Chapter Twenty-Three
Mitchell’s POV
Age 19
I press the call button on my phone for the tenth time in a row, listening to the exact same agonizing sequence of rings before it cut straight to voicemail.
“The caller you are trying to reach is not available...”
I hang up, staring blankly at the screen as a heavy knot of frustration tightens in my chest. Why the fuck was she suddenly dodging my calls?
“You alright there, Mitch?” Crystal asks idly from the foot of my bed. She didn’t look up, entirely focused on carefully painting her toenails a bright, obnoxious pink.
I let out a low grunt, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. “Willow stopped talking to me.”
Crystal’s brush froze mid-air. She gasps, looking up with an expression of pure, wide-eyed innocence. “Oh my god. Why on earth would she do that?”
“I’m going downtown right now to find out,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets as I stand up from the mattress. I grab my keys, heading toward the entryway. “Let yourself out when you’re done.”
“Okay. See ya!” she calls out cheerily.
I storm out of my apartment complex, the heavy humidity of the city air doing absolutely nothing to cool my temper. I walk with a frantic, aggressive pace until I reach Willow’s downtown apartment building. I take the stairs two at a time, marching straight down her hallway until I reach her door, bringing my fist down hard against the wood.
“Willow! Open up. Let me in.”
A long, tense beat of silence passes before her muffled voice travels through the door. “Mitchell... please go away. I can’t talk to you.”
“Willow, please,” I murmur, my voice dropping its harsh edge as I lean my forehead flat against the cool wood. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
I hear her let out a heavy, defeated sigh from the other side. A second later, the lock clicks, and the door swings open just a fraction. She looks up at me, her eyes exhausted. “You really shouldn’t be here, Mitchell.”
“Willow, I don’t even understand why I shouldn’t be here,” I growl, my frustration flaring right back up. “We’ve only been on two dates, but I honestly thought they went incredibly well. I thought we had something.”
“They did go well,” she murmurs softly, looking down at her sneakers. “They were great.”
“Then what the hell is the actual problem?” I snap.
She flinches at the sharp tone of my voice, her shoulders tensing. She swallows hard, looking down the empty hallway before locking her eyes onto mine. “Your friend.”
I frown, completely thrown off. “Crystal?”
“She is completely, utterly in love with you, Mitchell,” Willow states flatly, her voice trembling slightly. “She literally tracks down and threatens every single girl that comes anywhere near dating you. She explicitly told me she doesn’t want you with anyone but her, and that things would get ugly if I saw you again.”
My brows furrow into a deep scowl. “B-but... we are just friends. We’ve always just been friends.”
“Well, she obviously didn’t get that fucking memo,” Willow mutters bitterly, her eyes hardening. “Goodnight, Mitchell.”
Before I could even open my mouth to explain, she slams the door hard right in my face. The heavy click of the deadbolt echoing in the hallway felt like a physical slap.
I let out a sharp, furious huff, turning on my heel and marching all the way back to my apartment. The second I unlock my front door and step inside; I find Crystal exactly where I left her. She was lounging casually on my sofa, mindlessly eating my potato chips while staring at the TV.
“Wow, that was quick,” she comments carelessly, not even bothering to take her eyes off the screen.
I walk straight into the living room, looming over the couch until I was blocking her view of the television. “Did you threaten Willow?”
She finally looks up, her expression turning into a defensive, dramatic scowl. “What the actual hell are you on about, Mitchell?”
“She told me you threatened her, Crystal,” I hiss, my voice vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage. “She said you told her to stop seeing me. And that you do it to every other girl I try to talk to.”
She let out a dramatic huff, tossing the bag of chips onto the coffee table. “Oh, please. Are you seriously going to believe some random girl over me? Your best friend?”
“You are not answering my question,” I state coldly, crossing my arms over my chest and staring her down.
“Okay, fine!” she suddenly snaps, throwing her hands in the air as she stands up from the couch. “I’m in love with you! Big fucking deal!”
“Crystal, you can’t just go around threatening every single girl I try to get close to!” I growl, my voice cracking under the weight of a sudden, deep-seeded humiliation. “I’m nineteen and I haven’t even had sex yet, because literally no girl ever wants to stay around me long enough to try!”
Her expression softens, shifting from defensive rage to a heavy, desperate hunger. She steps into my personal space, her hand rising up to trail a slow, delicate finger down the center of my chest. “Well... then let me be the one. Make love to me, Mitch.”
“I can’t do that, Crystal,” I whisper roughly, firmly grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from my body. “You are like a biological sister to me. I don’t look at you that way.”
“Fuck you, Mitchell!” she screams.
SLAP.
A sharp, stinging pain explodes across my left cheek as she brought her palm across my face with everything she had. I hiss, my jaw clenching as the skin flares bright red.
