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He’s been alone for a number of months now, he was usually too screwed up one way or another to really pay attention to the change in month and season, so typically he didn’t keep a good count on that sort of stuff. He knew what days work expected him to come in, and that was it, there weren't too many other responsibilities in his life anymore, which is fine, which is what he wanted, he thinks.
Heather left in August, Johnny stopped writing in May, and Tunny never reached out, not once since leaving,
It's fine, it is truly whatever.
He likes being alone anyway, it's easier. He can buy everything he needs from the 7-Eleven, he doesn’t need much, and he doesn’t have to keep anyone else in mind either, it's better this way.
Beer is cheaper than diapers.
Fuck.
Jesus Christ.
It’s sometime near Christmas, because the 7-Eleven has Santa hats, and the Halloween candy that was discounted last week is gone, so it's sometime closer to Christmas than it was.
This is so stupid, he really doesn’t know why he doesn't just kill himself. He’s got shit ready to go if he needs to, a letter to no one, he doesn’t take any booked clients at the tattoo shop, just walkins, his life could end at any moment and everything would be fine.
Which is a much more comforting thought than horrifying, and he thinks that's why he’s still alive. He’s comfortable knowing the option is there and easily accessible.
The teenage girl that works at the 7-Eleven down the block has started to try and befriend him, he’s not allowing such a thing to happen, but she tries. He has to stop coming here so often, he doesn’t want anyone to miss him too much, he doesn’t want anyone to realize he’s gone.
He keeps telling himself he’ll go to a different convenience store, go a few blocks west to the little bodega instead, maybe go to a real grocery store, but this place is open 24 hours and is only a three minute walk from his building, it's too easy, and so he just hopes that the staff is this friendly with everyone.
He lucks out and the attendant is in the back restocking some of the beers in the fridge when he comes in, it gives him a few moments to think, to breathe. He hopes she’s not in, but she’s in every Sunday, and he has to admit to himself that he’d be worried if she wasn’t here. Which is not comforting, he hates the idea that he has any attachment to anyone.
He’s grabbing a carton of eggs and placing them on the counter when she comes out of the fridge, grinning at him. Why has she chosen him to be nice to, he can’t possibly be nice enough to deserve it. But maybe she’s one of those girls with daddy issues who think they can fix him, or maybe she’s just nice.
It doesn’t matter, she’s grinning just at the sight of him either way, and he hates it either way.
How pathetic is your life if the only person happy to see you is the girl who sells alcohol she can’t even drink
Jesus fucking Christ.
Whatever! Whatever. She’s sweet, and it pisses him off. On the tip of his tongue is the question: would you care if I died? But that’s heavy for a 19 year old.
Whatever.
“Will! I have a pack of beer with your name on it in the back of the fridge to cool, did you want me to grab it?”
Now that is pathetic, he’ll shake his head, grab his quart of milk.
She doesn’t understand the pauses it takes him to speak, and that’s ok, only his friends did, and she’s not a friend.
“I told the big man that the box was messed up so it couldn’t go out, because he wanted it hot on the shelf, and I know you're always grumbling about wanting them cold.”
He feels like an asshole for what he’s about to say, shakes his head, puts the milk on the counter.
“I’m quitting drinking,” for the week, probably,
“Again? Finally go to one of those meetings? I told you that my church has a good group, right? And you don’t have to attend the services, and they got a daycare, for your kid, for the meetings.”
It's not said with judgment and that’s worse. He doesn’t want genuineness, he wants to be left alone, Jesus Christ.
“No, no meetings, I don’t believe in the church, kid,” shake his head, “I don’t believe in it,” If he’s going to get sober he doesn’t need to go sit in a room of a bunch of people more pathetic than him. He doesn’t want to burden people with his issues, he doesn’t drink in bars, he doesn’t make it anyone else’s issue. Going to a fucking meeting to get someone who found God to guide you to God for sobriety. A quest to find God is why he’s fucking here in the first place, maybe if he didn’t despise himself so much he wouldn’t be the guy the girl who’s too young to drink at the 7-Eleven puts beer on hold for.
Whatever.
“I know you say that, but they really keep you straight and narrow, they help, that’s all i’m saying.”
