Autophobia

By Justin Finley

Having just discovered a lurid secret about his fiancé—on their wedding day nonetheless—Jackson Fabacher quickly flees the cathedral, but not before causing quite a stir during the ceremony. Heartbroken, but also embarrassed by his actions, he jumps in his car and starts driving west, creating as much distance between himself and the city of New Orleans as possible. He eventually finds himself residing in a Las Vegas casino, where he spends his time avoiding phone calls from family, overcoming the sense of loss and grief from breaking up with his fiancé, and escaping reality. To combat the crippling fear he experiences when he is alone, Jackson finds temporary comfort in the arms of various women. Once he is convinced that he will never return to the only city he had ever lived, the death of a loved one forces him back home. It doesn’t take long for Jackson to suspect that the death may be linked to his actions at the wedding.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999163900

Book preview

49

Chapter 1

The condensation on the glass, clutched tightly in my hand, was as prevalent as the moisture rapidly gathering on my forehead. I anxiously searched every pocket of my rented tux until locating my dad’s monogrammed handkerchief. Since our initials are the same, he told me to keep it following my earlier sneezing spell.

Never did I think I would use a handkerchief. The idea of blowing my nose into a piece of cloth then sticking it back into a pocket to be used again at a later time seemed not only unhygienic, but also quite disgusting. Still, I found myself desperately clinging to it as I found another use for it. After wiping it across my forehead and placing it back in my jacket pocket, I chugged the Jack and Coke in hand. The calming effect I hoped it would elicit had yet to kick in. I walked towards the only fan in the room to cool off, wondering if I would have the strength to make it to the altar.

You better slow down, suggested my older brother, Marcus, as he hobbled towards me with the assistance of a maple wood cane held firmly in his right hand. I don’t think Mom and Dad want to see you slurring your words up there.

I was surrounded by Marcus and six of my closest friends in a musty, claustrophobic room just a few steps away from the St. Louis Cathedral altar—the spot where my whole life was about to change.

After patting my brother on the back and setting the empty glass on a nearby table, I told him, I’m okay. I just need to settle my nerves.

Are you ready to do this?

Sure, I answered, wondering if he could detect the lie in my voice. Can’t wait to start my new life.

A large crowd had gathered to witness my wedding— the first to take place in the historic cathedral since Hurricane Katrina’s rampage on the city two months earlier. The wedding, my mom told me, was important, as it was a sign that life was slowly getting back to normal in the city that some predicted would never recover from one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history. The so-called significance only added to my anxiety-inducing nausea. I made my way to the corner of the room, where I firmly held the rim of a trashcan while leaning over it.

Guys, I feel that since we’re in a cathedral right now I need to confess something, said Logan, one of my two best friends.

Not again, said my other best friend, Mikey.

Now, some of y’all are probably wondering where I ran off to after the rehearsal dinner last night.

I’m not, stated one of the groomsmen.

You were gone last night? I heard another ask.

Shut up, you two. Y’all are married so I know you don’t have any good stories to tell. It’s time for you to start living vicariously through me. Anyways, I left to…do y’all remember the lovely, sophisticated, redheaded young woman who was kind enough to gyrate her body in the groom’s lap last weekend for a substantial monetary donation?

You mean the stripper that gave Jackson a lap dance?

I stood from the trashcan to see Logan making the sign of the cross before addressing my brother.

We’re in a cathedral, Marcus, he whispered. "You can’t say stripper in here or you’ll go to Earth’s basement for eternity. The voice of a twenty-six-year-old no one ever took seriously returned to a normal conversation level as he continued. And, yes, I’m talking about the hot-ass stripper from last weekend. I met up with her last night and something happened."

Let me guess, said Mikey. You had sex with her and now it burns when you pee?

I wish that were the case, Miguel. Let me set the mood: candlelight, Sarah McLachlan playing on the stereo, she and I in our birthday suits on a bearskin rug in front of her fireplace, our hands Lewis and Clarking each other’s bodies.

Lewis and Clarking? asked my brother.

