Come Closer

4.

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"Thank you again for letting me know, Mr. and Mrs. Langley. I hope he recovers soon." I thank Buddy's parents.

I am at the hospital saying my farewells to the boys parents as they have just informed me that he will be transported to the hospital closer to his hometown in Colorado - hundreds of miles from here. I will probably never see him again, but I am still glad that he pulled through.

"We are so grateful to you for having saved our sons life. We will forever be in your debt." Mrs. Langley says sweetly as she pulls me into a hug.

"Take care, Jules." His father says, adding a pat to my shoulder.

I smile weakly. Sending one last glance through the window at Buddy laying in the hospital bed. He's been in a coma for two weeks and all that's left to do for him is pray.

I was admitted the day it happened for passing out, but was released almost as soon as I woke up. A simple panic attack.

I hadn't had one of those in a while. It was overdue, I suppose.

My shop has been temporarily closed due to Sasha's loved ones placing a lawsuit on me for her death.

It's absolutely ridiculous that I am to blame for an electrician dying from electricity while fixing an electrical issue. At least that's what anyone in their right mind would think.

But I'm not in my right might, so all I feel is guilt. I'm bad luck. Everyone who comes into my life dies and I am alone because of that fact.

How fucked up is that?

   Once I leave the hospital, I light a cigarette as soon as I am in the parking lot. Walking to my Jeep I feel nothing but dread and I quickly push it away by swallowing hard and taking a deep drag from the cigarette.

Numb.

Be numb.

It won't hurt as much.

It's that or die yourself.

Choose.

Because pain isn't an option anymore.

I refuse.

Exchange love and happiness for a numb and void life.

It's an even exchange to avoid more misfortune.

Three Months Later...

"Whiskey, straight?" The male bartender asks.

"Double it." I answer him, resting against one elbow atop the bar.

   Before long, I am met with two shot glasses of whiskey and I quickly shoot one at the back of my throat. I swallowed it and embraced the burning sensation that travel down my chest. I'm not sure how many I've had at this point, I lost count a while ago.

   "Hey cutie," I hear a woman's voice at my side but I raise a hand to shoo her away. She then walks away with a scoff.

   I down the next shot before closing the tab and leaving the bar altogether. It's been this way almost everyday since I 'temporarily' closed my auto shop. Though the case against me was dismissed and all charges relating to the death of Sasha were dropped, I still can't seem to go back to work.