Zac

In the final weeks of summer, I poured all of my time and energy into finding a new normal.

I continued my weekly Skype sessions with Dr. Jalloh. Doc said I was making good progress. Something about my attitude being more open. And how "real, authentic growth" needed to stem from a "sincere desire for change." Whatever the fuck that meant.

I began following the Harvey Waldron trial like it was my religion. My last conversation with Cate stuck with me. Her obsession with the trial rubbed off on me, too. I knew Mr. Waldron had been my dad's boss at some point. What I didn't know was how deeply he had been involved with all of the insider trading shit. Weirdly enough, Walter Sinclair's name didn't pop up once in any of the news reports or articles that I read. This blatant omission left me a bit on edge.

Why had I even bothered to go back to Wellesley to seek out Walter's daughter if the man had nothing to do with my dad's crimes?

I added this discrepancy to my long list of queries that needed to be examined. As I grew more and more convinced of my dad's guilt, I felt worse and worse about my strained relationship with my mom. Years ago, when my dad got busted, she struggled as much as I did when we moved from our big house in Wellesley to Nana's tiny apartment in Queens. I started making a conscious effort to be nicer to my mom. Unfortunately, my attempts to become a better son didn't last long.

Two weeks before fall semester kicked off, I ended up going to a stupid party with Simon and Quentin where we got high as kites and shitfaced drunk. I stumbled home that night around 3 am reeking of weed and alcohol. My mom lost her shit and grounded me for a week.

During my seven days of purgatory, I replayed an ungodly amount of Assassins Creed and Resident Evil to pass the time. It helped to numb the chaos inside me. Some nights, I stayed up until sunrise with Wes, playing mindless multiplayer shooters simply because I couldn't fall asleep. We kept our headsets on. Neither of us said much, but I could tell that Wes sensed something was up.

At one point, he asked me in between missions, "Everything okay?"

A pang echoed in my chest.

No.

Everything wasn't okay. Life as I knew it felt so fucked. Cate was no longer mine, and I was practically drowning in my own mental bullshit. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure? Because you're playing like a noob. Get your head back in the game, Mazur."

If only I could. There was always so much noise inside my brain, though. I could hardly think straight. "Fuck you, Wes."

"Whoa, dude, calm your tits. I'm on your side, remember? I'm just worried, man. You'd tell me if something was bothering you, right?"

I knew Wes' intentions were coming from a good place, but I was reluctant to tell anyone that Cate and I were split up. The longer I kept the truth to myself, the longer I could pretend that Cate was still my girlfriend. Announcing our breakup to the world would be the final nail in the coffin, and I wasn't ready to let go of my harmless, little delusions. "I mean..."

As though he could read my mind, Wes brought up Cate on his own, "What? You miss your girl or something?"

"More than you know," I sighed.

"Why don't you go visit her in DC?"

"I can't."

"Uh-oh. Did you two have a fight?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh, good."

"We broke up."

Wes gasped, "Oh, shit."

Right then, in the background, I heard Ashlynn's voice shriek through my headset, "Oh, my God, did Zac break up with that bitch?"

I heard Wes yell at his sister, "Get out of my room, Ash!"

"Well, lock your door if you don't want me to come in!"

Fuck.

Time to make my escape. It appeared that Ashlynn managed to eavesdrop on my conversation with Wes, and I didn't possess the bandwidth to deal with her drama at the moment. Feeling overwhelmed, I mumbled to Wes through the headset, "Hey, man, I'm pretty tired. Gonna sign off now, okay?"

"Okay, Mazur. Get some rest. Sorry about Ash. I'll remember to lock my door next time."

"It's all good. Night, Wes."

"Night."

I logged out of the game and dragged myself to bed.

That night, I fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of a beautiful hazel-eyed girl. She stood with her back toward me in a long, dark hallway. Then, like some kind of funhouse magic trick, the corridor started stretching and warping the distance between us. Alarm shot through my core. I was going to lose her if I didn't catch up. Desperate to reach her, I kept calling out, hoping that she would turn around and come to me. My voice seized up every time I tried to scream her name. It felt as though my throat was being strangled by invisible hands. I began to run, but, no matter how hard I pumped my legs, I couldn't move fast enough to catch her.

The next morning, I awoke with a start. Sweat drenched my brow. My heart was hammering like crazy, and both hands were straining in midair as though I was still trying to reach for Cate.

If someone walked in on me right now, I probably looked crazed as hell. I certainly felt crazed. Maybe I was already crazy.

The last days of summer dragged on in this same, distressing manner. Once school was in session, shit didn't get any easier. Much to my dismay, it didn't take long for Ashlynn to broadcast my breakup with Cate across our social circles. Girls started messaging me again. Calling me. Inviting me to go out. Sometimes, I replied to their texts just to be polite. Other times, I joked around with them when I was in a more lighthearted mood. But I never let our interactions go beyond a mild flirtation.

Babygirl remained, forever and always, at the forefront of my mind, and I remained fucking devastated about our breakup even though I was the dumbass who initiated the damn thing.

After Cate returned to DC, we only texted back and forth a few times.

My Always: Just landed.