Logan, after pausing to take a sip of his drink, told him, Exploring each other’s land. Candi’s sitting in my lap. We start making out heavily, then things—

Her name is Candi? asked Mikey.

Yep. Candi Kane. Anyway, we start making out heavily, and then things got a little…nutty.

She was a dude? another of the groomsman, Kevin, asked.

Logan shook his head. No, but that would have made things easier. Candi grabbed both sides of my face with her hands—which smelled like dollar bills because she’s a stripper—looked deep into my gorgeous blue eyes, and then proceed to ask for $500 before continuing.

She was a prostitute?!

A little louder, K-bone. I don’t think the organist heard you out there.

Kevin walked closer to Logan. She was a prostitute?

No; a girl scout selling a shit-ton of thin mints. Yes, she was a damn hooker.

The other groomsmen laughed. I couldn’t, as my mind was elsewhere.

How was I supposed to know she was turning tricks?

Mikey put his arm around Logan. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, dumbass, he calmly told him. She’s a stripper. Everyone knows that’s a gateway profession to prostitution.

Did you pay her? my brother asked.

Smugly grinning, he shook his head. Because I am highly intelligent, I merely turned the tables. I told her I was also a prostitute, and that I charge $700. I then asked her for $200 before we continued.

What did she do?

My sweet Candi pulled a switchblade from her purse. You’d be surprised how fast you can run butt-ass naked down a street when a prostitute is chasing…

As Logan continued rambling, Mikey approached me with a drink. How are you holding up? he asked at a low volume.

I don’t know if I can do this.

Most everyone who knew Mikey loved him. Standing 6’4" and weighing around 300 pounds, Mikey was nothing but a big blonde-haired teddy bear—that is, until someone pissed-off one of his friends or loved ones, at which point he became a grizzly bear whose cub was in danger. In a football game during our junior year of high school, an opposing player hit me with a cheap shot after the referee whistled the play dead. I was dazed and had to sit out the rest of the game. On the next play, Mikey grabbed the player by the facemask, dragged him over to the opposing team’s sideline, and threw him at the feet of their head coach while yelling obscenities. A brawl ensued and Mikey was banned from football for the remainder of the season. It was then that I knew how loyal and protective he could be. On top of his toughness, he always offered meaningful advice to me. It’s not that I was naive when it came to relationships, but I appreciated my best friend’s opinion. It comforted me.

I know you’re nervous, but you have to go through with this or you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life. I knew Mikey was speaking the truth, but it was much easier said than done. You’ll feel much better after it’s all over. He handed me his drink.

Are you sure I’m doing the right thing?

Damn right. Chug the whiskey, and you’ll be fine. He waited until the glass was empty before putting his hand on my shoulder.

Logan walked over, placing his arms around the both of us while whispering, This hug feels good, guys; really good. And just in case you’re wondering, that’s not a banana in my pants.

Last time I measured my height, I was exactly six feet and one inch. As I stood before the steps leading to the altar, I felt somewhere in the neighborhood of about three feet tall. I ran my shaky hands atop my dark brown buzz-cut hair, and then nodded to Mikey as he and the others walked out of the room. On a normal day, I could easily bench press over 275 pounds and squat close to 400. I had been told I had a physique that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine, but as I gazed at the enormous crowd, I felt as if I had the strength of Gandhi on the tail end of his forty-day fast. Standing was becoming increasingly difficult with every passing minute.

The groomsmen, clad in the same traditional tuxedo I was wearing, stood in descending height before the priest. Father Peter had been friends with my family for over four decades—presiding over my parents’ nuptials, as well as the weddings of my brother and several other relatives. As the music began, Father Peter smiled at me. Unable to muster a return smile, I instead stared at the mural painted high above him.

