dissonance. (a Böhme novel) Read online




  Table of Contents

  dis·so·nance

  1 Blake

  2 Brecken

  3 Blake

  4 Brecken

  5 Blake

  6 Brecken

  7 Blake

  8 Brecken

  9 Blake

  10 Brecken

  11 Blake

  12 Brecken

  13 Blake

  14 Brecken

  15 Blake

  16 Brecken

  17 Blake

  18 Brecken

  19 Blake

  20 Brecken

  21 Blake

  22 Brecken

  Epilogue Blake seven months later…

  Maggie & Karl

  Acknowledgements

  Sarah Buhl

  dissonance.

  Sarah Buhl

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  dissonance. Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Buhl

  All rights reserved.

  Cover image by ©2014 Corepics Vof http://www.dreamstime.com/

  Book design by Sarah Buhl

  Edited by Michele Ziemer

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Sarah Buhl

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: November 2014

  dis·so·nance

  1: lack of agreement; especially : inconsistency between the beliefs one holds or between one's actions and one's beliefs; an instance of such inconsistency or disagreement

  2: a mingling of discordant sounds; especially : a clashing or unresolved musical interval or chord

  For the pure joy of living.

  For those who always manage to give a genuine smile.

  Some of you I know in real life, some of you I only know from the computer screen, but each of you are cherished.

  And for those that choose not to smile or have resisted the opportunity out of fear—

  May you one day meet someone or do the one thing

  that makes you feel alive.

  The figure dressed in black climbed the fire escape to the top of the apartments. Once on the roof, they turned toward the wall of the adjoining building. With a roll of the shoulder, the shadow of a human pulled out the spray can from their baggy pants.

  Shaking the canister in preparation, the figure walked with fearful determination toward the wall. This was it—this was the moment that was going to be the first step on the path. There was no turning back. Once the paint spread across the darkened bricks, the question will be raised, though the silent figure will not hear the answer.

  Questions, questions, questions—so many of them floating in the figure’s mind.

  This is as it should be—questions waiting for answers. No one can answer for another, but it's the question that everyone must ask themselves. Every answer will form from this one.

  The figure, the writer, painted a quick silhouette of a hooded persona painting the wall. Then with broad strokes above the painting, the writer posed their question.

  Who are you, really?

  1

  Blake

  The moment that repetitive screech sounds in the morning, no matter what dream is had, it turns to shit. Yes, my alarm clock blared in my ear reminding me the time had come to climb from the comfort of my bed. It's the worst part of the day, hearing that sound. I hit that damn button just to prolong the inevitable—getting up to face the fucking day.

  I tasted the remnants of last night’s partying as I swallowed, trying to adjust to being conscious. It was disgusting, and I looked forward to climbing from bed and brushing my teeth. But that eagerness to wash away the party didn't win with my need to hit snooze.

  I fell back asleep for the five minutes the snooze gave me—only to have it shake me from sleep yet again.

  I turned the alarm off and put my hand to my face, rubbing away the sleep from my eyes until I finally opened them. I kept my eyes to the ceiling as flashes of last night ran through my mind.

  Abby was at Henley’s Pub last night. I couldn't stand being around her anymore. This is serious coming from me because I’m the guy that doesn’t want to piss anyone off or hurt anyone’s feelings. I am everyone's friend. This backfired with Abby. I was weak when she applied the right pressure to me.

  Abby reminded me of a super villain in a comic book. That chick wanted nothing more than to destroy me. She blames me for her unhappiness now that I ended things with us. I had enough of whatever it was we had together. There are only so many misused words, trashy one-liners, and egocentric comments I can take.

  If it weren’t for my friends, my dumb, drunk ass might have gone home with her again, just as I did last week. I’m a guy and unfortunately most guys share a common weakness and Abby put on a good act—until the second or third date. She read me and understood what I wanted, using it to manipulate as she saw fit. She played the part of seeming to be one of the guys—liking video games, MMA, and action movies—all lies. Once she got me hooked, she tried to emasculate me. There’s a big word—emasculate. She tried to mold me into the dopey guy that did whatever she wanted. Not happening.

  She can’t take all the blame though—I was the dumb ass that kept letting her win.

  Now I found myself letting her win again because thoughts of her confronted me first thing in the morning. Damn it, I needed this to end. The first step in ending anything, whether it is an addiction, a bad habit, or a nervous tick, was to acknowledge it. I acknowledged the shit out of the fact that I needed that girl gone.

  With a sigh and one last close of my eyes, I finally made myself climb from bed and took my shower. Five minutes later I walked into my living room and found Karl lying on my couch. He crashed at my apartment on occasion and even had his own key. He didn’t have a place of his own. But don’t take that as him being a squatter. He wasn’t a squatter—he just enjoyed being free to move around.

