Walking Disaster

everything.
    Pacing, I stopped in front of the nightstand. The thought of Abby reaching into the drawer came to mind. The hinges squeaked when I opened it, revealing the fishbowl full of condoms. I had
barely delved into them since I’d met Abby. Now that she’d made her choice, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
    The glass was cold in my hand as I picked it up and launched it across the room. It made contact with the wall beside the door and shattered, spraying small foil packages in every direction.
    My reflection in the mirror above my dresser looked back at me. My chin was down, and I stared into my eyes. My chest heaved, I was shaking, and by anyone’s standards looked insane, but
control was so far out of my reach at that point. I reared back and slammed my fist into the mirror. Shards stabbed into my knuckles, leaving behind a bloody circle.
    “Travis, stop!” Shepley said from the hall. “Stop it, God dammit!”
    I rushed him, pushed him back, and then slammed my door shut. I pressed my hands flat against the wood, and then took a step back, kicking it until my foot made a dent at the bottom. I yanked on
the sides until it came off the hinges, and then I tossed it across the room.
    Shepley’s arms grabbed me again. “I said stop!” he screamed. “You’re scaring America!” The vein in his forehead popped out, the one that appeared only when he
was enraged.
    I shoved him, and he shoved me back. I took another swing, but he ducked.
    “I’ll go see her!” America pleaded. “I’ll find out if she’s okay, and I’ll have her call you!”
    I let my hands fall to my sides. Despite the cold air filling the apartment from the open front door, sweat was dripping from my temples. My chest heaved as if I’d run a marathon.
    America ran to Shepley’s room. Within five minutes, she was dressed, knotting her hair into a bun. Shepley helped her slip on her coat and then kissed her goodbye, offering a nod of
assurance. She grabbed her keys and let the door slam behind her.
    “Sit. The fuck. Down,” Shepley said, pointing to the recliner.
    I closed my eyes, then did what he commanded. My hands shook as I brought them to my face.
    “You’re lucky. I was two seconds away from calling Jim. And every brother you’ve got.”
    I shook my head. “Don’t call Dad,” I said. “Don’t call him.” Salty tears burned my eyes.
    “Talk.”
    “I bagged her. I mean, I didn’t
bag
her, we . . .”
    Shepley nodded. “Last night was tough for both of you. Who’s idea was it?”
    “Hers.” I blinked. “I tried to pull away. Offered to wait, but she all but begged me.”
    Shepley looked as confused as I felt.
    I threw up my hands and let them fall to my lap. “Maybe I hurt her, I don’t know.”
    “How did she act after? Did she say anything?”
    I thought for a moment. “She said it was some first kiss.”
    “Huh?”
    “She let it slip a few weeks ago that a first kiss makes her nervous, and I made fun of her.”
    Shepley’s brows pushed together. “That doesn’t sound like she was upset.”
    “I said it was her last first kiss.” I laughed once and used the bottom of my T-shirt to pinch the moisture from my nose. “I thought everything was good, Shep. That she had
finally let me in. Why would she ask me to . . . and then just leave?”
    Shepley shook his head slowly, as confused as I was. “I don’t know, cousin. America will find out. We’ll know something soon.”
    I stared at the floor, thinking about what could possibly happen next. “What am I gonna do?” I asked, looking up at him.
    Shepley gripped my forearm. “You’re going to clean up your mess to keep you busy until they call.”
    I walked into my room. The door was lying on my bare mattress, pieces of mirror and shattered glass on the floor. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
    Shepley appeared in the doorway with a broom, a dustpan, and a screwdriver. “I’ll get the glass. You get the door.”
    I nodded, pulling the large wooden plank from the bed. Just after making the last turn on the screwdriver, my cell phone rang. I scrambled off the floor to snap it up from the night table.
    It was America.
    “Mare?” I choked out.
    “It’s me.” Abby’s voice was small and nervous.
    I wanted to beg her back, to beg for her forgiveness, but I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong. Then, I got angry.
    “What the fuck happened to you last night? I wake up this morning, and you’re gone and you . . . you just leave