Chapter 29
Jolee
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Somewhere in the back of my foggy, broken mind, I choose to ignore it.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I bury my face in the pillow.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t move. I can’t move. I’ve already given everything today. My body, my mind, my fear, and my guilt. And it isn’t enough. Nothing is enough to take the pain away.
Each buzz is a thread pulling at me, and I cut it without thinking, without care, without hope.
When do I get a break? When will I no longer feel this way? Hasn’t it been long enough?
Clay. His voice. His worry. His hands are trying to reach me from miles away.
I can feel it, faintly. A shadow of it. But the guilt, grief, and exhaustion are heavier, pressing me down into the bed, into the darkness.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I imagine the screen lighting up. Clay’s name. Please. Pick up.
It’s a wish.
A dream that will never come true. I know I’m falling down a dark path, but I can’t stop it.
I roll over and turn my phone off. What seems like dozens of texts, missed calls, and messages. I ignore all of them.
Not now.
Not tonight.
My sobs are quiet now, drained, and empty. I clutch at the sheets, as if holding them can hold me together.
I close my eyes, and my thoughts want to pull me back to him. Clay pacing, checking his phone again, his voice calling her name, desperate and afraid.
And for a moment, a fleeting, sharp ache tears through my heart.
I allow it. I feel it. Feel it bleeding.
I can’t. I can’t fix anything tonight.
I fall deeper into the dark, into the anguish, and into the spiral.
For tonight, there is nothing but the sobs, the guilt, and the silence.
Alone.
One last thought enters my mind. Do I let Shelly win?