  He made sure to give cash or food for his stay. I told him he didn’t have to, but he always pushed it. He was notorious for resorting to hiding the cash in random places. I found five bucks in my egg carton once. He explained his outlook to me, “Money is just paper. It only has value because we believe in it.” Karl was a deep guy, and more and more lately I’ve surrounded myself with deep thinkers, because I’m not one myself. I am what I am.

  I started a pot of coffee and heard Karl begin to wake.

  “You’re so fucking lucky I was there last night Blake,” Karl said in a sleep laden voice.

  “Abby,” I said, as I walked back into my room to grab my work boots. “Is that why I’m lucky?”

  “Uh, yeah man. She was up in your shit last night and in prime form as she did it. She played her princess act—wanting to be taken into the care of her knight in shining armor. The role you so willingly play with her, I might add. I think she said that at one point,” he said, running his hand over his face.

  “Dude, your hair looks crazy this morning,” I said, pointing at his hair fanning from his head and reminding me of a frill-neck lizard.

  “Whatever, not as if I have to impress you or anyone else at work today. Here’s your cash for coffee, man,” Karl said as he stood from the couch and threw his five bucks on the counter.

  “Really? Five dollars for one cup of coffee?” I asked as I pushed his money back.

  “Okay, I’ll take toast too,�
� he said as he popped the bread in the toaster. “I’m going to take a quick shower before we head to work.”

  “Go for it,” I said as I walked into the living room, eating my own breakfast.

  I met Karl last year through the Böhme, a group of artists, musicians, and writers—basically anyone with a need to create. Most of my friends are from there and Henley’s Pub.

  Karl started working for my dad shortly after I met him. Now we both are roofers. It’s a shitty job, but it keeps us outside and being outside is better than stuck in a fucking office.

  I have too much energy to sit behind a desk and stare at a computer screen. I tried it once—when I graduated high school. I told my dad I didn’t want to work as a roofer and thought I needed to expand my horizons. I worked at this law office for three days. That was as much as I could take of the fluorescent lighting and sounds of copiers and fax machines.

  My dad was right; I belonged outside.

  Karl managed to get cleaned up and dressed in less time than it took me to finish my breakfast. He never wanted to make me run late. Again, that’s just how Karl is—he wants to make life as easy as possible for everyone. Life to him is a gift and adding stress on relationships over the little things isn't worth it. Looking at him, I saw why people might think him crazy as hell though. The guy looks as if he lived in the woods for decades, but he was my age. Though I was positive he lived more in his years than I had.

  We didn’t say a word as we stepped into the normal routine of our work day. I grabbed my keys and coffee and we headed out of my apartment. The morning held crispness to it that late Spring weather still holds. It was one of those days that froze in the morning, and then began to heat up the farther into the day you went.

  I started up my Jeep and looked through my music to decide what today warranted, definitely not something heavy. My head was throbbing, and I wasn’t ready for that level of rampage.

  “Whoa, that’s badass,” Karl said as he pointed out the front window of my Jeep.

  I followed the direction he pointed and found that on the side of the building was the usual graffiti, but painted over it were large black letters posing a simple question—Who are you, really?

  “That makes you think, doesn’t it?” Karl asked, keeping his focus on the building as we drove past it. “Can that question be answered though? I mean we’re constantly changing, evolving, we can never define ourselves. I don’t ever want to have a distinct definition of who I am. But a baseline is doable.”

  “Yeah, that’s too much thinking for me at this hour, man. Maybe we could have this discussion later when I’ve been conscious for more than forty-five minutes,” I said. But the question still rang in my head. It turned out to be not as simple of a question as I first thought.

  _______________

  We made it to the work site and found my dad leaning against his truck looking over paperwork on the hood. I took in the gut my dad now had and laughed to myself. His time spent behind the desk, and not on site, caught up to him. Yet another reason it’s good to stay away from the office life.

  I parked next to his truck and Karl went ahead to talk to the other guys as I went to my dad. He began to speak without looking up, “Blake, ya know it's best if ya didn’t come ta work hung over, right?” My dad’s accent always came in thick in the mornings.

  “I’m not hung over Dad. Yeah I went out last night, but we didn’t have that exciting of a night. I'm fighting a raging headache, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the beer.”

  He set his reading glasses atop the papers, “Ya didn’t bring Abby home with ya again?” he asked.

  Yes. My dad knows the story of Abby. Our family is unnervingly open.

  I lowered my head with a laugh, knowing what my father thought of her. “No, thankfully I didn’t, but she became damn persistent last night.”

  He looked to the sky and shook his head, “Lord have mercy, that girl needs help. Yer mother’d be pissed. She told me if she was younger she’d show tha’ girl a thing or two about a thing or two. But I’ll refrain from telling Vera though.”

  He’d tell her. Those two didn't keep any story from each other.

  Damned persistent herself, though, my mother wasn’t selfish. Her persistence stemmed from her need to make sure everyone was happy and safe. She didn’t handle conflict well either. But where I avoided it, she made sure to end it.