It hurt like hell to see her Caller ID pop up on my screen. Her nickname no longer made me smile. It only made me yearn for forever and always even more. Like some kind of masochist, though, I refused to change her contact on my phone. I kept it as is. Maybe I wanted to punish myself for throwing away the only girl I ever loved. Or maybe my heart simply wasn't ready to accept the reality of what I'd done. I was in denial.

Me: who's picking you up?

My Always: Andrea and Bea.

Me: cool cool call me when you get home?

But Cate didn't call me when she got home. She left me on Read. For weeks, I stalked her on Instagram to stay updated on her life, but I couldn't bring myself to call my babygirl. Not yet, anyway. I was almost certain that I'd beg her to take me back the moment she smiled at me on FaceTime or something.

For now, I intended to stay single and concentrate on what I needed to do to untangle the mess in my mind. As much as my feelings for Cate continued to simmer away like a sleeping volcano, I was scared to open myself up to her again. Fully. My trust in her remained shaky at best. I needed to investigate some shit on my own before turning to her for answers, to see if our versions of the truth would eventually align, to see if she would open herself up to me as well. Fully.

At present, our relationship was trapped in a gray area. I shared a bond with her that was neither here nor there. Neither platonic nor romantic. We existed somewhere in between. I knew I needed to start training my brain to see Cate as a friend and only as a friend, but that didn't stop Little Zac from missing her, like, all the fucking time.

Almost every day, I jerked off to thoughts of her in the shower. Over and over again, I fucked Cate in my mind. On her back. On her knees. Standing up. Sitting down. A petty, depraved part of me was still salty as fuck about the fact that I never got to finish inside my girl during our last night together. A girl like Cate was impossible to forget. I mean, I already knew firsthand what her boobs looked like—in high-def, no less—how soft yet firm they felt in my palms, and how fucking amazing it felt to slide into her sweet, slick tightness. The more I fantasized about Cate, the more vivid and realistic my fantasies became. I remembered more and more about her. To be honest, I wasn't sure if these mind-numbingly hot, sensory visuals were actual memories of sexy stuff we had done together, horny byproducts of a teenage boy's desperate, overactive imagination—or a potent combo of both?

Regardless, every time I gripped my cock in hand, my mind automatically booted up images of a very naked Cate doing very naughty things to me, with me, under me, on top of me...

It was easier to pretend like I was okay during the day.

I went to class. Did my homework. Hung out with Wes and my other friends in my free time.

Cate started texting me more. I always texted back. By now, it had been almost a month since our break up. She still hadn't called me. I debated whether or not I should be the one to make the first move, to call her, to rekindle our friendship.

I chickened out in the end. I didn't want to turn into some toxic ex who didn't know how to respect boundaries. Cautiously, though, I continued to text her. Hopefully, I continued to wait for her to reach out to me a little more.

Aside from the pathetic Cate-sized hole that had been wedged inside my heart, everything else was fine. Relatively speaking. Life was far from perfect, especially at home, but it was manageable. I guess.

Maybe this was the start of my new normal?

Every now and then, my mom and I fought over dumb, infuriating shit because, every now and then, I'd confront the woman about my accident. I asked her about my lost cell phone. The one that hadn't actually gone missing. I pressed her about my semester at Wellesley. I knew it had nothing to do with a fucking exchange program. I even interrogated her about Cate. My mom didn't like her much for some reason, and I was determined to find out why. Sadly, no matter how hard I pushed or how viciously I railed at her, she stood firm. Again and again, my mom provided nothing but a bunch of half-assed excuses and tired, rehearsed bullshit that I had heard a thousand time before. Jared was tactful enough to stay out of our way. Poor guy. I felt bad for the bastard. My stepdad likely thought he was living in a war zone at times.

These ongoing battles with my mom were hardly anything new, though. This was our normal. This had always been our normal. Even back when my dad lived with us. I kept trying to be more patient with my mom. To understand where she might be coming from. I suspected that she wanted to protect me, too, in her own annoying way. Just like Cate. But it was harder to forgive her. It was impossible to stay calm around her. I resented my mom too much for lying to me about, well, everything. At least, Cate had come clean about keeping shit from me.

School became my escape from home. I focused on getting good grades. I tried out for the soccer team. Going back to Briarley made me feel slightly more well-adjusted, but, for some reason, I wasn't really happy. I wasn't exactly depressed, but I was anxious, constantly anxious, as though, deep down, I sensed that all of this normalcy was only a temporary lull.

I didn't tell anyone, not even Cate or Wes, but a few more of my memories resurged around this time. Inconsequential specks of a much larger, hazier picture. Sudden bursts of emotions attached to blurry snapshots. Nothing mind-blowing. Nothing of importance.

Rage mixed with sick sort of delight.

Get up, fucker! We're just getting started!

Eagerness wrapped in smug satisfaction.

See you in detention, babygirl!

Amusement. Attraction. Affection.

I wouldn't mind being in your dungeon.

Again, nothing mind-blowing. Nothing of importance—yet.

My rediscovered memories infused me with confidence. They also posed a new dilemma.

Should I be patient and hope for my memories to come back in full?

Or dig deeper into the Harvey Waldron trial, like a man possessed, until I found what I was looking for?

I didn't know what to do. The scars on my arm always made me second guess myself.