Damo had been cooking us a meal through all my procrastination and unproductivity. He entered the lounge room, where I’d already set up home, with a plate of chips and chicken nuggets in each hand. He wasn’t much for cooking and I wasn’t much for eating extravagant meals, so it worked out okay. As we ingested thirty minutes of cooking in the space of one, Damo eyed around at the changes his lounge room had undergone. Next to the couch, which would fold out to make a comfortable enough bed, were my two bags packed full of random shit. Beside them was a crate full of clothes. On top of his stereo were my CD’s, piled in alphabetical order, a meticulous habit I picked up from my father years ago. The only photo I ever kept, one of my mother before she left, standing with me and my father originally, my father torn out of the picture now. And looking around, his trademark grin formed.

“Just make yourself comfortable.” He said sarcastically. “Make yourself at home.” I failed to acknowledge his words, instead looking at the window in the room, out into the front. A decent front yard for a reasonably spacious house, I thought. How Damo could afford it by himself, I didn’t know. Out the window I was watching, hoping hopelessly that Katya would enter my vision. That she’d come to the door and knock and everything would be fine. I guess Damo had been watching me watching out for nothing for a while, because my staring was broken by something hard hitting me in the side of the face.

“Fuck!” I let out. It was a sudden hurt. I turned to face Damo whom was sitting across from me on a swivel chair. Why he had one of those when he didn’t own a computer, I didn’t know either. He was smiling again. Damo only has three expressions, I think. Happy, drunk and angry. Seeing him grin, I was pissed at his action. “Fuck you!” I scathed.

“What?” He asked innocently, still grinning. I turned back to the window, not in the mood. Soon, Damo caught my attention again, though this time by speaking. “You thinking ‘bout your Dad?” I acknowledged his words this time, turning to him slowly and shaking my head. Before I could resume watching the window, another question came. “So, what happened?” I looked to the ground, unsure if I wanted to say anything. He persisted. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it… was it about your mum?”

And for some reason this brought me to speaking.

“Yeah… I said it was his fault she left.”

Damo was silent for a moment before simply saying “Oh.”

Ever since mum went, my relationship with my father has been shit. Living together, both feeling alone, communication diminished until the only thing that connected us was the house. Now that connection was gone too. We were completely separated.

“Do you actually think it was his fault?” asked Damo.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged and my gaze returned to the window. “I probably just said it because I knew it would hurt him.” The words were flowing so easily again, as if pre-scripted.

“And that was why he kicked you out?”

“Yeah. That and the fact that I disappeared this week without telling him where I was going.” It was like I was out of myself, watching the conversation take place. None of it was new to me. None of any of this seemed new.

“Yeah, where have you been, anyway?” I returned to myself to answer this inquiry.

“I went up to the beach with a mate.” Normally I would’ve bragged to Damo about going up there with a girl, but I just wasn’t into the character I usually became around him, partly because he wasn’t acting normal himself, partly because I was too somber and worried to bother.

“With who?” It wasn’t like Damo to ask all these questions. He must have been bored or something, I figured. I knew my answer would probably excite him and get him acting stupid and asking questions that I wouldn’t want to answer, but I just couldn’t be fucked lying. He would’ve found out eventually anyway.

“I went up to Katya’s beach house with her.” I said solemnly, awaiting the “whoa’s” and “did you score’s” and everything else I was sure would come from Damo’s mouth. The reaction I got was unexpected.

“Katya? That the chick you brought to Hood’s the other day?”

“Yeah…” I said, still awaiting the fulfillment of my expectations.

“Hah. I didn’t know you guys were that serious.” He said. I looked at him weirdly. “She seemed like an okay chick the other night before she freaked out.” Hood’s party. A night I wished I could forget, though one I didn’t really remember. The happenings of that night had merely ingrained themselves into the continuity of my mind. I know every bit of what happened, but I couldn’t picture it. The night was just a memory.

“Yeah, she just had a bad tablet. She’s not always like that.” As I said these words my thoughts wandered back to the morning at her house with the broken angel, the walk along the open road with her confiding in me, crying. My thoughts wandered to the night she sent her car to a watery grave. My thoughts remembered her screaming at me in the beach house. So many outbursts, so many tears. With all these memories flooding, for the first time I questioned why I felt so strongly for Katya. So much negativity and heartache had already come from such a short relationship.

“So she’s into drugs?” Damo interrupted my wandering.

“I guess. E and Pot as far as I know.”

“Are you cool with that? I mean, after all the shit with…” I stopped him.

“Katya’s different. I’m not going to make the same mistake again.” Lying to Damo, lying to myself. If you try hard enough you can convince yourself of anything.

There was a brief pause before Damo thrust another subject forward.

“What ever happened to that other chick you were seeing, um…” He was searching for her name.

“Sara.” I reminded him.

“Yeah. She went away didn’t she?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“Have you spoken to her since she left?”

“Nope.” I answered plainly.

Another brief silence before “Where was it she went, again?” Damo’s interest in me had been piqued for whatever reason. I’d never heard him speak to anyone like this, just listening to them vent, trying to help them out. Too, I’d rarely felt this open in talking to someone. Like with Katya and mum, I just knew that he could be trusted with my secrets and he seemed genuinely interested in knowing.

“I don’t know.” I said in response.

“What? She never told you?” For a moment he looked betrayed on my behalf.

“Nah, she told me.” I confirmed. “I just can’t remember.” Damo eyed me oddly as I turned away to watch out the window again, partly thinking of Sara, of mum, of Damo, of Katya. With this many thoughts in your head, it’s no wonder things get confused.