  “Yeah, mom’d be pissed,” I said.

  The day my mother met Abby, she told me she wasn’t the girl for me. I knew it then too, but at the time, I still held out hope that maybe she wasn’t as bad as I imagined—again, my usual way of searching for the best in people.

  I know I can’t attribute it all to my nice nature. I’m a guy. You get me drunk and rub against me enough, I’m not going to have a problem unloading myself. I mean if it’s either blue balls or hooking up with Abby—and if circumstances were right for her yet wrong for me—we’d go home together. But that doesn’t mean I won’t regret it the next day. Maybe other guys don’t. But those guys may have never had an Abby in their lives.

  “Okay enough of that for now. We’ve given ol’ Abby too much of our morning. Take a look at what we’re working on today,” my dad said as if he could read where my thoughts traveled.

  I took a glance at the paperwork. “So we’re just working on the roof over the porch today?” I asked, as I looked at the large church.

  “Yeah that’s it. The place is too damned big to get every part done in one day.”

  _______________

  Around noon my mother showed up and made the day more enjoyable. I’m not meaning that sarcastically either. Without sounding like a psychopath, I have to say my mother is one of my best friends. Yes, it’s lame, but it's true.

  Vera Lawson was the pillar of determination as she approached me. Her eyes set in a scowl as she turned her chin to me, “Blake dear, your father tells me you have a headache today.”

  “Yes, I’m working on it though, no worries,” I said as I turned my side to her, not wanting to have the conversation. Both my parents kept involved in everything I did.

  An example of how involved they were—my mom made me a sign the day after I went to prom my sophomore year.

  Why? Well, when I woke up the next morning, there was a sign that said, “Congratulations Blake—you’re a man!”

  From a young age they always wanted to keep an open line of communication with me. I could tell them the ins and outs of my life for the most part. But there were secrets I always kept to myself.

  “Good boy,” she said as she squeezed my cheeks and walked back toward my dad. He must have kept my run in with Abby to himself.

  I watched as my dad took my mom into a big hug as he always did. He said hugs should never be half-assed. I agree. My dad was a man that made sure his wife was without want. That wasn’t in material possessions though. That was in the fact that he made it a point to let her know she was brilliant and wonderful. She never felt alone in their marriage and he never did either. But what makes their relationship great—they don’t expect the other to do it. There are no demands on each other. They just are.

  I climbed back up to the roof where the other guys and Karl were working. Karl made a point to give me his annoying grin. “Looks as though Momma Lawson is checking up on you, huh?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Karl. I’m the boss’ son remember? You don’t want to give me shit. I could get you fired,” I said with a snide smile. Karl could be an ass on purpose, but he had to work at it. He was just too mellow of a dude to be a full-time ass.

  “And that doesn’t help your case.” He laughed.

  “That wasn’t my intention. I wanted to give you more material,” I said with a laugh myself.

  “So you up for Henley’s again tonight? A band is playing that my friend and old babysitter are in,” Karl said.

  “Your babysitter?” I laughed.

  “Yeah, my babysitter. Don’t worry, it's not outdated. It’s a cover band
though,” Karl said. “I hate cover bands. But my friend is cool—he’s the guitar player.”

  “Well, I’m never one to turn down a night out,” I said.

  _______________

  After work, Karl went his own way, and I ran home to clean up before walking to Henley’s. It wasn’t a short walk, but it made more sense on nights when the weather was nice. Again, why sit inside any longer than needed?

  The night was quiet and the only person I saw was a kid passing me on his skateboard, which was surprising with the nice weather. Usually there were more people out at night.

  When I turned onto the last street, I saw an old Dodge wagon parked in front of Henley’s. It was one of the coolest fucking cars I had seen and I wondered who the lucky guy was who owned it. My dad had an old muscle car—his was a sixty-seven Camaro. It was nice, he was good on the upkeep of it, but that was it. It was nothing compared to this car.

  The interior of it was turquoise blue, and it looked to be custom. There was not a scratch on it and the exterior shone a shiny black.

  “That’s a nice car, isn’t it?” the same kid on the skateboard I saw earlier asked.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely one word to describe it. It’s sexy as hell.”

  The kid laughed as he walked toward the alley that met the back entrance of the pub. “Yes. That it is. That it is,” he said as he put his hands in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt and skated away. He kicked it up and carried it in the back door with him.

  I went in the front of Henley’s. Every time I stepped through it, I felt like I was coming home.

  I pushed my way through the crowd and found Karl sitting at the bar with Gabe. Those two guys have become the closest friends to me since my best friend Wynn got married last year.

  That was a shock and a half if you ask me—Wynn getting married. He never dated and then he meets Hannah, and within two months or so they’re hitched. I’m not saying they shouldn’t have; they’re perfect together. It was just strange because she was the first chick he was ever serious with and—BAM, they’re married.