All The Lies We Told

CHAPTER SIX

I'm drenched when I get to my front porch. So drenched that when I look down to take off my shoes, my hair is endlessly dripping water. "John, is that you?" Mom peeks out the door. "Wait here!" she exclaims.

Shrugging my shoulders, I sit on the porch swing Jeff put up for Mom at the beginning of Spring. She swore up and down that she would use it, but she didn't. Nothing has changed. She still sits inside in front of the TV instead.

Mom comes back with a towel and jokingly throws it over my head, blocking my line of sight. "Your cousin stopped by an hour ago looking for you."
"Cool story, Mom. Which one?" I pull the towel to my shoulder.
"Matt"
I nearly forgot how to breathe for a second. "Did he say what he wanted? Why didn't he just call or text me?"
"Nope. He just said to call or text him."

He drove over an hour just to tell my mom to have me call or text him? Why didn't he just call or text me when he was here? "I know, odd, right?" Mom shrugged. "It's a shame. He used to be so smart. You're not going to call or text him, right? I don't want you hanging around him."
"Mom, shut up. I am going to call or text him."
My mom crosses her arms and throws on her 'I'm ready to argue' face.
"You better not come home with needles."
I stare at her blankly, hoping she can pick up on how stupid she sounds. "Are you done?"

Matt lives in a small town an hour away. After graduating, he decided he wanted to move more towards the forest rather than the city. He wanted a quiet life, a quiet house and a chance for a quiet mind. I didn't blame him. Now it's just him and Cooper, in a school bus he bought from the junkyard that he fixed all through senior year.

I helped him out with installing various water tanks for his waste system a few weeks before he officially left. It works exactly like a traditional RV would: It pulls from a city water connection, or Matt can fill the water tank we installed, and it gets split off into a grey tank for washing water or the black tank... better known as the shitter tank.

It's incredible what he did with the space. He completely remodelled the inside; He put down dark oak vinyl flooring; if I remember correctly, it only cost him $80. He has two benches, one behind the driver's seat—what Matt now calls "The Captain's seat"—, and another behind the jackknife door. He's changed the door since, but I always love to tease him for keeping the door for a good six months. I think he secretly got rid of it because I only referred to him as 'Mr bus driver'.

White cabinetry with dark fixtures in the residential-styled kitchen: Stove, microwave, sink and all. The one thing I'm really impressed with is how Matt somehow managed to build a full bathroom that works. And last but not least, a queen bed. He went all out like he set to since his Sophomore year. He saved up his entire High School career for it, and he did it. I don't think I've ever been more proud of someone. We've lost touch since he moved away, but he still pops up from time to time.... Like tonight.

Finally undressed, I rummage through my bedside drawer for an old vape with some life left in it, picking up and test-smoking each spare I have in this junk of a drawer. My throat tingles from the menthol grape flavour the vape managed to muster up for me. A wave of relief washes over me, leaving me wanting more.

FUCK. I have to see what he came here for.

As I reach for my phone, it chimes with a notification from Grindr. I smile, again in relief. At least it's not Aubrey. Or Matt, for that matter.

Declan H: I'm going to bed. I hope you made it home okay in the rain. Talk to you soon:) Good night.

I stare down at my phone for a while. Wanting so badly to respond, but I also don't want to respond too quickly, just in case it comes off as too desperate. It's weird, you know; I've known Declan for a good two years, and even though we've hung out frequently, I don't think I've ever gotten to see this side of him. Somehow talking to him through Grindr chat feels like I'm talking to a completely different person. It's ironic, considering the position I'm in. He's funny and a profound thinker. Emotionally intelligent and fearless. And very good with his words. So good that he's published. If someone is a published author, you'd think they'd talk about it all the time, or that's how they'd introduce themselves. Not Declan. Maybe because it's a book of poems, but still.

I think it counts.

He only considers himself a poet. Even with that said, he doesn't brag about it.
"You can only really find it at Barnes and Noble and, most recently, Five Below. It's not that big of a deal," he once said.
Matt N: Are you getting a sweet deal from it?
Declan H: like royalties? Eh. They gave me a decent advance. The royalties are so-so. I guess good enough to pay some of my college tuition.
Matt N: You set yourself up for success! Love to see it!
Declan: eh. James is the one who compiled all of my poems and sent them in as a manuscript, so I guess I have him to thank.

Backing out of the message after replying good night, I'm back at my profile—or Matt's profile—, now reeling in the guilt that should have set in a week ago. I thought using Matt as my disguise would work. There was no doubt in my mind that it would. I guess I should've thought about it long and hard. "He lives out in the middle of nowhere. There's no way he would ever find out." Aubrey convinced.

I should've known better than to trust her judgment calls. This is going to get messy real quick, especially with Matt randomly showing up at my door. There's no way he knows. Even if he were aware of a fake profile, there's no way he'd backtrack it to me.....

I shouldn't have used his actual name. FUCK.

John H: Hey Matt! Heard you stopped by! What's up?!