Chapter Four The Bitter Pill #2
Worthbridge Station always felt half-forgotten, perched at the edge of the estuary where the fog rolled in thick and low, swallowing the iron skeleton of the old freight yard beyond the tracks. Trent tightened his grip on the phone as Jamie’s voice cracked through the line.
“Trent… I don’t know what to do…”
Trent closed his eyes for a beat, his breath misting the cold glass of the passenger window.
“Hold on, Jamie. I’m nearly there. Hold on.”
Dev pulled the car into the small, cramped car park beside the station with a hard twist of the wheel.
The battered Mini rolled to a stop beneath a flickering streetlamp and before Dev even applied the handbrake, Trent lurched out of the door, trainers hitting the wet tarmac with a splash as he took off at a near sprint towards the station entrance.
“Jamie?” He kept the phone glued to his ear as he ran. “Talk to me. You still on the bench?”
“I’m here… I’m here… ”
Trent cut through the old iron gates to the station. Crumbling stone walls were stained with decades of coastal damp, the acrid tang of salt and rust thick in the air. Puddles scattered across the cracked platform and every one of Trent’s footsteps sent ripples across their still surfaces.
“I see you!”
There, curled up tight on the battered wooden bench by the ticket office, exactly where Trent had told him to go, was his brother. Arms locked around his knees, head tucked down, Jamie trembled hard enough to shake the bench beneath him.
Trent dropped to his knees in front of him. “Hey, hey… it’s me, Jamie. You’re safe now, love. You’re safe. Breathe, yeah?” He curled his fingers around Jamie’s wrists, prying them free from his death grip around his own legs, warm palms wrapping around ice-cold fingers.
Jamie’s wide, glassy eyes flicked up to meet his, panic-stricken.
“Come on,” Trent coaxed. “Match me, okay? In… and out…”
He breathed deep and slow, over and over, never breaking eye contact. And gradually Jamie’s breathing fell in line with his, each sharp inhale stretching a little longer, each exhale a touch calmer.
Dev caught up a moment later, steps quiet behind them. He crouched nearby, far enough to give them space, but close enough to step in if Trent needed him.
“Can I go home now?” Jamie whispered.
Trent brushed the damp curls back from his brother’s pale forehead. “Yeah. Let’s get you home.”
He stood and pulled Jamie to his feet, keeping one arm wrapped around his brother’s shoulders as they made their way back through the rain-drenched station.
Jamie lived a few streets away from the station, tucked into a red-brick supported living complex at the edge of the town centre.
Quiet but full of life, where neighbours looked out for each other and staff checked in with gentle voices and routines preventing the world from spinning too fast.
Trent guided him through the familiar lobby, nodding at Sandra, the support worker behind the desk, who gave him a tight, grateful smile.
“He’s had a bit of a wobble,” Trent said as Jamie leant into him, still trembling but more with exhaustion than panic now. “Nothing serious. He’s … wrung out.”
“Thank you for getting him.”
“Always.”
He then helped Jamie up to his flat on the first floor, unlocking the door with Jamie’s key when his brother’s hands proved too shaky to manage it.
Inside, everything was neat. Predictable.
Exactly as Jamie needed it. Train magazines stacked on the coffee table, his spot by the window set up with a blanket, binoculars, and his beloved spotting journal.
Trent coaxed him towards the bed, pulling the duvet back and easing him down onto the mattress.
“You don’t have to stay,” Jamie said as he curled on his side, already half asleep.
“I know.” Trent sat on the edge of the bed. “But I will. For a bit.”
Jamie didn’t answer. He was finally letting go now he was safe. Trent waited until he was sure his brother was asleep before quietly slipping out.
Outside, Dev waited by the car, leaning on it with his hands in his pockets and rain glistening in his dark hair. “He alright?”
Trent nodded, wiping a hand down his tired face. “Asleep. ”
Dev opened the passenger door, “Well, that’s one way to get rid of a hangover.”
Trent said nothing.
But as Dev got in the driver’s seat and started the engine, he stared out through the windscreen, the wipers cutting even arcs through the mist, watching as the streets of Worthbridge blurred and ran together, and he let out a bitter laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“If this is the real me…” he said to the glass, “holding my brother through a panic attack, crying in the station car park, coming home wrecked cause I can’t stop thinking about some serial flirt, then I’ve got fuck-all in common with a fuckboy with no substance, right?”
Dev took a hand off the wheel to pinch his shoulder. “If you say so, babes.”
He did say so.
So that was it.
Last night was the last time he’d go to Reece looking for comfort he’d pretend didn’t mean anything.
The. Very. Last. Time.