What Now?
In the original timeline, things happen to Michael, and well, he doesn't make it. I barely passed my bachelors and ended up working at a tech firm for the next five years, working my way up before getting made redundant in the 2008 crash. Having lost my job and house, alongside just having broken up with Maria after we met through work, I did a dumb thing.
I joined the military.
Eh, it doesn't matter. I need to stop dwelling on the past, or is it the future? No, it's the past; this is a new timeline, and these are different people. I have to focus on things right now, the fact that in a year's time none of these three are my friends, and while it's not my fault specifically, it could easily be fixed by simply me being there for Michael. Luke and Vicky not being my friends is entirely on me as well. They tried to reach out, and I just ignored them to wallow in self-pity. Wait, am I just repeating myself?
I stared out the back seat of the car, crooking my neck to see up. The sky had clouds peppering it, blocking an uninterrupted view of the stars, though some still poked through. I'm gonna be happy this time around. Or at least content; it was a much better feeling than happiness, which life had taught me at best is fleeting.
Now, where to start?
Well, I needed some money to start since I knew for a fact that my bank account had less than a grand in it. Working a job was off the table since that wouldn't work until I got my degree, and even then I ain't giving my hard work to some schmuck manager whose job is to solely make my life harder. The military and corporate worlds had made me physically unable to listen to anyone of authority that I didn't have a modicum of respect for.
And gambling on things like sports or the stock market were off the table for now. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast last week, let alone who won a race or match decades ago. There were a couple of things I remember well enough that I could use them, but I would need a decent amount of capital for it to even be worth it.
Eh, I'm sure I'll think of something.
Thinking back. I've been a terrible friend, haven't I? I had kind of been a bully when I was younger. It wasn't intentional; being 5'7' at thirteen, I just intimidated people and didn't realise it sometimes. I thought people were actually listening to me when really they were just scared. My voice doesn't really help either. Wait. Do I have to go through vocal training again? Fuck. I want that sweet molasses back. Right now, I probably sound like a whiny bitch after smoking a million to many fags in comparison.
I then turned toward the only person awake in the car, Luke. We had been friends since primary school, and well, he was pretty much the nicest person I had ever known. At the moment anyway. He also became quite the cynic in his later years. The corporate meat grinder does that.
"Why are you friends with me?" I asked out of the blue.
Luke seemed to not have heard my question, and over the radio, just as I was about to call his name to get his attention, he responded, "Cause, mate. You're my friend; I don't need one."
"There really isn't much more of a reason." I queried, genuinely curious.
He raised an eyebrow in the rear mirror and said, "Do I need one? Sure, you come off as brash and mildly insane sometimes, but you care, and you're honest to a fault. Most of the time, you're fun to be around. Now if we hadn't met as kids but instead at uni or something, I probably would have never even spoken to you, but I've known you for a long time and still want to be your friend; now will you not insult my judgement?"
"Sure. Thanks." I said. "Hey, I can drive if you want for a bit."
"Nope," he sharply replied back, "I'm switching with Michael in forty or so miles. You are not allowed to drive for a few more weeks yet."
"Sure." I replied, turning and closing my eyes.
Michael and Luke had swapped driving a while ago, with me now in the front passenger seat. I looked behind me at the backseat and saw Vicky with her head resting on Luke's shoulder as she snored. He, in return, rested his head on top of hers, their hair entangled together. Yeah, I always thought they were just really close. I can't believe I didn't see it. Then again, I was more focused on trying to keep them as friends than actually truly caring about them. I think that's another realisation that makes me want to actually care about them this time. When Michael died, I just thought about myself, not how they felt. You know what? Fuck you, Jacob. Fuck you. As much as I'm not perfect, I've changed a lot.
Luke's words just made me want to actually live up to what he thought of me.
They dropped me off at home. In the driveway were two cars. I ran my hands over the roof of a dark green 1992 Nissan Micra as I walked past it. It was a gift from my uncle when I turned eighteen before he died a few months later. We had named it Burtie for some godforsaken reason by smashing a £2 bottle of wine on it. Oh, the nostalgia. I was never getting rid of this thing, that's for sure.
As I opened the front door, I was hugged by my little sister, Holly. Her long brown hair was all messy from whatever she had been doing up this early; she was still wearing her bright pink Hello Kitty pyjamas. As I held her in the embrace, the memories of holding her for hours as I felt her stop breathing flashed before my mind. I had barely held myself together in the car, but now?
Fuck, I wasn't prepared for that. Channelling every bit of my chakra I could, I grabbed onto the remaining threads of my composure while I placed her down and knelt down to look in her eyes at the same height. While deliberately failing to hide the grin on my face and thinking about biting my cheek to not cry by deciding that would set a bad president, I said. "Missed you."
"Me too, me too!" she shouted as she hugged me again.
I then asked, "Where's mom?"
"Asleep," she said, heading back to the living room, where I could hear an episode of the Powerpuff Girls airing.
I headed up the stairs, passing by a wheelchair at the bottom landing and a stairlift going the whole way up, and entered my parents room. My mom was lying on the bed, and I tapped her shoulder as I said, "Hey mom."
"Oh-huh," she said, still drowsy. I had promised to wake her up as soon as I got home. As soon as her eyes cleared and she realised it was me, she was up and trying to pull my head down to her height, despite the fact she only had control of her upper body.
