Wasted Honours Interview: Abortion in

“She won’t be there,” Darius promised with a sad shake of his head, “You can’t keep expecting to see her there.” “I can,” Barney paused to throw back the last dregs of his drink, “And I will.” He dragged a fst across his face and wiped away the stray droplets of moisture. He staggered to his feet, brushing of Darius’ attempt to steady him as he swayed dangerously. “She’ll be there,” He declared in a damp slur, “She knows I need to tell her something.” “Barn, for Christ’s sake, just tell me,” Darius insisted with a worried frown, “She won’t be there. But I’m right here, right now. Just tell me,” He fnished in a near beg as Barney pushed him away. “You wouldn’t understand,” Barney drawled in an imitation of sobriety, “I have to tell her. Only her.” He stumbled towards the door, only vaguely occupied by thinking about why the foor seemed more uneven than usual. The majority of his focus was split between balancing his steps and protecting the words he needed to say from drunken invasion. “I have to tell her,” He murmured under his breath as he advanced another step, “I have to tell her.” He repeated the words in a broken mantra, trying and failing to break away when Darius snagged a shoulder to hold him in place. “She won’t listen to you,” Darius protested as he held on frmly, “Even if she’s there, she won’t listen to you.” The words barely penetrated his inebriation, but they didn’t make any sense. Nothing did, it seemed. Barney understood only one thing, and it was the one thing he knew his friend never would.

“You’re only saying that because she’s pissed at you,” He argued bitterly, patience thinning rapidly, “She won’t listen to you. But she’ll listen to me. She always does.” “Barn, the only one who’s pissed in this scenario is you,” Darius grunted as he

overpowered his friend’s uncoordinated failing and dragged him back to the beaten-up sofa. “And I always listen to you, more than her. Just tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me. Please.”

Darius crouched in front of him with a sympathetic air, kind eyes and a hesitant smile. Barney’s already blurred vision distorted incomprehensively when he reared back before bludgeoning his forehead against Darius’. A sickening crack cut through the air as his best friend fell to the foor in a senseless heap, clipping the cofee table in his descent.

It didn’t matter to Barney. He only cared about trying not to slip in the rapidly growing puddle of blood covering the tiled foor. “Gotta tell her,” He repeated in a debauched mumble as he irritatedly wiped away the dribble of blood from his temple, “Have to tell her.” He fought his way out of the cramped room and fumbled uselessly with the front door before staggering out into the frigid night. The barely buttoned dress shirt did little to protect him from the cold, and the chill ricochetted up his body as his bare feet padded down the driveway. Barney derived little warmth from the pathetic shivering wracking his frame and the still sluggishly bleeding gash on his forehead as he clambered through the streets. Each step took him closer to imagined salvation and further from reason. Darius faded from Barney’s mind faster than he faded away on the lounge room foor until all that was left on either was a blood-covered echo.

Time passed in a meaningless jumble and vague blur of motion. Barney found himself at his destination as dawn crowned the sky, breathing gold and fre into the otherwise bleak night he had no hope of remembering. He careened to a stop, barely preventing himself from toppling of the jetty as the water swelled beneath him.

“Have to tell you,” He slurred as he pulled a blood-encrusted switchblade out of his pocket. Flakes of wood peeled into the sea as his knife whittled away in the breaking dawn. The carving stopped abruptly when Barney inevitably slipped, slicing his hand on the blade and soundlessly falling victim to the waves. In his place, an unfnished confession scarred the crumbling structure.