11. Jonah
ELEVEN
Jonah
3:17 PM
Sitting in the sterile light of the hospital hallway, I can’t shake the weight of Harper’s words. She cared for Lila like she was family—like she mattered. And for a moment, I almost believed Harper still saw me as someone who mattered too.
I drag a hand down my face, the tension in my chest refusing to ease. I’ve spent the better part of my life keeping things easy, light. No strings, no messes, no room for anyone to need me in ways I can’t handle. But seeing Harper today, hearing the way Lila spoke about her...it’s like someone pressed a finger to the bruise I’ve been ignoring for years.
I glance down at my phone as more of a habit than anything else. The conversation with Harper still lingers, her steady voice replaying in my head. I can’t blame her for keeping her guard up—I haven’t exactly been the kind of friend worth holding onto.
But that’s a problem for another time. Right now, Lila needs me. I stand and pocket my phone, shaking off the thoughts as I head back into her room.
When I step back into Lila’s room, she’s propped up slightly on the bed, looking a little less like she’s been through a war. The bruising on her face is still severe, but her eyes are sharp and focused, tracking me as I pull the chair closer.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice light. “You’re looking a little more like yourself.”
She raises an eyebrow, managing a dry smirk despite the swelling. “If this is what I look like, I might need a refund on my face.”
I laugh softly, leaning back in the chair. “Good to see your sense of humor’s intact.”
“Hey,” I say, grabbing the chair by her bed and pulling it closer. “Seriously, how’re you feeling?”
“Like I lost a fight with a freight train,” she says, her voice raspy but carrying a hint of humor. “Which, I guess, isn’t far off.”
I grin, though it feels forced. “Well, you’ve always been scrappy.”
She chuckles weakly, then winces. “Scrappy didn’t save me this time.”
Her words settle uncomfortably between us, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Lila, what happened?”
She hesitates, her gaze fixed on the window as though she’s trying to pull the answer from the clouds. “I don’t know,” she says quietly, frustration edging into her tone. “It’s all... blurry. But I remember being scared. I felt trapped, Jonah, like no matter which way I turned, they’d find me.”
I lean forward. My voice is steady but firm. “Who would find you, Lila? Do you remember where you were? What you were doing?”
She closes her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “It’s almost like a dream. Or, more like a nightmare. Things keep coming to me, certain things replaying in my mind."
"That makes sense with what you've been through."
“It smelled like... bread? Maybe fruit,” she says, her brow furrowing in concentration. “There were bags in the car, plastic ones. I remember thinking the smell didn’t fit with everything else—the gas, the leather.”
Bread and fruit? What the fuck? I know when people are coming out of an amnesic state, smells are sometimes the only things they can recall. The human brain is a wild and wondrous organ.
We Bellingers are bad at showing emotion. I can see as she talks that she was afraid. I want to pull her close and let her know she is safe.
Her hands tremble slightly, and I resist the urge to reach out, afraid of breaking the fragile thread of her thoughts. “Okay,” I say, keeping my tone measured. “You were in a car. Was someone with you? Did they say anything to you?”
Lila’s brow furrows, her face contorting in frustration. “I don’t know. I think so? There was yelling. And—” She stops abruptly, her breath catching. “Wait. Someone grabbed me. My arm.”
Her hand instinctively goes to her bicep, and my stomach twists. “Grabbed you how? Were they trying to hurt you?”
She nods slowly, her expression darkening. “Yeah. It wasn’t just a grab; it hurt. Like they wanted to drag me out of the car. And I remember thinking... ‘This is it. They’ve found me.’”
“They?” I press gently, trying not to let my urgency seep into my voice. “Lila, who are they? Who were you running from?”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak right away. Her eyes dart around the room, unfocused, as though she’s trying to pluck the answer from the air. “I don't know who, specifically,” she whispers finally, her voice barely audible. “I think they were the collectors sent by the bookies.”
My chest tightens, anger flaring beneath my calm exterior. “The ones you said you owed money to on Friday? They tracked you here?”
She nods, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I was living in Atlanta,” she says quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “It wasn’t much—just a crappy apartment, waiting tables, trying to make ends meet. I thought if I left and came here for a while, I could lay low, save up, and pay them off before they found me.”
“Birmingham was your plan?” I ask, the frustration bleeding through despite my effort to stay calm. “Lila, why didn’t you call me sooner? Why didn’t you tell me this before you just showed up?”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. “Because I wanted to fix it, Jonah. I didn’t want to be that sister—the one who can’t get her shit together and always runs to her big brother to bail her out.”
I rake a hand through my hair, pacing the small space. “So, instead, you decided to gamble with your life?”
“I thought I could handle it!” she snaps, but the fire in her voice flickers out almost instantly. “I thought if I stayed long enough to get back on my feet, they’d lose interest. I didn’t think they’d find me so fast.”
I inhale sharply, trying to keep my voice even. “And you think that's who hurt you.”
“Yes. Who else would snatch someone up in broad daylight and beat them to a bloody pulp? They didn’t just hurt me, Jonah,” she says, her voice breaking. “They left me to die. They threw me out of the car, and that’s the last thing I remember. I don’t even know how I got here.”