The bridesmaids, draped in champagne-colored, knee-length, single-strap dresses, began their walk down the aisle one at a time, stopping halfway to be met by a groomsman. While a piece by Handel was being played by the organist in the cathedral loft, I glanced at my parents sitting in the first row. My dad smiled and winked at me, while my mom wept into another of my dad’s monogrammed handkerchiefs. I stared somewhere between them, my face expressionless as I recalled the first time I brought my fiancée home to meet them. They had warmed up to her quickly. My dad and I appreciated Tiffany’s ambitiousness. After finishing law school at Tulane, Tiffany spent the next few months studying for the bar exam while simultaneously planning the wedding. It wasn’t easy doing so in the midst of a city in turmoil, but she found a way. My mom and I loved how my fiancée made me feel. Once Tiffany came into my life, my mom proclaimed I was the happiest she had ever seen me.

The organ grew silent. I looked downwards. The stillness that filled the cathedral was unnerving—so much so that the black-and-white checkered tile beneath my feet momentarily became blurry. Wedding March began to play. I reluctantly looked to the back of the cathedral. The doors opened. The pews creaked as the congregation rose to their feet to catch the first glimpse of the bride. My knees were on the verge of buckling upon seeing the twenty-six-year-old lawyer and former Miss Teen Louisiana as she began the walk towards me, her father at her side. Breathtaking and stunning couldn’t even begin to describe how she looked in an off-white dress in which the inch-thick straps weren’t hung over her shoulders, but around her toned arms instead. The top half of her dress conformed to her torso in corset-like fashion, showing just a hint of cleavage. The lower half was less contoured and led to a flowing train. Elbow-length gloves, the same color as the gown, added a touch of regality.

Tiffany (sans veil) had her lengthy dirty-blonde hair in an elegant up-do. I could see her bright blue eyes—a gift from both parents—from several feet away, while her bronzy complexion hinted as if she had spent the last month sunbathing on a Mediterranean beach. Swimming outside three days a week at the health club where she and I first met helped in maintaining her tanned hue, as well as her lean figure. I was a huge fan of the light freckling on her nose, her natural C-cup breasts, and her backside, which she complained was too big. Her bubble butt, as she called it, may have been disproportionate to the rest of her body, but I loved every inch of it. Sex with Tiffany was so incredible and adventurous that the thought of making love with another woman never occurred to me because it wouldn’t compare.

Our guests remained on their feet as the bride’s father gave his only daughter away. A former New Orleans police officer, Davis Melancon found recent success as the proprietor of one of the more popular restaurants in the French Quarter, the Fleur-de-Leans. Davis knew nearly every high-ranking official (including the mayor) and most of the corporate business leaders throughout the city. His connections—along with a hefty donation to the Archdiocese of New Orleans—made it possible for the wedding to take place in the cathedral so soon after the hurricane.

My fiancée stood next to me, eagerly smiling as tears brimmed her eyes. She seemed ready to announce to the world of her intentions to spend the rest of her life with me. While staring back at her, I was reminded of the last time we saw one another. We stood outside of Pat O’Brien’s in the middle of Bourbon Street, saying goodbye for the last time as an unmarried couple. I love you so much, baby, she told me as she began to walk in the opposite direction. And don’t forget the video camera tomorrow so my aunt can film the wedding too.

Father Peter spoke. Tiffany and I faced him while holding hands. I couldn’t recall a word he said. I was instead focused on the large crowd gathered behind me, my parents at my five o’clock, and Tiffany’s father to my seven o’clock.

Once it was time to say the vows we had individually written, a crying baby momentarily stole everyone’s attention. Tiffany’s uncle—her dad’s brother—stood from a pew and walked to the back of the church with his adopted three-month-old son held against his chest. After the doors closed behind him, Tiffany cleared her throat.

I love to write poetry, so I opted to recite my vows in a poem, she announced before unfolding a pink piece of paper handed to her by the maid-of-honor.

Tiffany looked the most beautiful I had ever seen her. I began to have second thoughts for about the hundredth time as the paper shook nervously in her hand.

"The first time I saw you, Jackson Fabacher, I fell in love with your smile. The first time you held me, I knew I’d stay a while. The first time you made me laugh, I fell in love with your wits. The first time we kissed, I fell in love with your lips. The first time you cried, I loved your compassion. The first time I dressed you, I loved your fashion. The first time you declared love, I happily said it too. And knew one day I’d tell you I do." She folded the paper and handed it back to her best friend.

