfing early tomorrow morning,’” Gavin says, making sarcastic air quotes around my lie. “Fuck.” He drags a hand through his wet hair. “I knew you’d come here. You’re fucking lucky I saw you out there, or else you’d be dead.”

“I’m sorry, Gav—”

“Fuck you!” he snarls.

The venom behind his words makes me flinch. Gavin rarely gets this angry and he never, ever shouts. When I meet his gaze, his eyes are glassy and red as if he’s been crying.

>

“Shit, Hawke. I had to do fucking CPR on you.” Gavin’s armor cracks, and tears begin to fall. “You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you, man. I have no one else. My mom is in London, and my dad… shit. You know he’s a fucking douchebag. You’re it for me. You’re my only family.”

God. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

“I’m sorry.” My hoarse voice shreds my throat and my breath catches in my chest. Is this what it takes for me realize how much my behavior hurts Gavin, a guy who’s already been through enough shit of his own?

“Don’t be sorry,” Gavin says. “Just… just get some help, Hawke. I’m begging you.”

I nod, but I don’t know if there is any help for me. Nothing works to take away the guilt, the suffering, the never-ending agony of living every day knowing what I did. Only the rush of danger, the pure adrenaline brought on by pain and fear help to beat back the darkness burrowed deep in what’s left of my soul.

“I’ll try, Gav.”

I stand up on shaky legs but am able to trudge back to the parking lot without help. I don’t bother to change out of the thoroughly soaked wetsuit, instead flopping onto the driver’s seat of my car, exhausted.

“I’m following you home,” Gavin says, leaving no other option. He walks to his car and the bright headlights flood my rearview mirror.

I’ll try to stop the dangerous behavior. I wasn’t lying when I told Gavin I would. But I’m already convinced that without the escape from my own head, I’ll only self-destruct that much faster.

4

Abby

Twelve days. It’s been twelve long, anxiety-ridden days since Hawke awkwardly dumped me off at my apartment after getting his tattoo. All I got was a brusque “see ya later” as he practically burned rubber tearing out of the parking lot.