In order for this to make sense, it would be best to read the first two chapters. I think for the sake of making this easy to follow along. I will include at the beginning and at the end of the chapters links to previous and next. A flipping of the page, if you will.
Robbie slouched in the pew, the wood creaking under him as folks shuffled in, clutching hymnals. Women in frilly hats, men in stiff collars—half the room smelled like mothballs, the other half like desperation. He smirked, tugging at his wrinkled jacket. God’s not buying this Sunday-best bullshit, he thought, eyeing a guy in a bolo tie who’d probably cheated on his taxes last week.
His gaze drifted, then snagged on a familiar face—Josh. Lanky, sharp jaw, same wild glint in his eyes. Josh from school? No way. Robbie’s grin twitched. Bet he’s still got connections. I could use a hit. He elbowed through the crowd as the organ wheezed to life.
“J-Man! Fooook!” Robbie’s voice boomed, heads turning. “Good to see you, man!” He clapped Josh’s shoulder, then dropped his tone to a hiss. “Hey, you know where I can score? Weed, coke, anything. This town’s killing me already.”
Josh’s smile stiffened, his eyes flicking over Robbie like he was sizing up a stray dog. “Let’s catch up after, huh? Lots to talk about.” He slipped away, weaving through the pews. Robbie shrugged, jamming his hands in his pockets—until Josh climbed the pulpit steps, grabbed the mic, and started preaching.
Robbie’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?” he muttered, loud enough for a lady in pearls to gasp. Josh? Pastor Josh? The guy who’d once snorted lines off a dumpster with a raccoon chittering beside him? The sermon droned on, but Robbie’s ears rang with disbelief.
When the final “Amen” echoed, he bolted, ducking out the side door before Josh could spot him. His boots crunched gravel all the way home, cheeks burning. Asking the damn pastor for drugs—what a moron.
Janine was kneading dough when he stormed in, flour dusting her apron. “Mom, what’s with Josh? That lunatic’s your pastor now?”
She didn’t look up, just pressed harder into the dough. “Joshua’s a blessing, Robbie. Turned his life around, helps folks—runs a youth group too. Kids need that here.” Her voice had an edge, like she was daring him to argue.
He snorted, stomping upstairs. “Yeah, right.” In his room, he flipped open the Dell, its fan wheezing like an old man. Who’s still rotting in this dump? A new Facebook account took shape—using his stage name and old photos from when his jawline was sharp and his hair wasn’t thinning. Scrolling through Jerune’s pitiful “People You May Know,” he froze. Melissa. Still here!
A message pinged back fast: Robbie! I can’t believe it’s you. Hey listen I’m off today after 3 —meet me at the diner by the tracks, let’s catch up? He smirked. Maybe this town wasn’t a total loss.
The diner smelled of grease and burnt coffee, its red vinyl booths cracked like old skin. Robbie paused inside the door, scanning the room—then his eyes snagged on a booth in the corner. Mike Johnson, broad shoulders hunched over a plate of eggs, sat with a woman twisting her hair into a bun and a kid kicking the table leg. Mike, the guy who’d once hotwired a teacher’s car for kicks, now wiping ketchup off a toddler’s chin. Robbie’s brow furrowed, but he shook it off as Melissa waved him over.
“Been a while,” she said, her smile soft.
“Yeah, you look… good.” He leaned forward, fishing. “Why’re you still here?”
Before she could answer, a blur of pigtails barreled from the kitchen. “Mom! Momomom!” A little girl, maybe four, crashed into Melissa’s legs, skin a warm brown that didn’t match Melissa’s pale freckles.
Robbie blinked. “You’re a mom?”
Melissa scooped the kid up, grinning. “Thought you knew. Her dad’s gone—long story. Moved back into town for family support. Aunt’s here, Grandma too—she’s still kicking.” Her eyes sparkled, but Robbie’s gut sank. No quick fling then, he thought.
He shoveled fries into his mouth, grease smearing his fingers. “Cool, cool,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. The kid babbled about crayons, and he nodded, barely listening. Loneliness gnawed at him, sharp and familiar, but he’d choke before admitting it.
“Gotta run, have to help mom move some shelves” he said, tossing a crumpled ten on the table. Melissa’s brow furrowed—she knew he was bolting, but she just waved, used to people peeling away. He didn’t look back as the diner door jingled shut.
Robbie’s boots pounded the cracked sidewalk, Melissa’s laugh still echoing in his head. He’d pictured her melting into him like back in the day—hot summer nights, fumbling in the woods. Easy. But that kid—those pigtails and that skin tone—ruined it. His jaw clenched. Still got it, my ass.
A hammer clanged nearby, snapping him out of it. Across the street, a crew of Latino guys hauled lumber up a half-built frame, sweat gleaming on their forearms. Shouts in Spanish cut through the air, sharp and rhythmic. Robbie’s lip curled. Dad’s voice slithered into his skull: “Mexicans’ll ruin this country, Robbie. Steal our women, bleed the white man dry.” He froze, Melissa’s little girl flashing in his mind—brown eyes, darker skin. No way. Dad was right? Fuck.
The front door banged shut behind him as he stormed into the house. Janine knelt by the couch, rosary beads clicking between her fingers, lips moving silently. “Mom!” he barked, kicking off his boots. She didn’t flinch, eyes closed, lost in prayer. “Mom, c’mon, I need to talk!”
Her hands stilled, beads dangling. She sighed, peering up with that patient, worn-out look. “Robbie, I’m busy.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about Melissa.” He loomed over her, arms crossed. “What’s her deal?”
Janine tucked the rosary into her apron, rising slowly. “She’s a good girl, Robbie. Got tangled up with a man—shady type. Had another family down in Honduras, left her high and dry when the baby came.” Her voice softened. “She’s doing her best now.”
Robbie’s gut twisted, Dad’s rants roaring louder. Told you. They come, they wreck, they run. He forced a grin. “Hey, can I borrow the car? Wanna… uh, check out the old spots.”
Janine handed him the keys, eyebrows raised but silent. He peeled out in her rusty sedan, scanning the streets for proof—proof the town was overrun, proof Dad wasn’t just a bitter old prick. But the houses blurred past, and the anger fizzled. Screw it. He veered toward the bad side of town, where the streetlights flickered and the air smelled like burnt rubber.
In a shadowed alley, he leaned against a graffiti-smeared wall, haggling with a guy whose hoodie hung off him like a shroud. “Pills, man. Whatever you got.” The guy’s yellowed grin flashed as he slid a baggie over. Robbie stuffed it in his pocket, coins clinking in exchange.
“Robbie?” A voice cut through the haze.
He whipped around. Josh stood there, crisp button-down glowing under a streetlamp, that damn pastor smile plastered on. “What’re you doing here?”
Robbie’s ears burned, hand shoving deeper into his pocket. “Just… walking.”
Josh stepped closer, voice low. “Listen, I’m not some kid ratting to your mom. But come see me tomorrow, yeah? We should talk.” His eyes flicked to Robbie’s clenched fist.
“Yeah, sure,” Robbie muttered, bolting for the car. The engine sputtered home, and he barricaded himself in his room, Janine’s footsteps pausing outside before fading away. She’d had enough of him today—he could feel it.
He popped two pills, dry-swallowing them as the room tilted. The Metallica poster blurred, and he crashed onto the bed, out cold.
To be continued..
I think two chapters at a time make the most sense, but I'm open to feedback.
Btw, I woke up early this morning to work on this. I'm pretty pumped up and feel like I might end up finishing the story before the weekend is over. Which, would be the longest story I've ever written and that makes me smile.
Cheers my friends
MenO
