77. Broken Promiƨeƨ
CHAPTER 77
brOKEN PROMI?E?
NATE
The world dissolves into liquid, reality bleeding at the edges like watercolor on wet paper. My body's dead weight against Monty's half-deflated mattress, but my mind—my mind fragments like shattered glass, each shard reflecting a different version of my personal hell.
When Monty pushed the needle in, his words evaporated before they could reach me through the chemical haze. Whatever poison cocktail he's given me this time burns through my veins like liquid fire. Too much, maybe. Or finally enough to drown out her screams that have been echoing in my skull for weeks. I'm weightless yet chained to earth, suspended in that razor-thin space between sweet oblivion and raw agony.
My limbs feel foreign, like borrowed parts that don't quite fit. My chest is hollow, a void consuming everything except the pain that refuses to die.
The room spins in slow motion—or maybe I'm the one rotating, caught in orbit around memories I can't escape. Colors pulse with my sluggish heartbeat, while bass vibrations rattle through my bones. Monty's laughter cuts through it all, sharp and jarring against the chemical quiet in my head.
Reality comes in disconnected snapshots now. My head falls back and fireworks explode behind my eyelids—her face, her blood, her body broken on blood-slick asphalt. Everything blurs together until I can't tell what's memory and what's nightmare. I've lost track of time on this filthy floor that's become my home. Days blur into weeks when you're trying to dissolve yourself into nothing.
Through the fog, voices pierce the veil—familiar, urgent, disappointed. Jay and Nick materialize like judgmental ghosts through my chemical haze. I try to focus on their faces, but my body's already surrendered to whatever darkness Monty pumped into my veins.
"Jesus Christ, Nate." The words reach me like they're traveling through deep water, warped and distant.
Fragments of sensation assault me: rough hands gripping my arms, feet dragging across carpet that reeks of stale cigarettes, the world tilting sideways. Then cool leather against my back—a car seat becoming my new reality as voices float above me like storm clouds.
"Keep this quiet." Nick's voice cuts sharper than any needle. "People don't need to know."
Jay says something lost to the void while the engine's vibration hums through my bones like a lullaby for the damned.
I'm sorry, Leni.
I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
I'm sorry I became everything I swore I wouldn't.
The darkness swallows the rest.
Time melts like wax, dripping and pooling at the edges of consciousness. I'm somewhere else now—Nick's house, I think. The air here is clean wood and expensive cologne, jarring after weeks of breathing Monty's cocktail of stale smoke and desperation. They lay me down, and the leather couch swallows me whole. I squeeze my eyes shut against the spinning room, but darkness brings no peace. Instead, she materializes like a ghost I can't outrun.
Nora.
She's five, a snapshot of innocence in that purple dress scattered with daisies. Pigtails bounce as she moves, bright eyes sparkling with the kind of hope I'd forgotten existed. Her tiny hands clutch a crayon and paper like they're precious treasures.
“Nate, you have to sign this."
"What is it?"
"It's a forever friends promise."
The memory burns bright enough to scar as she hands me a piece of paper. Her backwards S's swimming across the page, each misspelling perfect in its imperfection.
Her signature sits at the bottom, waiting for mine like she never doubted I'd sign. Like she knew, even then, that I'd promise her anything.
"The pony's name is going to be called Dolly. And we can rescue all the puppies and give them Avenger names like Superman!"
I don't tell her Superman isn't an Avenger.
Instead, little-me says, "I like the name Dolly."
"Do you promise, Natey?" She offers the green crayon like an olive branch and a lifeline all in one. "Do you promise we’ll live happily ever after?"
"I promise, Leni. I'll be your forever friend and we’ll live happily ever after.”
I sign my name, sealing a future I'd destroy years later.
Her laugh ripples through my consciousness, but the memory fractures, reality bleeding through like acid rain.
The image warps—she's not five anymore.
She's seventeen and dying, her body limp in my arms. Blood paints her lips like those cherry popsicles she loved so much. Those trust-filled green eyes flutter closed as I scream her name into the indifferent night.
I jolt upward, lungs burning for air that tastes like guilt. But I can't escape her—she's woven into my DNA, etched into every scar, living in every needle mark I've added since that night.
She's everywhere.
In every heartbeat.
In every hit.
In every broken promise.
I'm still falling, chasing oblivion but finding only memories. The drugs that were supposed to numb everything have only made her clearer, sharper, more real.
I'm sorry, Leni.
I'm so fucking sorry.
But I know better than anyone, sorry doesn't undo promises.
Sorry doesn't wash blood from asphalt.
Sorry doesn't bring back five-year-olds with backward S's and dreams of a pony named Dolly.
I keep falling, hoping the bottom will hurt less than remembering.
Consciousness returns in waves, each one bringing fresh agony. My skull feels like it's being split from the inside, brain matter pulsing against bone. The quiet of Nick's house is deafening after weeks of Monty's chaos. Coffee scents the air, a stark contrast to the toxic mix of sweat and smoke I've been drowning in. Sunlight assaults my eyes like shards of broken glass.