In less than one minute, everything would be different. I found it nearly impossible to breathe, as I was momentarily held captive by Tiffany’s hypnotic gaze. I was ready to deviate from the plan, yet the subtle clearing of a throat coming from behind me kept me focused. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Mikey. I couldn’t let him or myself down.

My vows are going to be a little different too. Once the words left my lips, Mikey hurried to the room we had stood moments earlier.

What’s he doing? Tiffany whispered.

My eyes were fixated above my bride-to-be’s left shoulder at the Virgin Mary, for I couldn’t look her in the eyes. It’s a surprise.

Mikey’s return with a television atop a rolling cart couldn’t have come fast enough. He positioned it on the top step, just before the altar. I finally locked eyes with my fiancée. She appeared confused. After plugging the power cord into an outlet, Mikey started the video. There was no turning back.

An image of Tiffany sitting on my bed as she answered her cell phone appeared on the television. The red recording light, nestled between two books on a shelf, could vaguely be seen in a mirror directly in front of the camera. I told you not to call me anymore. You know I’m getting married in a few weeks, Tiffany spoke into her phone, followed by a few seconds of silence. Look, Jude, I love Jackson, and I know we’re meant to be together. You and I broke up because your band was more important than me, and the groupies were obviously more important than me too.

Tiffany stared at me with tears in her eyes, only they weren’t of the joyous variety. She obviously remembered the conversation from two weeks earlier that was playing in front of our friends and family. She appeared to be in such shock that she couldn’t move or speak.

Jackson doesn’t need to know I had sex with you last week. I’m not his wife yet.

Several of the wedding guests gasped. Tiffany finally showed signs of life. While hurrying towards the television, she tripped on her dress. Father Peter helped her to her feet as the video continued.

Yes, the sex was amazing, like it always was, but that’s all we had between us, Jude…. Because I wanted to have sex one last time before being with the same man for the next fifty or so years, that’s why…Don’t you dare tell a living soul! If Jackson were to find out, it would crush him.

The video ended before Tiffany could get to it. No one in the cathedral moved or spoke. The longest seconds of my life ticked by.

From the highest step, Tiffany looked down at me. In what felt like slow motion, I watched her chest expand as she inhaled deeply. I knew all too well what was about to happen.

Why?! she screamed. Why couldn’t you talk to me instead of doing this?!

It wasn’t the first time she yelled at me, but it would most likely be the last. I didn’t have an answer.

Her father jumped up from the front pew. The cathedral lights reflected off of his bald head as he gave me—his almost-but-not-quite son-in-law—a stare that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. You’re dead, you piece of shit! Davis rushed towards me like a bull charging a matador’s flag. Mikey stepped forward, prompting Davis to stop in his tracks. He was nearly half a foot taller and had a hundred pounds on Davis. Move or you’re going to get what your asshole of a friend is about to get!

All of my groomsmen stepped forward, forming a wall between Davis and myself. Davis reluctantly backed down before attending to his devastated daughter. He, along with his wife, escorted Tiffany to a room behind the altar.

Every person in the cathedral stood, longing for me to say something. I quietly thanked my groomsmen before hugging my mom. I’m sorry, I told her. She was silent. My dad, who always had something optimistic to offer no matter the situation, couldn’t find anything positive to say. He, instead, put his hand on my shoulder. Are you mad at me? I asked him. Unable to look him in the eyes, I gazed at the faded two-inch scar above his Adam’s apple—the result of a shaving accident when he was much younger.

No. My dad was never a man of few words. For him to give a one-word answer meant that he was just as shocked as everyone else in St. Louis Cathedral—myself included.

I felt ashamed and embarrassed because of my actions. I needed desperately to exit the cathedral. All eyes were focused on me as I made the lengthy walk down the aisle. I no longer felt as if I were three feet tall. Instead, I felt about the size of a cockroach, and just as hated as the pests usually are by anyone who comes across one on their bedroom floor in the middle of the night. I didn’t pick my head up during the walk out of the cathedral, and didn’t hear a single noise either.

