shattering sounds, no fragments of glass flying around the room. Just a thunk. Then nothing.
I’m exhausted, breathing heavily, and feeling weak. I collapse in the desk chair, lean my head back, and just sit there. Feeling nothing. For the first time in a week, I am empty and there is silence inside me. I’m like the desert after a bomb goes off. The noise recedes, the sand settles back to the ground, and nothing moves, nothing breathes. Everything waits to see if more is coming. But for now, it’s not. I am hollow. My heart, my head, my soul. I feel like some sort of machine—wind me up and I’ll move—but that’s all it is, rote motion.
I finally get up and go into the bathroom, where I slowly and methodically take my clothes off. As I stand under the steaming-hot water that pelts down in the shower, self-loathing lodges deep inside me. I have crossed a boundary I never would have thought I was capable of. I have humiliated the woman I love. I have taken my anger out on her, used sex to try to dominate her. I hate myself. But worse than that, I think I might hate her.
L IFE HAS a funny way of giving you moments of respite in between the moments of sheer and utter hell. It’s like the world knows when it’s pushed you to the point where you might break, and since it wants to torture you more, it backs off to let you recover before it resumes the punishment.
The days following my event with Tammy in the parking lot are quiet. She stays in the kitchen and Leanne brings the food out. She gives me some pretty scathing looks when she does, so I feel certain that Tammy’s told her what happened. I’m still human enough to be ashamed, still in love enough to be destroyed. I try texting Tammy, apologizing, but she doesn’t respond, and I can’t blame her. I acted like an asshole, and there’s no way to take it back.
Mike doesn’t ask what happened, although he’s not happy about his camera, but he treads lightly around me, and I can tell that everyone’s waiting for me to explode. What they don’t know is that I already have and what they’re seeing is the detritus that remains.
It’s Wednesday of the next week, five days after my blowup, when Ronny finally calls my ass out on the carpet.
"Clark!" he shouts into the bunkhouse first thing in the morning.
"Yo!" I mumble as I sit up in bed, my head throbbing like I have a hangover—if only.
"Meet me in the barn. You’ve got five," he barks.
"Sounds like Daddy’s pissed," Mike mumbles helpfully from the top bunk.
"Fuck off," I answer as I struggle into my dirty jeans and t-shirt from the day before.
He flips me off and rolls over to go back to sleep.
I stumble outside to find that it’s still nearly dark out, but the cows are lowing, the dogs are barking, and the fucking rooster is crowing his head off. I hate animals.
I shuffle into the barn, squinting to see Ronny in the gray morning light.
"Over here," he booms from the far stall where he’s cleaning out old straw.
I walk over, hands stuffed in my pockets, wishing I’d thrown a hoodie on to ward off the slight chill that remains inside the wooden structure.
"What’s going on?" As if I don’t know.
"I think maybe I ought to be the one asking that." He stands up straight, resting on the handle of the shovel he’s using. "Everyone’s been tiptoeing around your ass all week. I’ve asked my wife several times what the hell’s going on because I could tell she knew something, but she and Tammy have been keeping it a girls’ secret for days."
I swallow, a sense of unease coming over me.
"I finally lost patience last night and got Leanne to cough it up. All I have to say is… What. The. Fuck . Were you thinking?"
His eyes are blazing, and I’m seeing a side to Ronny that I’ve never witnessed. He’s shorter than I am, but I have no doubt that he could take me if he wanted.
I back up a step and suck in a deep breath. "I assume you’re talking about my meeting with
I’m exhausted, breathing heavily, and feeling weak. I collapse in the desk chair, lean my head back, and just sit there. Feeling nothing. For the first time in a week, I am empty and there is silence inside me. I’m like the desert after a bomb goes off. The noise recedes, the sand settles back to the ground, and nothing moves, nothing breathes. Everything waits to see if more is coming. But for now, it’s not. I am hollow. My heart, my head, my soul. I feel like some sort of machine—wind me up and I’ll move—but that’s all it is, rote motion.
I finally get up and go into the bathroom, where I slowly and methodically take my clothes off. As I stand under the steaming-hot water that pelts down in the shower, self-loathing lodges deep inside me. I have crossed a boundary I never would have thought I was capable of. I have humiliated the woman I love. I have taken my anger out on her, used sex to try to dominate her. I hate myself. But worse than that, I think I might hate her.
L IFE HAS a funny way of giving you moments of respite in between the moments of sheer and utter hell. It’s like the world knows when it’s pushed you to the point where you might break, and since it wants to torture you more, it backs off to let you recover before it resumes the punishment.
The days following my event with Tammy in the parking lot are quiet. She stays in the kitchen and Leanne brings the food out. She gives me some pretty scathing looks when she does, so I feel certain that Tammy’s told her what happened. I’m still human enough to be ashamed, still in love enough to be destroyed. I try texting Tammy, apologizing, but she doesn’t respond, and I can’t blame her. I acted like an asshole, and there’s no way to take it back.
Mike doesn’t ask what happened, although he’s not happy about his camera, but he treads lightly around me, and I can tell that everyone’s waiting for me to explode. What they don’t know is that I already have and what they’re seeing is the detritus that remains.
It’s Wednesday of the next week, five days after my blowup, when Ronny finally calls my ass out on the carpet.
"Clark!" he shouts into the bunkhouse first thing in the morning.
"Yo!" I mumble as I sit up in bed, my head throbbing like I have a hangover—if only.
"Meet me in the barn. You’ve got five," he barks.
"Sounds like Daddy’s pissed," Mike mumbles helpfully from the top bunk.
"Fuck off," I answer as I struggle into my dirty jeans and t-shirt from the day before.
He flips me off and rolls over to go back to sleep.
I stumble outside to find that it’s still nearly dark out, but the cows are lowing, the dogs are barking, and the fucking rooster is crowing his head off. I hate animals.
I shuffle into the barn, squinting to see Ronny in the gray morning light.
"Over here," he booms from the far stall where he’s cleaning out old straw.
I walk over, hands stuffed in my pockets, wishing I’d thrown a hoodie on to ward off the slight chill that remains inside the wooden structure.
"What’s going on?" As if I don’t know.
"I think maybe I ought to be the one asking that." He stands up straight, resting on the handle of the shovel he’s using. "Everyone’s been tiptoeing around your ass all week. I’ve asked my wife several times what the hell’s going on because I could tell she knew something, but she and Tammy have been keeping it a girls’ secret for days."
I swallow, a sense of unease coming over me.
"I finally lost patience last night and got Leanne to cough it up. All I have to say is… What. The. Fuck . Were you thinking?"
His eyes are blazing, and I’m seeing a side to Ronny that I’ve never witnessed. He’s shorter than I am, but I have no doubt that he could take me if he wanted.
I back up a step and suck in a deep breath. "I assume you’re talking about my meeting with
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