"Afternoon." Nick's voice cuts through the fog. He's a shadow in the doorway, tension coiled in his frame like a spring ready to snap.
I try to sit up, but gravity shifts and tilts. Bile rises in my throat as the room carousels around me. I reach for the bucket beside the sofa and empty whatever poison is left in my system. My face feels foreign under my palms, weeks of stubble rough against raw skin. Every cell in my body screams with the memory of what I've done to it.
"I don't—" The words scrape out like they're lined with barbed wire.
Nick inches closer, reality flickering like bad television reception.
"You got high out of your mind. We were trying to give you space over the past few weeks but then hadn't heard from you in days, until Jay called and said he knew where you were. Found you at Monty's, more dead than alive."
Memories surface: Monty's serpentine smile, the sweet rush of oblivion, voices dragging me back to a world I tried to escape.
"Fuck."
"Yeah, pretty much."
I heave myself upright, legs as steady as matchsticks in an earthquake.
I need to move. Need to get out. Need to??—
"And where do you think you're heading?" Nick's question cuts like a knife.
My head pounds with each heartbeat. "I can't stay here."
"What's the plan, Nate? After you walk out that door?"
My hand finds the doorknob, cold metal grounding me in reality. But there is no plan. Just more chasing oblivion. Nick moves like he's approaching a wounded animal, slamming his palm against the wooden door.
"I can't let you leave without a plan."
"There's no saving me, Nick." The truth tastes like copper and defeat. "Just let it go."
"I made the mistake of letting someone walk out once. Never again."
Something snaps inside me.
"I'm not him. Not your brother. Not your responsibility."
The second the words slip out, regret floods my system. This guy has been the only steady support in my life, the only one who saw past my walls. He doesn't deserve my venom. Which is exactly why I wish he'd just let me go before I disappoint him again.
"No, you're not him." Nick's voice hardens. "And you're not Scott either." Scott's name hits like electricity, jolting through my drug-addled system. "But you're someone I care about. Let me help you figure this out, Nate."
"Something inside me is broken." The confession feels ripped from somewhere vital, leaving me bleeding.
“Scott shattered you, left you with the pieces. I see how tired you are. But this—" His grip finds my forearm, forcing it into the light. I try to jerk away but he holds firm, twisting my arm so I have to look.
Really look.
Track marks dot the crook of my elbow like a stamp of shame, purple-black bruises blooming around each point of entry. My stomach rolls at the sight. These are my choices mapped out in broken vessels and damaged skin.
Nick's eyes burn into me. "This isn't the answer. People need you here. People love you, Nate.”
People love you.
The words echo like a gunshot in an empty room.
"I love you. And I'm not letting you destroy yourself."
I can’t remember the last time someone told me they loved me and meant it. My knees hit hardwood, and tears I've been holding back for years finally break free. Nick's arms find me, wrapping around me like a shelter as I shake apart. For the first time since I watched Nora bleed out on that highway, I let someone else carry the weight of my broken pieces.
"You're not doing this alone anymore, Nate," he says softly. "We'll figure this out."
His words chip away at the wall I've spent years building—the same wall Nick has been patiently trying to scale since that first day in the bookstore, when he offered me a job instead of writing me off like everyone else.
"You deserved better," Nick continues, his voice heavy with the weight of all the times he's watched me struggle, all the times he's tried to be the father figure Scott never was.
"No kid should have to grow up the way you did. And just because someone is family doesn't mean you have to tolerate their lies and manipulation. You deserve more than that. You deserve a shot at a fresh start and a life that's entirely your own."
I can't meet his eyes, but his words hit home like they always do. Nick has this way of cutting through the bullshit, of seeing the scared kid beneath all the anger and self-destruction.
"You can't keep thinking about how you've hurt people or how you've let them down. It's about you now, Nate. You need to find a way to be happy. For you."
His hand clasps my shoulder, and something in his voice changes, becomes raw with memory.
"When my brother died, I drowned myself in booze and pills. Thought it would numb the pain. It didn't. It just made everything worse because the pain never went away. It just waited until I was sober enough to start paying attention to it again. That's why I left in the first place. I needed to get away to figure out who I was and what I wanted." He squeezes my shoulder. "I think that's what you need. A fresh start. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere you can breathe and figure out what you want and who you want to be without anyone else telling you so."
His words settle over me, heavy with the understanding of someone who's walked this path before.
How many times has he tried to guide me away from making his same mistakes?
How many times have I ignored him, thinking my pain was somehow different, somehow special?
"Think about it," Nick says. "Say the word and I'll take care of everything and get you out." The corner of his mouth lifts in that familiar half-smile that's seen me through countless rough patches. "But I need you to want this for yourself. You need to want to help yourself. Give yourself a chance at a different life. Clear your head. Write music. Pick flowers and chase butterflies for all I care. But you can't keep living like this. It's going to kill you."
I nod, barely registering the movement. My mind is fucked right now, but Nick's words are holding me steady and keeping me from drifting too far.
"I'm not going to lie and tell you it's going to be easy. I won't pretend like it won't suck every living fiber out of you either. But I will tell you that it's still possible to find the light. Loss may be permanent but suffering isn't."
