“Hello, Archer. I’m happy to see you again. It’s been a while.”

Dr. Anita J. Smith sat in the retro-style wood chair across from me. The cushion on it was bright red and the chair itself sat low to the ground. The wooden arms looked shiny, like they’d just been refinished.

Her office was small but decorated well, if a little sparsely. Framed credentials lined the walls, along with awards for two essays she’d written in her career. My eyes lingered on the books stacked in the shelving unit, one of which was labeled Dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I leaned back on the couch and stared down at my hands resting in my lap. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I understand that these are sensitive matters, but I’m glad you decided to come back. The healing process will take a while, Archer, but if you’re willing, you will see a great improvement.”

“You mean I’m not a lost cause?”

“Not by a long shot.”

Even if I was, I doubted she’d tell me. Were doctors allowed to tell their patients if they were quite simply too fucked up to heal? If they were, I bet myself and Dr. Anita J. Smith wouldn’t be having such a positive conversation.

“So, Archer.” As she leaned back in her chair, her short black hair brushed over the shoulder of her gray button-down shirt. When she spoke, her big, dark eyes focused on my face. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been better,” I answered.

“Have you been worse?”

“Not often.”

“Well, what prompted you to come see me today?”

“Danny, mostly.”

“Ah, your best friend, Danny. Are you two still close then?”

“Yes.”

“And what are your feelings towards Danny?”

I looked up at her then, my brows furrowing. “Brotherly.”

She gave me a small smile. “Of course.”

In my chest, my heart began thudding against my ribcage. I hadn’t told her I was gay. It had nothing to do with my depression.

“So, Danny told you to come see me again today?”

“No. Not exactly. He’s been worried and I don’t want to add to that. I don’t want to keep upsetting him.”

“That’s a very kind thing of you to say, Archer, but you have to understand that your desire to come and see me should stem from your desire to want to get better.”

“I know.”

She closed the notebook on her lap, pen still trapped inside on the page she’d been scribbling on. It was one of the first things I’d noticed about her when I’d come for our first-ever session. A lot of other shrinks used a tablet or a laptop when taking notes. Some used recording devices. Dr. Smith used a pen and pad of paper.

“What would you like to talk about today?” she asked.

“The weather.”

“Would you like to talk about your parents?”

The ground beneath the sofa fell away. “No.”

She nodded kindly. “Okay. How are classes?”

This was her way of sneaking around the issue of my parents while still keeping them at the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t fault her for that—the loss of my parents was generally the main reason I was here.

Poor Archer Hart, years later, was still heartbroken over the loss of his parents.

“They’re fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest, felt childish in doing so, and uncrossed them.

“Still majoring in business in college?”

“Yes.”

“And still minoring in marketing?”

“Yes. But you know that. I’m still studying business as my major and minoring in marketing, just as my mother did when she was my age. And then when I’ve finished school, I’m going to join the police academy, just like my father.”

It was almost funny how much of a cliché I was. Following in my parents’ footsteps as some pathetic kind of homage to them since I couldn’t cope with their death. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew this wasn’t healthy.

“Are you enjoying your classes?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then why continue to put yourself through something you don’t enjoy?”

“Because the only way I can sleep at night is imagining that my parents might be proud of me for doing so.”

“Archer.” She leaned forward, eyes locked on my face. “Putting yourself through something you don’t enjoy wouldn’t make your parents proud. It’s not going to bring them back, and it’s not going to bring you happiness.”

But it would.

She was wrong.

It was the only thing I could do anymore to be close to them.

When I didn’t reply, Dr. Smith pursed her lips and leaned away. “If your parents were alive today, I’m sure they’d be proud of the man you’ve become.”

I thought back to the day my brother told me our parents were dead. We stood facing each other. Andrew put his hand on my shoulder—something he had never done before and hadn’t since.

He’d said, “They’re gone, Ace.”

“They can’t be,” I’d replied instantly.

“But they are.”

“But I never had the chance to tell them that…”

The memory faded away.

“No,” I told Dr. Smith honestly. “They wouldn’t be proud of me.”

“And why do you think that?”

“I don’t think it, I know it. My brother—the person who knew my parents better than anyone else in the universe—told me. He told me they’d have hated the person I’ve become.”

