Short: Love And Not Love, Part 1.
“You’re not a man! You’re a fucking faggot!” she screamed as Drake sat in the over-stuffed chair beside the hotel room window. Abbey had come down from her high and frantically riffled through her suitcase for a little white bag of happiness. She’d spent the drive from Charlotte to Charleston entertaining her vices and wanted more. And Drake was sapped of hope.
As she ranted, he sank into his thoughts. Why was it so hard to leave her, he asked himself. In truth, he’d seen his relationship with Abbey as a mission or calling. He’d love her and heal her and they’d have a wonderful story to tell. But after ten months of trying, of threats and failure, Drake knew it was time. And he conceded defeat. “This is not my life. This is not my calling,” he whispered to himself. Then, he stood up, grabbed his bag, and marched toward the door.
“What are you doin’? Go ahead you bitch.” Abbey shrieked with sarcastic smile.
Drake understood her doubt. He’d left before and then begged her to take him back, like a cliche. What she couldn’t see was the birth of his resolve.
“You can stay for the night. The room is paid for.”
“How will you get back to Charlotte, dipshit? We took my car.”
Without looking back, Drake dryly responded,”I’ll figure it out.”
Down in the lobby, Drake tried to contact a few friends in the Charleston area. No one texted back or picked up the phone. I deserve this, he thought. He’d ignored his friends for almost a year. Now came the reaping.
Then Drake thought of his father and knew he could call him, knew his dad would be there for him, but it’s not a call he wanted to make. How would he explain it all? How he’d ended up submerged in a world of guns, drugs, and strippers?
“Hey, dad.”
”Hey Drake. How’s my son?” asked the cheery voice on the other end.
“Are you available? I need a ride from Charleston to Charlotte,” Drake asked quietly and without explanation.
After a pause, the joy of hearing his son’s voice gone, Drake’s father responded. “Send me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Over the next two hours, Drake began to reclaim his life. Since he worked with Abbey and knew she wouldn’t resign, he gave notice to the restaurant they both worked at. “Are you sure? I can make it work.” was the reply of his boss, desperately trying to keep her best employee. Then he blocked Abbey and her friends on social media. He couldn’t block her phone number, not yet, not as long as they worked together. Abbey had sent Drake a steady stream of abusive text messages as soon as he’d left the room- lies mostly- and he was ready for it to end. Finally, Drake set his phone on wooden table beside him and leaned back in high-backed chair. A warm peace spread covered him like a blanket and for a time pushed away the dread.
A while later, as the sun set behind the hotel, Mr. Honeywell drove into the round-a-bout at the front of the high rise building. Drake loaded his bag into the back of the old Jeep Cherokee and the pair motored back up I-26, away from Abbey and life meant to crush him. To Drake’s surprise, his father never asked why he needed to give his son a ride from Charleston to Charlotte, rather they chatted about the Pirates and the coming football season. He was glad to be in the old Jeep, reeking of rust and oil, and more glad to be with someone who truly loved him.