He shakes his head, he doesn't need a lecture from her, he’s fine as it is. He’ll either stay sober or he won’t, that’s his grave to dig. And he sure as Hell doesn’t need some teenager who doesn’t even know what beer tastes like to lecture him on it.
He only sobered up because he swears to God that when he’d get too drunk he started seeing and hearing shit, blurring the lines between reality and shit, crazy shit.
His antidepressants do recommend you not drink on them. That’s probably it, he’s not losing it, just making more bad decisions.
Whatever.
He goes down an aisle and starts looking at the different options for coffee, that’s his current drink of choice. Black coffee but he gets different flavored beans but they’re all 7-Eleven beans so its not like the flavor is there, but they’re good enough. He doesn’t feel like he’s losing his mind with coffee, he feels a bit better in that regard.
The girl behind the counter is reading her book now, at least she’s leaving him alone.
He continues his shopping, picking up bread, peanut butter, ramen, and piles it all on the counter. They have a sale on american cheese, probably because it's awful, but when he’s high it’s delicious.
Getting high doesn’t count as a vice because it doesn’t make him an awful person like drinking does.
Heather stayed when all he did was smoke.
When his pile is adequately tall for a pathetic man’s shopping, he goes to get a drink, but of course the damn Fanta is out on the tap. Whatever. He’ll just get a slurpee then, that’s fine, he likes to mix all the flavors anyway.
“Do you got any cartons of Marlboro Light 100s?” He asks it before otherwise announcing himself so she jumps, clearly losing her place in her book, ha.
“I told you, the big man won’t order them to sell like that.” shake her head, he knows this but it still annoys him.
“Then ten boxes of them,” shrug, start digging in his pocket for his wallet, then flicking through the mess of receipts and business cards and other miscellaneous shit for his cash.
“You know the boxes got cancer warnings, right? You can’t really be smoking that many between your visits here,”
Ha, haha. He really does laugh, the potential risk of lung cancer is the most exciting part of his side hustle as a human chimney, he really doesn’t care. He’s been smoking this long and it's better nicotine and weed than anything worse, he could smoke crack, everyone should be thankful.
He’d never smoke crack, to be clear. He hates himself, he wants to die of sudden random natural causes, but they will not be triggered by smoking crack.
But other than laughing, he doesn't respond. It's none of her business how much he smokes, who cares if on a bad day, and it feels like the rest of the night will be one, just down in his bones, on a bad day he could smoke 3 boxes, who cares. The 7-Eleven makes money, that’s what truly matters, they stay in business because of his chimney side gig.
But as she’s scanning and bagging he gets distracted, no one else is here, it's a weird hour, like 8 something, post rush hour and pre party hour, or whatever parties happen on a Sunday night. He wouldn;t know, he's up in his apartment by then, all he knows is when the infomercials start, that's his bedtime. But he’s looking at the stupid Santa hats and it all just sucks, it all just sucks ass. He’s got a kid out there somewhere in the bay, he thinks still in Oakland, and it's gonna be her first Christmas and he won't be there to see it. He doesn't even know what day it is, it could be nearly Christmas Eve, he hopes not, that would mean it's almost 2006, and he doubts that that'll be his year, after the year he's had he's never going to have “his year”. But, he picks up a paper, reads the headline about a local library getting a mural done for free by an artist who grew up in the community and then went on to do better things than Oakland, her like everyone else he knows. He’s sure Heathers left Oakland, she always wanted to go to San Francisco but he is nothing but a tattoo artist and piercer and she didn't want to do anymore than her very easy job as a Safeway cashier twice a week, they were never going to make it to San Francisco like that, but whatever, she left him, it doesn't matter, and she's going to spend their baby's first Christmas with the baby and he's probably going to have relapsed by then.
But, after he gets too invested in that damn headline story, he moves onto why he picked up the paper and that is the date, the date being December 11 2005, oh jesus fuck him.
He was hoping for a November 30th, or December 3rd, but the 11th is bullshit.
Whatever, it doesn't matter, he has no Christmas plans other than maybe cheap flash tattoos on Christmas Eve for extra cash, and that's all, what more could anyone want from him?