---

“Christ, I need to get wasted.” Danny’s announcement was answered with whoops and hollers from a few of the other guys in the room.

It was Saturday night in Small Town, USA. Danny had convinced me a weekend out of town to party with some of the other guys in our major was just what we needed. His buddy Paul owned a house in a small town a couple hours south of our campus. He’d invited us down to stay the weekend, along with a few other people.

There were four or five guys in total doing shots in Paul’s kitchen. Dubstep played from the family computer in the adjoining living room.

“You look better,” Danny said, flopping down next to me at the kitchen table.

I laid my hand of cards facedown on the table. “Yeah, well.”

“Thank god you shaved. You with facial hair weirds me the hell out.”

“Would you leave the man alone?” Paul chimed in, slightly slurring his words. “We’re trying to play a game here.”

Paul made awkward gesturing movements between us and then snatched his open beer can from the table and began pouring it down his throat.

He was a nice guy—if a little loud for my tastes. Too social. Too friendly. Not unattractive but not quite good-looking either. His dirty blond hair was a bit too dirty.

“You won, Paul,” I told him.

He jumped out of his chair, threw his arms up, and began singing a bastardized rendition of “We Are The Champions” by Queen.

Danny and I laughed.

“Didn’t have the heart to tell him you guys started playing Go Fish and ended up playing poker all with the same cards?”

“Nah. Looks like he’s having a good time.”

“You’re just a big softie.”

I leaned back in my chair and looked outside. The ground was void of any sign of frost. The night was dark and I couldn’t help but think of those dancing lights I’d been privy to in Banff.

“Don’t you miss it?” I asked Danny.

“Miss what?”

“Banff. Canada. The sky.”

Danny shrugged. “There’s sky all over the world, Ace.”

“Not sky like that.”

“You should see it further north.” Danny snagged a bottle of vodka from the center of the table and began filling two shot glasses. “Especially when you’re way outside the city. Even I can appreciate that sky.”

He slid one of the shot glasses over to me. We downed them at the same time, both making that “ah” sound to avoid the gagging sounds which came with the taste of cheap vodka.

Danny poured us each another.

And then another.

By the end of the fourth shot, my chest blazed and my mind had a wonderful layer of fog surrounding it.

“You’ll have a good time tonight,” Danny promised.

I tried to smile at him. “Sure, Danny.”

---

Neon blue. Neon yellow. Neon green.

Lights flashed all around me like a swarm of butterflies.

I was drunk.

Not so drunk that I couldn’t function, but drunk enough that my body tingled and my mind was full of exhaust.

EDM music blasted from the huge stereo speakers around the small dance floor. The floor itself was lined with laminate and sticky from spilled drinks. People were dancing and yelling out song lyrics.

I leaned against the bar next to Danny, who was flagging down the bartender for another round of shots. He kept grinning a little too wide at the pretty young woman behind the bar, which probably contributed to our long wait for drinks.

The bar was packed—surprisingly—since we were literally in the middle of nowhere. This town had a population of a little over a hundred thousand people, and as I’d been informed of earlier, only two bars. This bar was the one where people went to dance and make out and listen to music we’d forget by the morning.

Danny continued waving a twenty like it was a white flag and he was the admiral of the battlefield.

“Ace,” he yelled over the music, leaning toward me. “You do it. She’s obviously got a thing for blonds.”

I looked over my shoulder at the bartender. The world was spinning, but still I caught her smile.

“Nah,” I said in reply. “It’s more fun watching you struggle.”

“Hey.” He poked my chest. “When I struggle, you struggle. I’m the one buying the drinks, remember?”

“What can I get you guys?” the bartender asked. She had blonde hair almost lighter than mine, and a silver hoop in her septum.

Danny smiled wide, making a peace sign with his fingers and saying something about vodka.

When she left, Danny bumped my shoulder with his. “You should ask for her number.”

“Why? She lives here. We don’t.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “She’s hot.”

I stared at him, willing my brain to malfunction or the alcohol to take over and just tell him. Instead, I said, “She’s not my type.”

“Lord, you’re picky. I think she’s plenty hot.” He clucked his tongue.

“Then you ask for her number.”

He gave me an exasperated look. “This whole modesty thing is getting old. She was staring at you. It’s pretty fucking obvious, Ace. Like I’ve said before, it’s that hair.”

