Silent Son – Part 3

Beautiful but Unlikely

first of march

It didn’t last very long. Ross sat up and leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking up at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure how much it had helped him. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, hands loosely clasped. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay with this,” he confessed. He rubbed his nose again with his thumb. “It’s just one fuckin’ disaster after another, one failure after another. I’m getting too old for this. The hatred never stops—you plug the hole somewhere and it starts streaming out somewhere else.”

Then to my surprise, because he seldom made any mention of Michael, out of nowhere came the statement, “I’m surprised you’re still here, when you’re used to better . . .” He ran his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, closing…

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