“You gonna pay?” oh, yea, he is.
He sets down the paper in the stand and goes back to the counter, handing her the cash he already preselected for it all, it's not too bad, $48.58, it's really not bad, he can stand to spend that. Not that there's a choice, he needs the coffee and cigarettes, and he supposes food as well.’’
It's really not too painful, he grabs his shit, it all fits in two bags that fit in one hand, his slurpee in the other, and he's good to walk home and burn through a box of cigarettes. He’s got big plans, nothing could ruin them.
Ok, well. Maybe getting ran at by a total stranger and being thrown into a hug from them could ruin it somewhat, hard to say, but this is kind of awful. It's a second decision, because he doesn't want to drop his shopping bag and ruin his eggs, but he also really would love to punch this guy, holy shit, go away , whoever this drunk homeless guy is. Except he’s not drunk, there’s no stench to him, so whatever, crazy man, whatever, whatever.
He shoves the guy off though, it doesn’t take more than a second, even though the embrace feels suffocatingly long, and Jesus Christ .
He shoved him off hard, and there’s not a second of regret in that, because holy shit.
“Johnny?!” It’s always a rarity when he speaks first, but his friend, old friend? His friend is standing there and almost looks broken, or like he had been broken, it’s horrible, but he doesn’t look unhappy. He looks thrilled, maybe put out from getting shoved, but thrilled, and he’s making no effort to speak, so, here Will is forced to do it. “What are you doing back here?”
He doesn’t get a response back, and honestly a portion of him is getting irritated with it, it's annoying, just talk to him. He hasn’t fucking talked to him since May, its been seven fucking months. Why the fuck is he suddenly here? Why the fuck isn’t he saying shit? Jesus Christ.
Instead of a fucking answer, he gets hugged again, and fuck, how can’t he? He wraps his arms back around him, its awkward with his damn shopping bag and drink in hand but, fuck man, he makes it work, how could he not? Surely explanations will come anyway, he can revel in hugging his damn friend.
Despite the shit in his hands and the fact that Johnny has a backpack on, its a tight hug, fuck. It's definitely something he’s needed, clearly Johnny did too, clearly, because for a second Will thinks he hears Johnny sniffle. Fucking Christ.
He steps back, looks up at his friend, how is he even here? Why is he even here? Run out of mommy’s money? Tunny told him he wasn’t going to pay the rent for him?
“I just got in, had the bus drop me here, instead of the station,” he shrugs, like that’s enough of an answer, like that explains why he is standing outside an Oakland 7-Eleven instead of living it up with his girlfriend in new york.
Will just stares at him, because what the fuck.
“Well the station is across town, you know, and I… I was going to come here, uh, anyway, because you’re here,”
A pause, clearly to let Will have his piece, but he just nods. He is here. He has been here.
“So, I had the bus stop here and let me off, it was easy cause this is the only bag i have left,”
Uh huh. That’s great. Why… is he here? Not that Will’s going to say anything, or ask anything, that sounds like it’d be too difficult.
This is ridiculous, why is he here, holy shit, why. But with another step back he really looks over Johnny, he’s thinner, he looks wiped, and he’s right, he just has his backpack.
“Your guitar?”
“Sold it, to get here,”
None of this makes any damn sense, he stares at Johnny like his head is on fire, because it might as well be. What the fuck is he doing back in Oakland?
And then something hits him on the back of the fucking head, they’re not standing in the way of the fucking door what the fuck is that for, so he turns, just looks over his shoulder and swear to God his heart drops out of his ass.
What the fuck.
This is the worst day to decide to stay firm to not drinking, he rather deals with the migraine than the shit he’s got in front of him. This sucks, this sucks, and this sucks.
And it makes sense, it does, that Tunny’s here, because Johnny’s here, and they went together, so they come back together, that makes sense, but Jesus Christ, couldn’t he have warned him?
Of course he doesn’t expect Johnny to know the full story with Tunny, but then he kinda does, they’ve been gone nearly a year, surely it comes up.
It probably did, and that’s probably why Johnny stopped writing, because he found out what Will is.
He never considered that.
He knew already that surely that was the reason Tunny never reached out, but he never considered that it was why Johnny stopped.