Once outside, I made eye contact with Tiffany’s uncle, Scott, as he stood on the steps of the cathedral with his infant son in arms. Jackson? he asked with a confused look about his face. Where’s…Tiffany?

I ignored Scott’s question and instead hurried to my vehicle parked several blocks away at the hotel. I needed to get away before anyone could chase me down—most notably my almost-but-not-quite father-in-law.

Chapter 2

A heart attack seemed highly unlikely, but after starting the engine, the symptoms were hard to ignore. My chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it; pain radiated down my left arm; dizziness overcame me. I tried taking deep breaths to calm myself. It proved useless. The images of a tearful Tiffany and her raging father were difficult to erase. Several minutes passed until the pain and dizziness subsided. Once I was able to control my breathing, I began to question what I had done. I realized it was beyond stupid. I should have talked to Tiffany, just as she suggested. Instead, the most disturbing, embarrassing, and foolish moment of my life had occurred. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, even those I loved most. I had to get away, but wasn’t sure of where to go.

While driving down Canal Street, I found myself bombarded with one what if question after another. What if Tiffany had never asked me to bring the camera to the wedding? What if I hadn’t checked the disc in the camera to see if I needed to insert a blank DVD? What if I didn’t watch the DVD to remind myself what was on it? What if she didn’t mention to me months earlier that she had a fantasy to be secretly filmed while having sex, then watch the video afterward? What if she hadn’t picked up her phone to talk to her ex-boyfriend while at my house? What if I didn’t rush off to work that night because the security alarm went off? What if my boss wasn’t out of town, thus leaving me to attend to the alarm?

If just one of those situations never took place, I would have been enjoying one of the most memorable days of my life instead of experiencing the loneliest and most depressing moment of my twenty-seven-year existence. I came to the conclusion that I wished one of those situations had never occurred, because then I wouldn’t feel like the saddest and most pathetic person in the world. In a fit of anger, I hit the dashboard repeatedly with my fist. I was mad at not only myself, but also my best friend for encouraging me to show the video. I imagined I could have forgiven Tiffany down the road. I’m sure she would have never cheated on me again.

New Orleanians adored Davis Melancon. It’s fascinating how a couple of cheesy and badly-acted commercials can gain someone rock-star-like stardom. Each one ended with Davis, donned in a black cape and gold crown, waving a fleur-de-lis scepter while saying, Come on down to the Fleur-de-Leans. We’ll treat you like the king of Carnival. I imagined the news of his daughter being humiliated at her wedding would most certainly spread throughout the city like wildfire.

I wanted to get as far away from New Orleans as possible. Upon noticing a blue sign identifying the I-10 on-ramp, I sped towards it. The eastern sky was growing black. Light had always been more comforting to me than darkness. I headed west. Before I could escape the city limits, my cell phone rang. Instead of bothering to see who was calling, I turned it off and threw it into the back seat.

The only clothing with me was on my back. The probability that the tuxedo would be returned to the rental shop on Monday morning was highly unlikely. I was so nervous about showing the video that I didn’t plan for the aftermath. I did, however, have nearly $50,000 in my savings account, which I accumulated by selling my house three days earlier. One positive outcome from Hurricane Katrina was that my home, undamaged by the storm, increased substantially overnight. I sold the house less than twenty-four hours after placing it on the market. The profit was intended to be used as a down payment on a double-shotgun house Tiffany and I had found in Mid-City. We were scheduled to close on it once we returned from our ten-day honeymoon in Italy. The experiences of tasting authentic gelato, riding in a gondola on the Grand Canal, looking upwards for hours at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and making love in a tiny Italian hotel room would have to wait.

Mental and physical exhaustion set in as I crossed into Texas just past midnight. I found a cheap motel off the interstate to catch some rest. Even though I was tired, falling asleep proved difficult. I couldn’t erase the image of Tiffany’s raging father charging towards me, his hands tightly clenched, readying to snap my neck. The fact that he was kicked off the police force for reasons unknown convinced me that he was capable of anything. The thought of him breaking through the door was frightening enough to force me out of bed to recheck the motel room locks.

