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Ch. 12

There's always a breaking point. Did you know that? You try as hard as you can to steer clear of the breaking point. You try not to stress and worry over things that you can't control, but the thoughts keep piling up. Getting heavier and heavier on the bridges that connect your neurons and synapses until finally the threads snap and fire randomly. Once that breaking point is reached it's pretty hard to get the balance back.

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How hard am I willing to try?
Baby, dont you know, if you'd let me I'd try until I die?
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"So, Mr. Perry is your aunt huh?"

It wasn't lost on me that when he was reassuring me like a two and a half or three months ago, he said if his aunt was still alive my mom would be fine, he was lying. Not purposefully, and totally without any fault of his own, might I add.

Ginger had been dead for twelve years. And they needed an old woman to fake out the FBI. Thank god they didn't ask me to go to the home with them. I couldn't even bring myself to call now.

"No, uh, that's who Frank brought. We got a old confused lady here too." I'd seen her, she looked like a character from some horror movie.

"So you're headed out to tutor Karen?"

"Yeah, she got a B on her last test though so I don't think I'll be going over as often any more."

"Oh.." I said, I didn't really know how to talk about Karen Jackson. He thought she was cool, I thought she was a fucking cunt from hell.

"She's been kinda pushy lately."

"Pushy?" I asked, confused.

"Touching me a lot, trying to get me to fuck her. But I don't know..." he mumbled with a twitch of his eyebrow.

"Why not?" I asked, I pretended to be searching through the fridge for beer.
When I 'found' some I grabbed two, setting one in front of him.

"She's been with a lot of guys."

"Oh I know," I said.

"Why do you do that?" He huffed.

"Do what?"

"Use that tone, when we talk about her. You sound like you know something I don't."

I sighed.

"I just don't like her."

"Why? What'd she do?"

I was quiet for a minute before I looked up from my bottle at him.

"Come on, tell me." He said, trying to coax it out of me. I sighed again.

"She fucked Billy."

"Lyd, you and Billy have been broken up for months. So what?"

I looked down at my bottle.

"That's not it, I just meant—"

"Then what the fuck do you mean? If you still have feelings for that asshole—" I cut him off slamming my hand on the table. He wasn't going to yell at me before I could even finish my sentence.

"I don't have fucking feelings for Billy Goddamn Marshall. She fucked him behind a fucking gas station while we were still together. Every week, Tuesday's at seven. Milkovich pointed it out and I got my own proof." By the end of my mini rant I was staring him in the face. His eyes were downcast and his cheeks were burning.

"And why the fuck do you care if I hate her? What you like her?"

He clenched his jaw and brought his hand up to rub his nose one good time.