He is the most vile, disgusting man alive, and he wishes desperately in this moment that he had killed himself last week.
He was especially close last week, being thw whatever the fuck, fourth, no, fifth year anniversary of gettinf kicked out and almost killing himself then, it felt right to try again. But just his luck, nothing worked (not that he actually did more than get drunk and cut himself a normal amount, but still).
He wished he had tried harder, or something, because Jesus Christ.
Jesus.
“HEY! Hey, man!”
Suddenly snapped from his thoughts, his staring at Tunny’s shoulder that then drifted off to the parking lot, leaving Tunny out of focus, not processing anything about him.
Not processing that Johnny had run up gearing to punch him, and from the way Tunny was holding his face, one had already landed.
Its a matter of seconds that Will has Johnny held back, both arms in his hands. He’s pulling against him, trying so damn hard to get after Tunny still. Why? What the fuck is happening?
But he looks at Tunny, and there’s a girl with him, dressed in some sort of military uniform, and so is Tunny, which is a very obvious observation to make this late into staring at him, and an even later observation to make is the crutches (or canes?) in Tunny’s hands, making it difficult for him to hold his face, making it easier for the lady to look at him.
He really would like to shove Johnny aside, push the girl off, and check on Tunny himself, clearly she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing, looking at him like hes glass, he’s just fucking Tunny, man. Whatever, he can’t let go of Johnny because he’s fighting against him still, its almost as bad as the day his father died, and he had to stop him from getting his step dad.
But moments later and Tunny’s (gently) pushing the girl off of him, saying he’s alright, speaking to het so fucking gently. Who the fuck is she? Who the fuck does she even think she is? Jesus Christ.
“Let him go, Will.” He’s nauseous, he’s going to throw up, he feels like he does on the ferry, this is awful. He speaks to Will and its not even fucking about him, whatever, sure man, have the stupid idiot who’s coming to fight him.
Johnny’s so fucking stupid, but whatever, Will’s turned to just walk the fuck away, he can not be arsed any further, he’s decided, if they want to show up in Oakland they can do that, but they left and Will stayed and now he’s leaving.
But he doesn’t hear the obvious sound of fighting, he doesn’t hear any of it and sue him, he looks back to them hugging, whatever. Whatever! He doesn’t even care. He doesn’t, he doesn’t know what's happening anf he doesn’t care to know either, its none of his damn business.
Until of course he’s turning the corner to go home, and he hears Tunny yell his name.
He doesn’t want to turn back, but he does. He does because he does want to know what happened, why they’re here, what the fuck is going on, he does want to know, at least a little. So he turns around, and Jesus Christ, he can feel his heart drop out of his ass for sure this time, seeing Tunny standing there, with those canes or whatever, Johnny sheepishly aside talking to the girl. He should really run for cover, go as far away as he can but, fuck, he didn’t… really think he’d see Tunny, again, like ever.
So sue him, he’s taken aback by his grin, and his beckoning.
So screw him when he gets in a run to make it back across the whole parking lot to where they all are, and fucking fuck him when he wraps himself around Tunny and he can’t help but drop his stupid fucking grocery bags, he can buy more eggs but Jesus Christ he can not hug Tunny close enough, he just can’t.
He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand it, he can’t begin to comprehend the uniforms, their presence, he can’t begin to understand any of it but holy shit, he can understand that Tunny is here in front of him, in his arms, with his arms wrapped around Will as well. Fucking Jesus H Christ.
It can of course be assumed why he’s in a uniform, it can be, and it can be assumed why Johnny’s upset with Tunny, if Will’s correct then he’s upset too, but that doesn't answer the last question which is why are they here ?
He pulls away from the hug, holds Tunny at arms length and he just stares for a long moment, longer than he should, and it just… fuck, holy shit. Why the fuck are they here? There’s no reason for it at all, he doesn’t understand it in the slightest, and he doesn’t even know what to say or ask or anything. He doesn;t know anything.
“Will,” Tunny repeats, holding him at an equal arms distance. Fuck.
He can’t stomach this, he could hurl, fuck. Fuck.