I was back on the road after a few restless hours of sleep and four bites of a vending machine blueberry muffin. Feeling weak, I forced myself to eat a few bites of the muffin—my first meal in nearly twenty-four hours. I stopped at a Target in Beaumont to purchase clothing and toiletries. The look on several shoppers’ faces as I pushed a buggy in a tuxedo (minus the jacket and bowtie) only added to my embarrassment.

In cargo shorts, a long sleeve T-shirt, and flip-flops, I continued driving west. I tried not to think of Tiffany. I was highly unsuccessful at doing so. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Our last three years together were the best years of my life. I was going to miss everything about her.

After passing Houston, I felt it necessary to call my parents. My mom was most certainly a nervous wreck. I wanted them to know, or at least think, I was okay. I retrieved the cell phone from the backseat and dialed their number. My intention was to leave a message. Unfortunately, my mom answered.

Honey, where are you? she asked, her tone worrisome. Are you okay?

I’m alright. I’m just driving on the interstate.

Where?

North. Lying to her made me feel even more pathetic, but I wanted absolutely no one to know of my location.

You need to come home, sweetie. I could tell in her voice she had been crying, or was on the verge of doing so.

I can’t right now.

Why not?

I need some time to collect my thoughts.

We’re so worried about you.

I realize that, but I’m going to spend a little time traveling. I just wanted to tell you and Dad I love you, and I’m very sorry for what happened yesterday. If I could go back, I would have taken care of the situation a little more maturely and talked to Tiffany first. I paused. Did she come back out after I left?

Tiffany—no. Davis—yes.

Did he do or say anything? I nervously asked.

Well…he started yelling at your father and me. He said we were horrible parents and we should be ashamed. Mikey pulled him away from us and Davis tried to punch him, but missed. Mikey pushed him to the ground. It was awful, Jackson. Davis landed on his wrist, bending it backwards. His brother had to rush him to the hospital. As usual, Mikey did what he had done for years by protecting those close to him. You need to call Mikey, and then get back home.

I’ll call him in a little while. I didn’t want to upset her by admitting how scared I had become of Davis in the last twenty-four hours, so I didn’t mention how anxious I was about returning home. I just want to clear my head for a while. I’ll be home soon.

How long are you going to be gone?

I’m not sure.

But—

Mom, I interrupted, I need to do this.

Seconds passed before she said, Just don’t do anything crazy, and please be careful. I’m going to put your father on the phone. I love you, sweetie.

I felt a lump in my throat while telling her, Love you too.

My dad cleared his throat before asking, Are you okay, Jax?

I’m good. I just want to apologize for what happened. You and Mom need to be careful too.

Careful about what?

Just watch out for Davis.

I’m not worried about Davis. Besides, Mikey already took care of him. I don’t think he’ll be cooking anytime soon. My dad seemed to find delight in telling me of Davis’ injury. You be careful, do what you need to do, and then get home.

I will. I love you, Dad.

I love you too, Jax. My dad had been calling me Jax ever since I could remember. I couldn’t recall the last time he called me Jackson. I didn’t get to say it yesterday, but I’m proud of you.

The lump in my throat grew bigger. I needed to hang up before my ten-year streak came to an end. Thanks, Dad.

Call us when you get to where you’re going.

I will. Love you. I hung up before a tear could trickle down my face. The last time I cried was during my senior year of high school when my ailing grandfather passed away. I was the only one in the hospital room when Gramps held his right hand up towards the ceiling and smiled as he called out his deceased wife’s name. He proceeded to tell my grandmother, who had died before I was born, how beautiful she was. He closed his eyes, and within seconds, was dead. I cried while holding his hand.

In the distance, there was nothing but interstate and cattle as far as the eye could see. Houston was behind me. San Antonio was ahead. After thinking it might be a good city to stay in for the next couple of days, I managed to convince myself it wasn’t far enough away.

The next couple hundred miles brought many more questions with it, as well as thoughts about my actions over the years. The wedding wasn’t the first occasion in which I ran away after something went wrong. In fact, there were several other incidences. I began to wonder if my behavior was abnormal.

