“I’ve got no one to blame, yeah, the culprit is me; I've dug my own grave, what was I thinking?”
~ Dead Rabbitts “Bats in the Belfry”
•••••
The small ski-town of Dillon, Colorado had a certain charm about it. Its main drag consisted of ski shops, high-ish end boutiques, and nestled into the background of this was a Kroger grocery store. There was a mountain lake that the town had formed around, and already on it were the small sailboats you could rent from the miniscule little harbor for twenty bucks an hour. Even at nine thousand feet, the ski slopes of Breckenridge rose high into the sky. In the winter, they’d be covered with snow and the ‘boarders and skiiers that accompanied that white crystals of frost and death.
Sitting at a red light in the main intersection, Finn grasped the steering wheel of his rented Nissan so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His screamo music blared inside his car, and out of it as well with the open windows, but there was no indication that he heard it at all. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory; for six months, he knew this place like the back of his hand.
This was home. For six months, this had been a place of solitude and peace, relaxation and rest. For six months, he’d not lived in his hometown of bustling city lights and bad hipster coffee, but in the quaint, quiet neighborhood of Dillon Valley, nestled deep into the mountainside. He didn’t ski, but he didn’t need to when you lived around it every day. He didn’t go white water rafting, because simply looking at the streams was calming enough. It was a change of pace, one that he and Aaron had been grateful for. Especially when it came to the pregnancy -- she’d needed quiet and relaxation more than he did.
But six months ago, everything snapped in half. There were many factors in the clusterfuck of problems, but the end result remained, consistently consuming thoughts and memories. He left. He would never be able to take that back. No matter how many times he was reminded that his life up here had taken a dive and he’d done what he should have for himself, Finn would never forgive his selfishness. In bitter resentment, at the time he too believed that he’d done the right thing. He was angry at their constant arguing, her demanding that he quit wrestling, her mood swings, and her blank hatred of the only family he had left. But it remained: he left her when it became too much. He ran. Just like he always did.
Now, he felt he had an opportunity . . . but to do what? Come back? Be with her again? Resent her again? Leave again when she started getting annoying as all hell? As much as she was loveable, everyone knew she could be a manipulative piece of shit. And when things didn’t go her way, she moved into that mode faster than anyone could blink.
It was stupid. Here he was, days away from facing So-Cal Ultraviolent’s top champ in Reece Crosslin, and he was over in Colorado with all his energy focused on his damn love life. It wasn’t just stupid: it was pathetic. But he knew himself as well. As pathetic as it was, the wonder and thoughts would consume him viciously through that match, and he didn’t need that. He needed his head on his shoulders come Tuesday, and the only way to break it his current dilemma would be to face it head on.
The green light flashed and like the cars around him, they moved off into their destination. Inhaling the mountain air floating into his car, Finn did too, though he turned at the next light while everyone else stayed on course. He passed the condominium buildings that most of the people in Dillon owned, or rented out, before heading into the housing area. It was only people who truly had cash that lived in these homes, and it showed. Massively beautiful sprawling homes on the mountainside were a luxury, and these were no exception. These were million dollar homes, and they should be, considering their size and location. They sat on the edge of a tall hill that overlooked the Dillon reservoir. Views cost money, and this was no exception.
He pulled into his old driveway, and up the hill. And once there, he stared at it. He didn’t move, he didn’t pull out. It was like he was frozen into place. He was used to Elena’s house, because he’d lived in one like it himself. He wasn’t materialistic, and it was what Aaron had wanted, and so . . . they’d bought it. His name was still on the paperwork. It was still his house. He just hadn’t lived there for the last six months. Everything was gone at the time. He never thought he’d be looking at it again -- except, maybe to pull out his shit.
He’d cut the engine minutes ago, but he still hadn’t gone in. And he was saved from doing so for a moment, because the jazzy sounds of Apple’s shitty ass ringtones sounded and he grabbed for his phone. A picture of his tattooed sister popped up.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He’d intended to call her. He did. He was going to tell her that his flight to JFK was a couple of hours from now and he was flying out of the Grand Junction airport. He’d meant to call her and tell her about what was going on. But he didn’t. And after four days of not speaking to her, he should’ve known she’d call. He pressed on the screen and swiped over, sticking the device to his ear. Out of habit, really -- he’d forgotten that he’d plugged in his number to the bluetooth in the car for hands-free availability.
“The fuck have you been, Callien?!” Elena’s British voice was intensified by the acoustics in the car as she yelled her question.
Finn closed his eyes at the sound, and blinked furiously as he opened them. “I had stuff to do.”
“You haven’t called, you haven’t texted, you haven’t anything since Wednesday. With the shit you’re in with Lee,” her annoyed name for Kei, making a reference to Bruce Lee, “if you don’t call, I end up thinking you’ve been buried six feet underground in an unmarked grave. Where. The. Fuck. Are. You?”
She was talking fast, which was very un-Elena like, and only happened when she was truly upset. Finn closed his eyes, inhaling as she spoke, and regretting that decision as much as he did leaving his wife. The unmarked grave probably would have been a fitting home right now.