I look at him for the first time—really look at him—and see the lines of worry etched around his eyes.
How much of that is because of me?
His words hang in the air, heavy with truth. I let out a slow, uneven breath, my chest tightening, my head pounding, my body screaming for another hit, but my heart—it's caught.
"Is Nora..." The words scrape my throat raw. I can barely force them past the fear. "Is she..."
"She's okay." Nick's voice is steady, an anchor in the storm. "She has a long road ahead of her too, but she's doing okay."
Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a tidal wave of guilt that threatens to drown me. I see her again—lying with a faint beating heart in my arms. The memory twists the knife deeper.
"She deserves better than me," I mutter, shame burning my throat like bile.
Nick's grip on my shoulder tightens, his fingers digging into muscle, reminding me of all the times he's refused to let me fall. "Maybe she does. But she's not asking for better. She's asking for you. And if you can't see why, maybe it's time to stop looking at her and start looking at yourself."
I laugh bitterly, the sound like broken glass in my chest. "Everything I touch, I ruin. My family. My friends. Her." The words taste like truth, familiar and bitter on my tongue. "All I do is take and destroy."
Like father, like son —the mantra I've been running from since I was old enough to understand what Scott’s fists could do.
Nick shifts to sit in front of me, slinging his arms around his knees, leveling his eyes with mine. His gaze isn't soft—it's sharp with the same tough love that's kept me alive this long. I want to look away, but I can't.
"I've been exactly where you are. Telling myself the same bullshit to justify not trying. But you know what? It's cowardly."
I flinch at the word. It cuts deeper than I expect it to.
"Yeah, cowardly. You think you're protecting her by shutting down and keeping her at bay? By pretending you don't care? All you're doing is running. And the longer you run, the harder it's gonna be to find your way back. To her. To yourself."
I hate how much his words sting because they're true. Each one strikes like a match against my raw nerves, illuminating truths I've been trying to keep in darkness.
I hate that he's looking at me like I'm worth saving when I've done nothing to deserve it.
I hate that when he says, "find your way back," I think of her face—her smile and her laugh that sounds like every good memory I've ever had—it feels like hope.
And I hate hope.
Hope is the cruelest trick of all—a light that only makes the darkness deeper when it fades.
Hope is what kept Mom coming back to Dad, thinking this time would be different.
Hope is what left Jake with scars he thinks I don't see.
Hope is what put Nora in that hospital bed while I sit here, destroying my own life in the process.
"Isn't this running though? Just to another country?" My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears.
"No." Nick's response carries the weight of experience. “It’s distancing, so you can start facing yourself away from distractions. Away from old habits and familiar demons."
"What if I can't?" My voice cracks, splintering like glass under pressure, vulnerability seeping through the fissures before I can patch them. "What if I try and it's not enough?"
Nick stands, his hand dropping from my shoulder, but his presence looms larger, filling the room with an authority earned through years of his own battles.
"That's the risk, Nate. That's life. But here's the thing: losing something because you tried and failed? That's a pain you can live with. It's clean, honest—something you can learn from. Losing something because you were too scared to even try? That's the kind of regret that'll eat you alive. It'll hollow you out until there's nothing left but 'what ifs' and empty promises."
I bury my face in my hands, fingers pressing against my temples like I'm trying to hold my skull together. My chest feels like it's caving in, every breath a struggle against the hurricane of fear and want and need all tangled together inside me.
"And if I'm too far gone?" I whisper, the words barely a breath, carrying the weight of every needle mark, every broken promise, every midnight confession I've made to empty rooms.
"I don't believe you are," Nick says with a firmness that brooks no argument, the same tone he used when he came to pick me up the first time I was bleeding out. "You're here. You're still breathing. And as long as you're breathing, there's a chance. A chance to be better and be the man she sees in you. The man I've always seen in you, even when you couldn't see it yourself."
I don't know if I believe him.
Nick pulls a card from his back pocket and places it on the table beside me. The sound of cardstock against wood cuts sharp through the quiet room.
"When you're ready, call this number. Javier is a good friend of mine. Tell him I sent you and he'll take care of everything from his end. Then just say when and I'll book your flight and drive you to the airport myself."
I pick up the card, its edges fraying under my trembling fingers like my resolve. It's simple—a name, a number, and nothing else.
No promises, no guarantees. Just a choice.
Maybe the first real choice I've made in years.
"You can't outrun the pain or the darkness, Nate." Nick's voice carries the weight of someone who's tried. "But you can fight it until it knows its place in your life. And you don't have to do it alone."
His voice softens, gentles like he's talking to that scared kid he first met, and for the first time, I let his words settle into the cracks I've been too afraid to show. Maybe I'm not beyond saving. Maybe there's still something worth fighting for in the wreckage I've made of my life.
I look up at him, the card clutched in my hand like a lifeline, like a ticket to somewhere better than here.
"I don't know if I can do this."
Nick smiles faintly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes that speaks of his own battles won and lost. "You don't have to know, Nate. You just have to try. Sometimes trying is the bravest thing we can do."