“Why are you here?” And what happened, why does he have the canes, why is Johnny here, and who is the girl? He just can’t get himself to say that much, to ask that much, and apart of him really wants to turn and go off home, let the three of them handle whatever Twilight Zone shit is happening, and that be that.
It’d be so fucking difficult to return to his empty and disgusting apartment to his prewritten note to no one who cares, knowing just blocks aware are his friends.
So he stays standing held back at arms length from Tunny, waiting for an answer.
“Its a long story,” is all Tunny says, and Will steps back, he doesn’t want to be held there any longer. He wants to know what's going on.
“Longer for me,” Johnny says, and he hasn’t considered how much thier stories could diverge, he doesn’t understand how.
This is all so damn stupid, he just wants to know why they’re back, and ultimately he just wants to hear that maybe the answer was Will. Maybe, just maybe, they came back because they missed him. He doubts it, but he hopes.
Tunny looks at Johnny and he looks just as confused as Will is, and so Johnny shrinks on himself just a little, with the two looking for answers, probably preparing to spin some tall tale.
“Don’t look at me like that, Tunny enlisted!” Johnny deflects, stepping back a bit further out of arms, or punching, range of Tunny.
And its shocking, don’t get him wrong, it's shocking and difficult to process, his Tunny wouldn’t have done that, but he supposes he was never Will’s, and that's his own damn fault, not Tunny’s. But still, it's obvious, even if it's shocking, what’s not entirely obvious is why Tunny’s back already if he enlisted, but whatever, whatever. Follow up questions can come later when he knows the general gist of their stories.
God he just hopes he’s not hurt too badly, the idea makes him sick. He knows, clearly, he’s hurt, but he hopes its nothing awful.
“That’s obvious.” Tunny deadpans, and it makes Will’s heart swell, it makes him hate himself. Just… that its been nearly a year and yet it still feels like to some degree Tunny’s reading his mind.
“Okay well, I’m here, you guys should be happy to see me.” He doesn’t get the defensiveness, but… its fine, whatever, Johnny always spills the truth sooner than later, so its fine.
So that just leaves one question at the moment, and that is of course: “Who are you?” Will asks bluntly towards the girl.
And just as useful at answering questions as his friends, she first looks at Tunny, and Tunny looks at him. He thinks, anyway. He thinks Tunny looks at him apologetically. Why? That’s bullshit.
“Well, this is my girlfriend, Lacey.” To hit the nail in the coffin harder, Tunny takes her hand, and it just… Will’s more exhausted than he’s been in months, actually.
But, he nods, okay! His girlfriend, yay, great, he’s polite, he holds a hand out to her, to shake, he mumbles a nice to meet you, and that is more than enough. Johnny does the same, and its good, its fine, and for a moment the three chitter amongst themselves, and fir a moment Will is sure he can slip away, and he tries, he gets a few more steps back, but alas.
“Hey, Will, come on,” It’s Johnny, and he’s grabbing Will by his jacket sleeve, and he stands there, stares between them all. Fucking hell. Whatever.
“Why don’t we catch up, at my apartment,” Will says, trying to sound normal, trying to mask the disappointment that none of them came home because of him. “Why don’t we?”
And there's mumbling, chittering, and agreement, it's good, it is. He’s excited, he is, but Jesus Christ. But he, sigh, and huff, he came here for a reason, and that reason is in a bag on the ground. He picks it up, takes the eggs out, and stares at it otherwise, it's all otherwise fine, so… he just needs eggs, and he doesn’t want to go back out so.
“Here, man, I’m at the same place, I’ll meet you all there, I just need eggs,” And he hands his keys off to Johnny, and he’s turned to go into the 7-Eleven before anyone can argue, it's fine, he’s fine.
He’s fine, its just about to be a hellish evening, so what do you want from him? He grabs the eggs and goes to the counter to check out.
“Hey, do you still have that twelve pack?”
He can drink as a reward for whatever the fuck he’s about to go back to his apartment to, and there’ll be plenty to go around as well. The teenage girl just laughs at him, but she goes and grabs it, and moments later he’s got what he needs and is well on his way to his apartment, where he can just hope and pray everyone’s gotten there alright and he can walk as a moment of silence.