He does tell me what. Michael tells me about some mix-up with a copy machine and somebody trying to order pizza from the appliance repair place he works at. As he talks, more of the regulars show up. We give each other shit for having boring jobs and take turns commenting on the game. I nurse the same beer the entire night. I’ve done it for years although I always order bottle after bottle. I just give it to someone else.

I like a buzz now and then, but I mostly come to the bar for the company and I don’t trust not being in control. The guys aren’t afraid to touch my shoulder or look me in the eye. That was the simplest thing they took from us at school. Couldn’t look. Couldn’t touch. Still feels like I’m getting away with something when it happens now.

They all do it now. Easy and comfortable like. With every touch I’m reminded and my hands stay on the bottle of beer. Picking at the label.

Picking. Picking. Picking. Sometimes I hear them, sometimes it changes to a loud ringing and the screams. All the screaming.

My phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m leaving money at my spot on the bar. Michael snags my elbow and tells me one more quick story, then lets me go.

The walk goes quicker on the way home.

I don’t bother looking at my phone until I’m behind the wheel of my car. I already know what’s going to be on the screen.

Sure enough, when I pull out my phone, the instructions are there waiting for me.

Reminder: Ridgemore. 3 am.

I start the car and let my mind go blank. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember anything—not even who I am.

The man I find in Ridgemore is the man that watched me piss. The one who used to constantly watch. He had a baton on his waist. I’m not sure whether his hands on that baton hit me the most. He’s not ready for me. He doesn’t hear me coming. Nobody does.

Nobody hears him when he starts to squeal, either. I hit him over the head with an old baseball bat I found in the dumpster a few months back so many times that it stops looking like a human head at all—just a mess.

By then, he’s not making any sound.

By then, he’s very still.

But I keep going. It only seems fair. It barely even feels real. The blood being hot as it splashes, the lights behind the trees from the cars on the street… none of it truly registers. In my head, I’m him, beating the shit out of me when I was only a fucking kid.