I crossed my arms and smirked. “Or this face.”

“Or that damn face of yours. Damn that face.”

I laughed and his smile grew.

Tonight had been a good idea. I might not think so tomorrow, and I might not have thought so before the third shot of straight vodka, but right in that moment, it felt almost like a good idea. Because my brain couldn’t work properly and I wasn’t able to think of all the things in my life that made waking up each morning almost too difficult.

The bartender brought our shots back. Danny put all the change into the Mason jar on the counter. We threw the drinks back at the same time and then turned to look at the people in the bar.

Danny’s friends were sitting at a booth in the corner talking to a group of women. The walls were covered in framed pictures of country music artists and local gigs the small bar put on during the week. Surprisingly, the dance floor was packed with people in skin-tight jeans, T-shirts with John Deere logos, numerous pairs of cowboy boots, and a lot of plaid. The women gyrated like they were in music videos while the men swayed back and forth uncomfortably, beer bottles in their hands.

Danny must’ve seen something on my face because he burst out laughing and punched me in the arm. “Don’t look so unimpressed. I know it’s not your scene, but try to make do. We’re out to get trashed and have some redneck-style fun. Yee-haw.”

“I am having fun,” I told him.

“Well, as fun as you can have. I think you’d have just as much fun sitting outside and staring at the sky. Or watching my dad cook breakfast.”

For some reason, my heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Oh, look!” Danny shouted. He reached out and pointed toward a pair of women on the dance floor who were looking our way and smiling. “You see that redhead?”

I squinted against the flickering rainbow of lights and through the fog in my own mind. “With the denim skirt?”

“Yeah, her.”

“What about her?”

He turned toward me, aghast, hand over his heart. “You don’t know? Ace, that’s my future wife.”

And with that, he was gone into the crowd. He weaved between the dancing people, looking back at me over his shoulder, beckoning me. I smiled and turned back toward the bar.

“Need something?” the bartender asked.

“Have any favorites around here?”

She told me and I picked something local to the area, which I was sure I’d be regretting later. She winked at me when she slid the pint glass across the wooden countertop. I smiled and held it up in cheers.

I made my way over to Danny’s friends. They all greeted me with cheers and a lift of their beer bottles. They sat in a corner booth with the women they’d met. When I arrived, everyone moved over to give me a spot.

When I sat down, Paul said, “Archie-boy! You made it! Thought you’d be hanging out with Danny all night.”

“Nah.” The world spun just a fraction more when I put the lip of the beer bottle to my mouth and drank. “He found some girls to talk to.”

Paul laughed along with the other guys we’d come with. “How about you? Find a nice girl to talk to?”

“No.” My answer might’ve been a bit abrupt, but everyone seemed too drunk to notice. Paul promised me there were plenty of women there and that I’d meet someone tonight.

I responded by tipping the beer bottle back and setting it down on the table once I could see the bottom.

Someone nudged me in the side. “Not your scene?”

I looked down at the slighter man next to me. He had big brown eyes and a cute haircut that made him look like someone from a Broadway play.

“No,” I said, eyes not leaving his face. “Definitely not my scene.”

He smiled at me like he knew something. I liked that smile. I didn’t like the tiny bit of knowing behind it.

“Hey, Ace,” one of the other guys in the group said. He leaned forward across the table. His hair was the same color as the man to my side. “That’s my bro—William.”

“Is that right?” I said, leaning back against the hard wood backing of the booth. I crossed my arms across my chest.

He didn’t answer, just went back to talking with the woman he had his arm wrapped around.

“You don’t know his name, do you?” William asked, a twinkle in his eye.

He was younger than me and a lot smaller. He bit his pouty bottom lip when he looked at me. I wished I had a beer to distract me.

But I was drunk and everyone around us was laughing. The lights were flashing and the music was too loud. I felt a million miles away.

I leaned in—a little too close—and my lips skirted his ear. “No. I don’t know his name.”

When I pulled away, I knew it wasn’t the red strobe light coloring his face.

“It’s Henry. He’s my older brother. Do you work with him?”

“Nah.” I pressed the beer bottle to my lips, already having forgotten it was empty. “My friend Danny is friends with Paul. We go to the university up north. We’re just visiting for the weekend.”