The sky grew dark. Even though I wasn’t tired, I checked into a motel on the outskirts of El Paso. Dinner in the neighboring diner was light—a small salad, grilled chicken, and a slice of warm apple pie. As I looked around the diner, I realized I was the only patron eating alone. I would have given every dollar in my savings account to go back a day earlier when I held the camera in my hand. Instead of watching the footage to see what was on it, I would have destroyed it. I would then be on a plane flying to Rome with my beautiful wife’s hand nestled in mine, instead of eating in a diner—alone and scared.

My room was comprised of what one would expect to find in a $49 motel room—outdated furniture, razor-thin carpet, a comforter that probably hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in months, an HBO monthly magazine that required a magnifying glass to read the viewing schedule, a wood-panel television nearly as old as me, a sink located outside of the bathroom, and one of those collapsible luggage racks that I had never used in a motel because the bed seemed to hold my suitcase just fine. Still, I didn’t care the room wasn’t aesthetically appeasing. There was only one thing I wanted to do.

I lay on the queen-sized bed for hours. I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind was racing. Upon sitting on the edge of the bed, an illuminated gas station sign caught my eye through the crack of the curtains. The act of walking across the street at three in the morning was unappealing, but staying awake all night would be much worse.

Not a car was on the road, and no one was out and about. At a snail’s pace, I made my way across the parking lot to the well-lit gas station. The mustached Hispanic attendant sat motionless behind a glass partition while Latino music played on a radio behind him. Not a word was spoken as I placed the sleeping pills and bottle of water on the counter, and neither he nor I acknowledged one another while waiting for my credit card to process. We were two zombies, living in a world that had chewed us up and spit us out.

I returned to the room. There was no need to ingest sleeping pills—I had already done so on the walk back to the motel. I again lay on the bed and shut my eyes, waiting for the pills to do their thing. She was on my mind, as was her father. I spent several minutes wondering who hated me more. Before falling asleep, I concluded that both Tiffany and Davis despised me equally.

I awoke to find a few rays of sunlight shining through the window curtains. I leisurely crawled out of bed and opened the door. There was a chill in the late-October Texas air. I shut my eyes. It was quiet outside. I then realized it was not only Monday, but also Halloween. With nothing on but a pair of boxer briefs, I sat in the doorway of the motel room, staring at my black 4-Runner a few yards away. I leaned back, resting my hands on the carpet while my feet made contact with the cold concrete outside. Should I stay…or go?

As I continued to stare at my SUV, I flashed back to the night Tiffany and I first made love. While playing putt-putt, it had begun to rain. We ran to my vehicle. I moved her soaking hair out of her face before looking into her eyes and telling her how crazy I was about her. We kissed passionately as the rain continued to fall. She eventually crawled into my lap, pushed the seat back, hiked up her skirt, and took me on one of the most mind-blowing sexual adventures of my life. I could still hear Dave Matthews’ sultry voice and Tiffany’s cries of passion resonate in erotic harmony as she trembled in my arms and stared deep into my soul. No longer could I listen to the song Satellite without thinking of the moment in which we were no longer strangers to one another.

While contemplating my decision, I imagined Tiffany lying on the bed behind me. She was naked, motioning me towards her with her pointer finger. A shooting pain jolted throughout my body, reminding me I would never make love to her again. Damnit! After punching the ground, I came to a decision. I stood, shut and locked the door, and then walked back to the bed. I didn’t have the desire to drive or do much of anything else. I picked up the phone. This is Jackson Fabacher in room 128. I’m going to stay a little longer than expected.

One more day? asked the motel attendant.

I’m not sure, ma’am. Probably at least one, if not more. Just bill it to my credit card. I’ll stop by when I’m ready to check out.

That’s fine, sir. Do you need maid service?

No. I’ll take care of the cleaning myself. Thank you. I hung up, immediately grabbing the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. Trick or treat. After placing four pills into my mouth and chasing them with water, I set the air conditioner thermostat to the coldest temperature possible, shut the curtains, and hung the spare blanket