Star's Theory

July 3.2

After we decided floating around in a hot tub was a bit too much of a time waster, we quickly dried off and headed back to the front desk. 

"Come on, Atlas, let's do something fun," Mason grins, dragging me towards the couples bar. I have to admit, not only are all of the seats and tables cleaner, the bartenders are way nicer and the alcohol is served in more colors than I thought existed.

"As good as that sounds," I say, rolling my eyes, "legal things can be fun too." I try not to be bothered by how much I sound like a lecturing father.

"Who says this isn't legal?" Mason smiles wickedly, "If my calculations are correct, we should be nearing Mexico by now and I'm pretty sure you can legally drink there when you're 18. "

"Right, your 'calculations'," I mock, but let myself be dragged into the bar anyways. Surprisingly, they don't even ask for ID, and we sit down in one of the many heart shaped booths in the lounge. The one thing in common with almost all bars is the unnaturally dark atmosphere besides a few dimi bulbs and flashes of people's phone cameras.

Three hours later, maybe four, we had gone through nearly half of the different drinks on the menu, which is honestly saying a lot, including the secret concotions Bill the bartender had tried on us. Yes, we were on a first-name basis with him. Although, I have to admit it was mostly me who was doing the drinking.

I lift a particularly tall drink with layers of bright red, green and blue, topped with an ironically classy lime, and scoot up next to Mason, snapping a picture.

I click into messages, ready to send the picture before realizing that I'd automatically tapped Alexa's contact. Why haven't I deleted her yet?

Mason notices I've gone quiet and peers over at my screen. "Your girl?"

I nod and say quietly, "Not anymore." 

We sit in awkward silence for an eternity and I down another bright green shot. 

"You know, when I was standing there, at the pier, right after she called me? I wanted to jump into the water." The silence continues. I don't know why I said it; it sort of just... came out. I wanted to tell someone and Mason's pretty much the only guy I've talked to since it happened. Oh, and Bill. But I don't really want to tell Bill. Besides, we're both so drunk no one's going to remember this anyways. 

"I wanted to jump in and let myself be engulfed in the water. I wanted to float down forever and by the time my body hit the seaweed, or whatever crap lies at the bottom of the ocean, I would've been too dead to care." I laugh coldly, the memory hitting me harshly, but Mason doesn't say anything. 

"I even planned it out in those twenty minutes or whatever. How I could grab my suitcase, tie the straps around my feet, so that even if someone tried to save me, I would be sinking too fast for them to reach.

"I was just so... done. Done with everything. It was pointless, without Alexa. And don't get me wrong; I'm not so shallow that everything literally depended on my girlfriend. She was just the... tipping point, the realization, the finale. I'd thought about it before. When my counselor told me in a mandated meeting that my grades could only get me to community college. When my-" I choke, my throat tightening, "when my dad took one look at my skinny arms on a bad day and just took off, realizing I would never work in his repair shop, that I would never hold a ball in my life. When my sister coughed her last breath in that ugly, ugly hospital and all I could do was watch and cry. I thought, what's the point? Best case scenario, I finish school and the work in boredom to repay my student debt. Then after that? Keep working to pay for retirement. Then I retire, and die. What is the point of it all?

"I was falling apart, quickly and completely, and the only thing holding me together on a single thread was Alexa. The way she would smile when I made her laugh, the way she held an arm around me and somehow it was enough when my world was crumbling down. Even just the way she'd absentmindedly grab my hand every time we walked down the school hallways. I thought I was special. I thought that I was the only one who could give her that . I thought I had purpose. But I was wrong." 

At some point in my rant, Mason had wrapped his arm around my shaking shoulders, and he asks me possibly the most important question he could've asked. 

"So why didn't you do it?"

I look at him, somehow managing to focus on his eyes even though my head was spinning, from the amounts of vodka I'd consumed or just emotional exhaustion, I can't tell. "I couldn't. When I imagined all the... pain ending for me, I also had to imagine the pain starting for my mother. I had to imagine her sifting through piles of my old clothes and textbooks, searching for hidden clues or notes. I had to imaginer her crying into a pair of my old shoes, wondering where she had gone wrong, how she could've missed it. I had to imagine her cleaning out my room so she could move to a new town but not being able to throw away even the smallest trinket, the oldest toy. Because every little thing was a memento, a treasure, and she would never get any more because I would be gone. I just couldn't do that to her."