“I’ll be back tonight. My flight leaves at three and I’ll get in at eight. I’ll be at the house by ten.”
“Not the answer I wanted.” She retorted. “Where. Are. You.”
“Dillon.”
“Dillon . . . Dillon . . .” she muttered, as if she were trying to remember where she’d heard that name. And then . . . silence.
“El?” He asked, tentatively testing the waters.
“You’re with Aaron.”
Her voice wasn’t mad anymore. It wasn’t frantic. It went monotone, and that meant worse things on Finn’s horizon than could ever be said. If he wasn’t careful here, he’d likely come back to his current home in flames.
“Well . . . I mean, not really. But . . .” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, looking ahead, staring at the house in front of him.
“When did she come back?”
“Couple of weeks ago.” And he slammed his eyes shut again -- he’d forgotten to mention that too. “She showed up at the house and I didn’t know what to do.”
“Called the police?”
“El.”
He could hear the frustration in her tone, though she was trying to hide it. It wasn’t that Elena hated Aaron. She never really did care about who didn’t like her, or who did. There was no love lost between the two of them, and it came from a place of jealousy on Aaron’s part. But she was mad, if not at him, then for him. Finn’s choices were not always what she ever agreed with, and unlike Aaron, she would never force her opinion on him and demand that he follow it. She’d allow him to make his choices, but it didn’t mean she had to stand by them.
“I don’t want to know. Not right now. Maybe some day, you can tell me, but I’m disappointed in you, Callien.”
“Elena, I have to--”
“You don’t have to anything, and that’s the problem. You’re so distracted by Aaron that you’re forgetting what you said. Do you even remember what you said before we left to go to Texas?” When Finn didn’t respond, she went on. “Of course you don’t. Let me remind you. You told Christian you’d help him out with building Isabella’s playhouse. You have a one-and-a-half-year-old asking for her ‘Unca’ because he promised her he’d play tea party with her when he got back. And you told me that you’d be there to help me train for my championship match. You told your family you’d be here, and where are you?”
“Here.” He replied. There was no use arguing with her, but he went for it anyway. “But El--”
“Don’t. Don’t try to justify it. I know your specialty at making excuses and pushing off the blame onto everyone else but yourself, but you’re the one fucking off here. You’re the one not keeping your promises. Now go ahead and ask yourself, ‘Why?’. A month ago, you were telling me about your sister. Have you stopped on that search?”
“No, but--”
“Don’t lie. You’ve been distracted, so of course you haven’t. It’s a surprise about what the distraction is, but what can I say -- you’re really good at forgetting about your family. From day one, age sixteen, Finn, you and I always said this: it is us against them. It is us working together. Apart some days, but not separate. We are a team, and we always have been.”
“Yeah. We were. And then you had to go and get married.”
The words slipped unchecked from his mouth, and instantly, he’d regretted it like everything else. There was a lot that Finn didn’t share with a lot of people, and this was one of those things. Elena had been his first love, and he’d never capitalized on it. And he never said a damn word to her about it either.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. I have to go.”
“Callien--”
“I’ll see you when I get back to Garrison. Au revoir.” He said quickly, and then, mashed the little red hang-up button as if it were going out of style. He chucked the phone across from him into the other seat, and closed his eyes, resting his head back into the headrest. This was all his fault, and despite Elena’s belief that he was going to blame everyone else, he knew that the blame rested on him on his own. She was right, after all: he was distracted. He’d dug his grave, and now he could lay in it.
What was he thinking?
“I see she still hates the idea of me.”
Finn’s eyes snapped open and he looked out of the corner of them to see Aaron standing there, her manicured hands on the car door as she leaned down to see him. Her hair now, as always changing as she was, was bright blue and pulled into a high ponytail reminiscent of her cheerleading days. She wasn’t dressed up like he’d seen her in the past -- a pair of sweatpants that read “Slytherin” down the front in college-styled green letters and green-colored tank stop with the Hyrulian logo from the Zelda games decorated her already adorned tattooed body. She was a sight to see, like she always had been.
“She doesn’t hate you.” Finn replied, non-commitally.
“She just hates that you’re here then,” Aaron grinned slightly. She opened the door then, and gestured for him to step out.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He sighed, stepping out of the car. Their height difference was still hilarious -- she barely came up to the middle of his chest. She’d been right, though, when she texted him. She was the fastest aerial combatant he’d ever seen, and she was probably the best to help him when it came to facing off against Crosslin. She may be some hundred-and-some-change pounds lighter than him, but she was the best at what she did. If he could defend against her, he could defend against anyone.
“It’ll be fine.” She replied. She reached for his hand then and grasped it in hers. “You know I’m not here to make this hard for you, at all. Not with her. Not with anyone. I just want you to succeed, like I always have.” And she sounded so honest that time, that he couldn’t help but believe her. This wasn’t about territory or whatever shit girls did when it came to guys. “Let’s go. I’ll make sure that you’re ready to go way before your flight leaves.” Aaron grinned again, and Finn just kinda . . . let her drag him into the house again.
After all, it was just another shovel full of dirt to throw onto the side of the hole he’d already dug.