Good Guy

Part Fifteen

Am I okay? Scotch asked himself as he tried to calm down.

It wasn't easy to do, not when memories from the worst year of his entire existence started flashing before his eyes.

Scotch could vividly recall the exact moment when his life had plummeted downhill. He could recall how Jackson and almost all of his high school class, including his ex-girlfriend, had shunned him after the news broke out. How cold sweat had run down his back, just like it did now.

He could even feel the weight of the brown, paper-wrapped package in his hands. The small square object that almost destroyed his parents' trust. He remembered how this guy had stared hard at him then, pressuring him to keep his silence.

It was a good thing he hadn't, otherwise he might have gotten into bigger trouble. But it didn't mean that he was okay with everything, even after the passage of time. Some wounds were hard to heal, and sometimes they never healed at all.

"No. I'm not okay," Scotch replied honestly, trying to keep his voice even. "Let's just pay for this and get back inside."

He hated that it was Cleo watching him fend off an impending breakdown.

He thought he could finally make friends with someone without having to rehash the burden of his past, something which always triggered the hostile, guilt-ridden side of him. She was just like a drop of sunshine that accidentally found its way into his bland world. Now the light of her friendship was being snuffed out by his chaotic emotions, all provoked by the mere sight of someone delivering their pizza.

Scotch took a deep breath, held out some cash and prayed that the guy would take the money before he dropped any of it.

However, instead of going for the money, the pizza guy went for his wrist. "Hey, Man, we need to talk."

Scotch recoiled, yanking his hand from the delivery man's grip and raining paper bills in Cleo's direction. He didn't even notice her flinch, being caught in his own reaction to the uninvited touch. He backpedaled into the entry, nudging Cleo aside without meaning to do so. "There's nothing to talk about, Hernan. Everything was over and done with two years ago."

Hernan remained undeterred. He stepped forward, still balancing the five warm boxes of pizza in his other palm. The first one remained outstretched towards Scotch. "Look, Scotch, I wanna apologize. I know you looked up to me, and I ruined your life—"

"Shut up," Scotch said, his voice coarse with restrained panic. He didn't want to hear anything. His school life was tainted enough because of gossip, so he wasn't going to let anything else ruin it. "Shut up, Hernan. Just take the money and go. Deliver those other pizzas and make more cash, like you always wanna do."

"Scotch—"

He shut the door in Hernan's face to get his point across, even clicking the lock for emphasis. Scotch backed even further into the entry, nearly stumbling when Hernan started abusing the doorbell and knocking hard against the door itself. Sweat beaded even his temple now, and there was just the slightest discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Something brushed against his forearm, and Scotch jumped. He twirled swiftly, only to find Cleo staring wide-eyed at him.

He'd somehow forgotten she was there.

"What just happened?" she asked, laying a hand against his arm. "Why are you so angry at him?"

The innocent way in which she asked managed to get to him. His breaths came even more rapidly as his mind whirled. He was angry at himself, and not just for what had happened in the past. He hated himself because of the fact that he couldn't tell her why. Because he was too terrified of her reaction if he spilled all the things he'd held off telling, hoping that there was no need to.