The Boxer and I

Four

(unedited, there maybe some mistakes here and there)

Four

            • PART 1 •

            I managed to make it half way down the main road before Aiden caught up with me with his fancy car. When he honked the first time, indicating for me to get into the car, I ignored him. All I wanted to do was be by myself, catch the next flight to Australia, and carry on with my life out there.

            But, after he honked for the third time, I paused for a moment, and thought about it.

            Do I really want to be roaming the streets at night?

            Do I really feel safe?

            I’m halfway drunk, anything can happen. And I don’t want anything to happen.

            So here I am, with my knees pulled up to my chest, and my arms wrapped tightly around my legs to keep them tucked tightly to me. I stare blankly out of the window, allowing the fuzzing sensation of being drunk to numb the memories, which keep pouring and pouring into my vision.

            I feel uncomfortable, unstable, maybe even scared. I don’t know, but I definitely know that coming back to Colston was a bad idea. I thought I was ready to face everything, but I’m so not.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” Aiden says, cutting my trail of thoughts, which are swirling around my head.

             “About what?” I mumble back, not bothering to look at him. I instead focus my eyes on the shaking trees outside that are being hit by the harsh night wind.

            “What happened back there?”

            I close my eyes, because Jake’s image suddenly flashes before me.

            “How much will it cost to make a call to Australia?” I ask, blatantly avoiding his question.

            He’s quiet for a moment, before answering. “It’s expensive, maybe £1.00 per minute? I’m dunno.”

            I dig into my shorts pocket, allowing my legs to drop for my feet to rest against the car floor. I pull out my phone and dial my dad’s number, before placing the receiver to my ear.

            It might be quite early in the morning out there right now, but I need to talk to him. He is the only one I can talk to. My father is the only person that hasn’t given up on me yet. As the phone rings, Aiden quickly pulls up on the side of the road, and switches off the car engine, facing me with a face full of worry.          

            “Who are you calling?” He questions.

            I don’t answer him; the ringing echoing from the receiver fills my ears so I can easily avoid Aiden’s inquiring eyes and pray for my dad to pick up the phone.

            “Hello? Flo?” Dads groggily morning voice sounds through the receiver. I instantly feel bad to have woken him up.

            “Hey, Dad. Um, is this a good time?” I ask the stupidest question.

            He works long hours, Flo. Obviously it’s not a good time, he doesn’t get enough sleep as it is.

            “Yeah, yeah, it’s a perfect time.” Dad laughs sarcastically on the other end, trying to force his voice to sound normal, and not sleepy.