Her words hit like a sledgehammer, and I have to take a moment to steady myself. Someone found her. Someone called for help. Thank God.
“You’re safe now,” I say finally, my voice tight with the effort to keep my emotions in check. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
Lila doesn’t look convinced. Her arms wrap around her knees, and she rocks slightly, as if trying to comfort herself. “You don’t know that,” she murmurs. “Unfortunately, as I've learned the hard way, they always find me.”
I reach out then, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Listen to me, Lila. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. Do you understand? Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
She looks up at me, her eyes glassy but resolute. “I think the one positive to this, if there is one, is maybe they think I’m dead. If so, then maybe they’ll leave me alone.”
I shake my head, leaning closer. “Lila, that’s not a plan. You can’t live your life pretending you don’t exist, hoping they just forget about you. They don’t work like that.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” she says, her voice cracking. “I can’t pay them back right now. What choice do I have?”
I watch her pick at the blanket, her hands shaking just enough to notice. She’s carrying guilt, no question about it. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s as heavy as mine. The thought creeps in like it always does: if I’d done something different back then, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe we wouldn’t both be so damn good at pretending we’re fine when we’re not.
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “You let me help you. I’ll pay them off. All of it. Whatever you owe, it’s done.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head vehemently. “No. Jonah, I can’t let you do that. This is my mess.”
“Yeah, and your mess just got you beaten half to death and landed you in a hospital,” I say, my tone firm but not unkind. “This isn’t just about money, Lila. It’s about keeping you alive. We all make mistakes. Let me help you. It doesn't have to be like this.”
She looks away, her jaw tightening. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
I tilt my head, watching her carefully. “Lila, you showed up on my doorstep with a bruise and a suitcase, scared out of your mind. You’re not a burden. But I need to know what we’re dealing with here. How much are we talking about?”
Her shoulders sag, and she hesitates, biting her lip. “It’s not small. I'm in deep. Five figures. Closer to the high end.”
The air seems to leave the room for a moment. “Jesus, Lila,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “How does it even get that high?”
Luckily, it's just me, and I have a nice nest egg saved. But close to a hundred grand, that's staggering. I try to hide my complete disbelief and disgust.
She winces, curling into herself slightly. “I told myself I’d win it back. That I just needed one good night. But it spiraled, Jonah. Fast.”
I exhale slowly, pushing back the frustration bubbling under my skin. She’s my sister. No matter how reckless or impulsive she’s been, I won’t let her drown in this alone. “Alright. The first step is clearing the debt. Then we figure out how to make sure this never happens again.”
Her eyes fill with something I can’t quite name—relief, gratitude, maybe even shame. “I’ll pay you back. Every cent.”
“I know,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it. Even if she doesn’t manage to, the fact that she’s willing to try might just mean she’s finally ready to change.
“If you’re serious about fixing this, we need to talk about the gambling. If I pay off these debts, I need you to agree to get some help. For real this time. If you don't get help, this is going to kill you.”
She hesitates, her fingers twisting in the hospital blanket. “I know I need to get help. I promise I will.”
"Deal."
For a moment, she’s quiet, her face unreadable. Then she nods, slowly. “Alright. But if you pay them off, I’m paying you back. I mean it, Jonah. I’ll write you a check every week, every month—whatever it takes.”
“You don’t have to—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I do,” she says firmly, meeting my gaze. “I have to. I obviously can't do it all at once, but I’ll do it. I’m not going to let you just fix this without taking responsibility.”
I lean back slightly, studying her. The fire in her eyes—the determination—is something I haven’t seen in her for years. Maybe ever. And for the first time, I feel like she might mean it. She’s adamant about taking ownership, and while I know she doesn’t have the resources to pay me back completely, letting her try might be the first real step toward her getting her life together.
She needs this. Maybe more than she needs the money itself. And, hell, maybe it’ll work.
I let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright. You pay me back. But one step at a time, Lila. First, we clear the debts and make sure you’re safe. Then, we’ll find you some real help.”
Her shoulders relax just a fraction, and she nods back, relief flickering across her face.
As I watch her, though, another thought creeps in, one I’ve been avoiding for years. Why is it that every single person in our family seems so completely fucked up? Is it just bad luck, or did something break in all of us along the way?
For me, I know exactly when the cracks started. I can still see the tower in my mind—the dizzying height, the terror in my best friend’s voice before his voice was silenced forever. The guilt has never left me, and I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s the reason I keep everyone at arm’s length. If it’s why I never learned how to stick around long enough to be anything more than a fleeting moment in someone’s life.
I shove the thought aside. This isn’t about me. This is about Lila. Giving her the chance to take ownership of this mess might be therapy in itself. That she’s finally ready to face her demons and, maybe, grow the hell up is a big step.
Maybe I could learn a thing or two from my beaten and defeated little sister.
“Deal,” I say, my voice firm. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you do this alone. You’re stuck with me, Lila. And you’re going to get through this.”
Her lips twitch into a small, shaky smile. “Thanks, Jonah.”
As I watch her, the weight of everything she’s been through settles over me like a heavy fog. This isn’t just about fixing her mess—it’s about finally facing mine. I don’t know where this road leads, but I’m not letting her walk it alone.