She then looked at the stitches after pushing my hair back and freaked out slightly. I then explained it was only a shallow cut about two inches above my left ear, which was three inches long. It'll be fine. Won't even be visible in a few years. I know that from personal experience after all.
After a bit more fussing from her, I headed for my room.
As I entered my bedroom, which for some god-forsaken reason fifteen-year-old me had wanted a sunset orange, I finally lost my composure and began to cry. I wanted to just curl up and stay wrapped in the distantly familiar smell of my duvet forever; this all hurt too much. Both physically and mentally. No, it's good; it hurts; it means you haven't stopped caring. It's okay to cry, but do not think hurting is bad; it means there's things to fix.
I was hyperventilating.
I had long learnt to not fight it as my heart tried its best to break my ribs like a certain alien parasite. After about a minute, my body realised that the distress I was in wasn't in fact a tangible thing, and my pulse steadied.
I just laid there hugging one of the pillows I had, occasionally wiping the amassing tears that had built up. Eventually I fell asleep crying and basically slept the whole day until I woke up at 8am the next day. Jeez, I must have been tired.
Well, let's start the new day by cleaning my room. Covid had turned me into a minor clean freak ever since, and it had been cemented during the nuclear strikes on Changsha. So my currently messy room was mildly triggering. I organised my books and models. Unpacked my bag from the trip. Vacuumed, and then I decided to lay down. I got up, grabbed a towel, and went into the bathroom.
Seeing the stitches, it was still very tender, so I didn't touch it, but I looked at the wound. Thankfully, whoever had shaved around it didn't go to ham with it, so there was only about an inch by four inch portion that I was now bald.
My hair was pretty long at the moment since I only got it cut when it got unmanageable, so I was confident I could do something about covering the scar. As I undressed, I looked in the mirror.
"I forgot how big I was." I mumbled to myself, curiously staring at the stretch marks. I was at about 360 pounds, or 25 stone, currently. Where I should be at 15 even on the heavy end and remembering the liver problems I had as I got older that were entirely because I was overweight. I had to deal with this sooner rather than later. I lost it all in the next five years anyway, so let's see if I can beat my own record. A year should be long enough.
The same went for my hygiene. While my teeth were fine now, they had started to turn slightly yellow from not regularly brushing. I was not getting fillings again either if I could help it. It was the same process with about every single portion of my hygiene.
I needed to find a good dermatologist as well since I knew this eczema I currently had needed topical steroids; it wasn't something I would just 'grow out of' like my GP had said, and by the time they realised that fact, I had minor but permanent scarring, though I don't think my hygiene helped at all in that regard.
I also need to get my eyes fixed; I am not letting them get so damaged that I need to have them regrown; that surgery still gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. They had to suck the old ones out, and even under anaesthesia, I felt that. Ehhhhh.
I showered thoroughly and made sure my stitches were bone dry by dabbing the towel on it. I then brushed my teeth and gums thoroughly as well.
I headed downstairs and dried my hair since it was quieter for my sister, who was still asleep. I got a bowl of cereal and headed to the living room after drying my hair.
My parents never told me about the things that they went through.
You see, before I was born, my dad ran a semi-successful construction company, which he and a friend had started in their twenties and had grown to about a hundred employees. They had gotten a massive renovation contract for a car showroom; however, as soon as the deposit came in for materials, my dad's friend took all the money the company had and left the country, as well as taking out several loans worth millions on top of that. And do you know what made it worse? He was my dad's friend since they were kids and had fled the country with my dad's now ex-wife. I swear, my life is something of a mix between a telenovela and a revenge manga sometimes.
He filed for bankruptcy, lost the house he bought, and then managed to get a job as the surveyor for a window fitting company.
My parents met at a party while my mom was still in medical school after immigrating from what was at the time Rhodesia. Both of them were in the process of getting divorced and just clicked. They got married about a year after I was born due to my mom's ex-husband refusing to finalise the divorce. The fact the country they got married in no longer existed didn't help either.
When I was four, my mom was dropping me off at my grandparents before heading to work when we were rear-ended by a car at a roundabout. Now it wasn't a bad crash, but it turns out my mom had undiagnosed early-onset osteoporosis, which meant that while the crash was minor, it basically crushed her lower spinal column due to the perfect angle of the crash and her weaker bone strength.
Despite all this, my parents never let me or Holly feel the effects. My parents had flaws, but they really did try. My mom, despite being in pain, was basically self-sufficient. We live in a council house due to a mix of my dad's lowish income and my mom's medical bills. Even if they were nowhere near the price gouges one would see in America, for a non-British citizen at the time it was still expensive.
I really was going to make sure they lived for as long as possible. Preferably till we finally crack ageing, I remember they had already started human trials over in the states.
…
[Stats] (as of the 1st of June 2002)
Name: Jacob Essan
DOB: 05/04/1982
Citizenship: British
Age: 20 years 3 months 5 days
Dependents: N/A
Spouse: N/A
Major Assets: 1997 Nissan Micra, (£1,800) Cash, (£868)
Major Liabilities: Student Loans (£13,746)
Estimated Net Worth: -£11,078
…
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I've already written like another fifteen chapters but I can't be bothered to edit them, LOL