Free Cheated by Patrick Jones

remember my number?
    A few minutes passed, then I dialed the number again. This one counted.
Listen, it’s my turn to pledge to you. I’ll never betray you again
. But the machine picked up again. My message, “It’s Mick, gimme a call,” was shorter while my rage grew deeper. I dialed every five minutes and alternated between leaving short messages and hanging up, between feeling angry and sad; between love and hate. It might be a thin line between those two, so I had to steer myself back on the right path.
    I was just about to give up, when the phone rang, shaking me like thunder. I caught my breath on the first ring, thought of what to say on the second and third—
Nicole, we need to talk, I have so much to say to you
—took a final deep breath on the fourth, and picked up on the fifth.
    â€œHey,” I answered the best I could with my heart and head weighing down my tongue.
    â€œIs this Mick Salisbury?” a booming male voice asked.
    I grunted acknowledgment.
    â€œThis is Joseph Snider, Nicole’s father.” The edge of the hurricane shouted through the phone. “Stop bothering my daughter. If you call again, I’ll call the police. Do you understand?”
    Can you actually hear or feel your heart break?
    For me, the answer was yes. Although the worst feeling wasn’t in my heart, but in my guts. It felt like they were on fire. It was the first day of school, the day after the party at Rex’s house, the day my life as I knew it and wanted it to be ended. I knew that Nicole was getting back into town late, so I wouldn’t have a chance to talk to her before the first day of school. That may have been one of the longest nights of my life, my head swimming in rum, trying to drown out what I’d done with Roxanne. I kept telling myself that it didn’t really happen, that it was a dream or maybe a nightmare. I told myself that nobody saw it or, if they did, nobody would tell Nicole. I told myself to relax, but I couldn’t. The heavy burden of the lie was like a weight across my chest, crushing my ribs, which cut into my heart. In the morning, everything was fine. We saw each other before school, made plans to sit together at lunch, and talked about having history class together after lunch. But I was history by then. Nicole was waiting for me by my locker at lunch; she must have gotten out of class early. I could tell she’d been crying, but I refused to believe it until she said, “Mick, I hate you.” Before I could lie, she told me what I had done with Roxanne at the party. Before I could explain or ask who told on me, she said she didn’t want to see me ever again. Before I could breathe, she told me that I was a terrible person and she wished I was dead. Before I could agree, she was gone. Gone from my sight, gone from my life. We’d see each other in history class, but we had no future. As I stood by mylocker, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the hallway, filling my ears, no tears filled my eyes even though I felt like crying. Instead, I let the anger flood in: anger at myself, anger at Roxanne, but most of all, anger at the person who told Nicole about Roxanne. What right did they have to ruin my life? What kind of person would do something like that? I didn’t have a mirror in the locker and I didn’t need one to know what kind of person would do that: a person like me
.

5:00 p.m.
    I wanted to hurl the phone through the kitchen window and shatter the glass. I wanted to then roll in the sharp shards, opening a thousand tiny cuts to help the blood leave my body.
    I was frozen in my hot rage, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Even slamming the door over and over in time to the cranked up
Dark Side of the Moon
CD offered no release. I called Brody’s house, but he was still at school. I left a message to meet up at Space Invaders in an hour. I tried to sleep, but sleep and salvation from pain took different roads. I