Bad Things

30. Save Me (Part II)

Feel angry.

Feel scared.

Feel lonely.

Feel weak.

Shawn had never been weak before. He'd never been this pathetic. Deep down, he knew this. But ever since this whole thing started, those were the only things he could be anymore.

Shawn's father was an asshole. But that asshole was the only example of a man Shawn had ever had. And as a man, Roy had never, ever shown an ounce of fear, of hurt. He was always an immovable rock—something Shawn had once thought was a strength.

Now, he didn't know what the hell to think.

Somehow, Shawn knew it wasn't quite right, that Roy had never really been right about the shit he'd spouted to him. But how was Shawn supposed unlearn the lessons he'd been taught? How could he think any differently? How could Shawn be anything other than the man Roy had raised him to be?

And how could he raise his own son to be any different, when this was all he knew?

The thought struck him so hard, it was like a punch to the stomach.

He didn't want his son to grow up like he had, without a real father, or with a father who made him feel the way Shawn had, like he was a disappointment, like he was a burden. But what if that's all Shawn could do? What if that was all he could be? Shawn felt sick, his stomach knotting up inside of him.

He couldn't do this. How the hell could he do this?

MJ wasn't even there yet, and Shawn was already failing him. That feeling, on top of everything else, was almost more than Shawn could bear. He could deal with people failing him, of disappointing him, because, in the end, they could only hurt him as much as he let them. But his son ... he couldn't stand the thought of being a source of any embarrassment or pain to his son. But how could he be anything else?

He had lost everything: his family, his scholarships, his football career, his reputation. Everything. What kind of example could he be?

Shawn lowered his head to the steering wheel and closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out as his heart pounded against his chest. The hard ridges of the stitching of the wheel pressed uncomfortably into his forehead.

"Stop," he said to himself. "Just stop." He pressed a little harder and pain throbbed above his brow. He was feeling sorry for himself. He'd been feeling sorry for himself for a long time now. "Stop being such an asshole," he scolded. "You're not like him. You won't be like him. You won't be like either of them."

Shawn needed to stop the relentless negative thoughts overtaking his mind. None of this would help him. None of this would help any of them. What he needed, what Camila needed, what MJ needed was for Shawn to be a man, for him to pull his head out of his ass and act like he was strong enough to take this, even if, inside, he felt as helpless as a child. Even if the pieces of him that used to be confident, used to be strong, were slowly eroding away as this storm continued to rage over him.