Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Fucking Jude mentioning her being back pissed me right the hell off. She left and never looked back, and now she’s in Whispering Oaks.
The times I go dark means no phone, no watch, no laptop, no tablet, and half the time, no one knows where I’m going, and there isn’t much service as it is. In fact, I make sure it’s that way, if at all possible. This last weekend, though, had me puckering my butthole and hoping my feet landed safely on the ground. I’ve been trained, gone through every protocol there needs to be, and still, this one rattled my cage.
Base jumping in New River Gorge Bridge. I trained, went through every possibility of what could happen, and had to sign a release waiver of all waivers. It’s a good thing I have my affairs in order, because there was a real possibility I wouldn’t make it back in one piece. The company I went with is legal; the safety factor is what they couldn’t guarantee. I’d looked into other areas, choosing not to go out of the country since we’re currently slammed at Jagged Edge Construction with no end in sight.
The thing I haven’t done yet is admit to my friends and family what I did. They know I’ve got an addiction that doesn’t consist of drugs or alcohol. They’ve been around long enough to realize this is who I’ve become. I hit puberty and became wild and reckless, speeding around town, racking up tickets, and being a menace to society. It didn’t matter that I was in sports; nothing could hold me back. There weren’t enough hours in the day to monopolize my time or wear me out.
Fucking hell, I gave them gray hair long before they should have had any. Mom made jokes that the reason she was at the hair salon every four weeks like clockwork was because of me. Luckily, before I did anything stupid like wrap my car around a tree or do harm to someone with my bullshit, Dad funneled my energy elsewhere.
He took me to a drag strip, got me hooked, and we started working on a project vehicle, leaving me with little time to be young and dumb. This way, it was legal, safer, and gave me the rush I needed without giving my parents a heart attack or putting myself in an early grave.
It helped for a while, until it wasn’t enough anymore, and once I turned twenty-one years old, I moved on to other shit. They weren’t too impressed at first, then Dad made a comment about me being so much like his own dad, that he understood. I still have the hot rod we worked on and I still occasionally race; it’s currently sitting in my garage, covered with a sheet, with not so much of a scratch on the pristine paint job. Every now and then, when I can’t get away from the job for more than two days, you’ll find me on the track pushing myself to the next limit, fine tuning my car, and seeing what I can add or take away to make it faster.
I did the responsible and adult thing and sent a message to tell the guys I made it back last night before calling my parents to do the same. I’d have much rather sent a text than to have a conversation with my mom, who repeated everything I said to my dad, except neither of them likes to respond. They also don’t have their read receipts turned on, which makes it difficult to know if they even looked at their phones. They’re not technology driven in the least; they still put tape across the camera on their computers and have a landline. Which is what I called them on hoping they’d both pick up to make it easier to relay the message. The beeping of the other line did me a solid, and I hung up faster than the speed of light, because Mom started in on questioning where I’d gone and what I’d done.
The only people who knew where I went were my group of friends; it’d be hard to hide since I used Tysen’s private jet to drop me off and pick me up. Then there’s Jude. He tracks every last one of us with the fancy app he developed. There’s nowhere to hide when it comes to our friend group. Even when my devices are turned off, Jude can still track my location. I learned this a few months ago and quit bothering with trying to keep things quiet. The one thing I did learn was to stay at a hotel away from where I’d be to keep him none the wiser.
I thought after talking to my parents, I’d be in the clear, except my luck didn’t run that far. The group chat went off way more than normal, and while I’m usually the one shooting the shit or, how my friends like to say, starting shit, I did something I’ve never done before. For years, I’d have my phone on me, minus the time I’m out on an adventure. Last night, it became too much. I could feel the walls closing in on me. The house I built from the ground up seemed like a cage. The outdoors didn’t relax me. Nothing seemed to be working. The dinging and vibrating of my phone only amplified the mayhem spinning in my head, and for the first time in I don’t even know how many years, I tossed my phone in a drawer and walked away.