“Oh,” he said. He ran his slender fingers along the clear plastic glass in front of him. “I guess that makes sense. I think I’d have remembered you if you lived here.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

He smiled self-consciously. It was adorable. “You just don’t look like you’re from around here. Everyone around here knows everyone. It’s a small… small town.”

I shouldn’t have drunk so much. He was cute. And staring at me with those big, hopeless eyes and that little smile that spoke too much of all the troubles of the world he knew nothing about.

“Do you want to get a drink?” I tipped my head toward the bar.

He picked up his drink, finished it in one swallow, and then nodded. I laughed and got up, knowing he’d follow me to the bar.

When we got there, I ordered us two shots. Hell, if the rich get richer, the drunk can get drunker.

We downed the shots, eyes locked.

“I need some air,” I said into his ear, shouting over the thumping music. My head was spinning. I couldn’t tell if the lights were happening on the backs of my eyelids or not. “Want to step outside?”

He looked nervous, but excitement twinkled in his eyes. “Yeah.”

Stupid.

It was a stupid idea, and even then I knew it. I shouldn’t go into the alley with some kid—someone the group I was here with knew.

But I did because the music was too loud and the lights were too bright and my heart and my head were in a million separate pieces.

The moment the side door to the alleyway closed behind us, he was latched to me. He must’ve been standing on his toes because he wrapped his slender arms around my neck and pressed his lips to mine. His mouth tasted like cheap liquor and lime. I gripped his hips and spun us, pressing him against the brick wall. He kissed wild, inexperienced kisses all over my throat, my jaw, my mouth.

“Ace,” he whispered when one of my hands left his hip, unbuttoned the fly on his jeans, and shoved inside.

Cool night air felt strange when everything else was too warm. The night around us was dark and solemn, at least until it wasn’t. In the distance, I heard cars driving by. The building light above our heads flickered.

William whispered something that I didn’t quite catch. By then, my head was a million galaxies away.

Suddenly, something snapped to the distinct sound of glass shattering right near us. Something like rain hit me on my right side.

William and I jumped apart. He gasped and looked down at his soaked clothing and the burnt umber shards of glass at our feet. I turned to face the thrower of the beer bottle.

A few feet away from us stood three men. Men I didn’t recognize. Men I wanted to leave with unrecognizable faces.

“What the fuck?” I said. My voice sounded calm, even to my ears.

Two men stood in front, but the one further back, who swayed on his feet, began to shout words at us that I’d fully expected to have thrown at me one day. But that hadn’t lessened the sting. And that sure as hell didn’t make it okay.

William grabbed the sleeve of my shirt. “Ace,” he said in a whisper. “Let’s go back inside.”

I shook him off, too drunk and too pissed.

“What did you say to me?”

The one a few inches taller than me, and not much wider, immediately stepped up and got in my face. “You got a problem with that, pretty boy?”

He shoved me.

At first, I didn’t take the bait.

“Couldn’t mind your own business?” Still, my voice was calm.

He snorted. “Y’all are lucky I didn’t throw the fucking bottle at your face. You deserved it.”

“Why’s that? You jealous?” I turned to look at William, then back at the man snarling at me. “Sorry, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

The sucker punch caught me on the left side of my jaw. My head snapped to the side. If I’d been sober, I’d have stood a chance. But I wasn’t sober. And I sure as hell wasn’t sane. I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I lunged at him and somehow managed to shove my fist into his gut. We fell over onto our sides, the broken shards of glass twinkling beneath us. Just as I pulled my fist back, someone grabbed me and pulled me off. But not up. I was thrown back and another one of them was on me. He kicked me hard in the side of the head, forcing stars and vapor into my vision. The pain was excruciating, but then there was another hard kick from a different direction right into my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut from the pain.

Someone in the distance might’ve been yelling, but I couldn’t tell. The man who’d sucker punched me was above me, throwing punches at my face, which I tried to cover with my arms. My voice was trapped in my throat. The only sounds I could manage were pained gasps. Tears began to pour from the corners of my eyes.

Another set of hands grabbed my arms and yanked them painfully away from my face.

And then there was a sound I could hear, even through the pain. A snap. A crack. Something unnatural and terrifying all on its own. I gasped at the shock of feeling in my right arm. Then I did scream.

When the next fierce kick landed just below my knee, my world turned darker.

And then darker.