“I love you!” she sobs, the tears finally spilling over her lashes. “I want to be with you so badly. Why can’t you just understand that?”
“I do understand,” I say softly, the anger leaving my body, replaced by a profound, heavy sadness. “I just... I don’t feel the exact same way. I never will.”
“Maybe we can change that,” she pleads desperately, stepping right back into my space and reaching for my face. “Just kiss me. Please, Mitchell. Just one kiss.”
“No, Crystal. Stop.”
“Kiss me!”
“I physically can’t,” I say, pulling my head back out of her reach. “It’s too weird. It feels completely wrong.”
Her bottom lip trembles violently, her face twisting into an expression of pure, uninhibited heartbreak. She looks at me for one final, agonizing second. “Goodbye then, Mitchell.”
She turns on her heel and storms straight out of my apartment, slamming the heavy front door so hard the frames rattled.
I stand in the center of the quiet room for a long time before slumping heavily onto the couch, letting out a deep, exhausted groan. I hated fighting with Crystal. It always felt like a piece of my chest was being ripped out.
----
The next morning, I was violently shaken awake by the loud, relentless buzzing of my phone vibrating against the nightstand. I groan, rubbing my eyes and seeing Jay’s contact flashing across the screen. He had been trying to get ahold of me all morning.
I drag the phone to my ear, my voice deep and gravelly from sleep. “What do you want?” I bark.
“Dude, I have literally been calling you like ten times in a row,” he whines, his voice incredibly shaky.
“I was sleeping, Jay,” I answer gruffly, rolling onto my back.
“Bear...” Jay’s voice suddenly drops, cracking into a soft, fragile whisper that instantly made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Something... something really bad happened to Crystal.”
I sat up straight in bed, the blankets pooling around my waist. “What? What happened?”
“S-she overdosed last night, Mitch,” Jay mutters, a quiet sob escaping him over the line. “She’s gone. She died, Bear.”
The phone slips completely out of my hand, clattering against the hardwood floor. I sat there in the quiet bedroom, entirely frozen, my mind going completely blank as the words bounced around in my skull.
Crystal was dead.
She died?
“Goodbye then, Mitchell.”
Fuck.
----
Three Months Later...
I bring my fist down heavily against the front door, slamming my weight against the wood as I wait for my brother to answer. Finally, the locks clicks, and Darren threw the door open, leveling me with a fierce, exhausted glare.
“Hey, bro,” I slur heavily, a sloppy, unfocused smile breaking across my face. I lift the glass bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand, taking a long, uninhibited swig. “What’s up?”
“It is literally three o’clock in the morning,” Darren growls, his voice a low, threatening whisper. “I have a heavily pregnant wife sleeping down the hall, who—if she finds out you are out here like this—will gladly kick your ass.”
“I’d honestly love to see her try,” I giggle, entirely unfazed as I stumble past his shoulder and into the dark hallway of his home.
“Where the hell have you even been for the last three months, man?” Darren demands, his heavy footsteps following me straight into the kitchen. He grabs a glass from the cupboard, filled it with tap water, and forcefully slams it down on the counter in front of me. “Drink this.”
“Places,” I giggle, pushing the water away and taking another sip of the whiskey.
“God, you are an incredibly annoying drunk, Mitchell.”
“Thanks,” I chirp brightly, the forced happiness feeling entirely hollow inside my chest. “Honestly, Darren... I just couldn’t be here. I couldn’t handle it.”
“You missed your best friend’s funeral, Mitch,” Darren states flatly, his eyes locking onto mine with a heavy, painful weight.
The second the words left his mouth, a sharp, physical agony flares behind my ribs. I instinctively rub at my chest, trying to push down the suffocating reality of Crystal’s death. “I don’t want to talk about it. Drop it.”
“Have you even been taking your prescribed meds?” Darren questions, stepping into my space and studying my bloodshot eyes.
“Who needs fucking meds,” I scoff, waving the bottle carelessly in the air. “I have life. I’m doing great.”
Darren’s jaw clenches, his eyes turning to pure steel. “Get up.”
I let out a heavy huff, reluctantly standing up from the barstool. I started laughing, a sloppy, mocking sound, as Darren suddenly grabs me by the jacket and began aggressively fumbling through my pockets.
His hand slid deep into my coat, and his fingers pulled out a small, clear plastic baggie filled with white powder.
Darren froze, his face twisting into pure, unadulterated fury. “Are you fucking serious right now, Mitchell? Cocaine?!”
I pout dramatically, swaying slightly on my feet. “What, you’ve never had a little bit of fun before, big bro?”
“I have had plenty of fun,” he growls, stepping up until he was towering over me, his voice trembling with rage. “What I haven’t done is try to actively kill myself.”
“Well, that’s the most exciting part about it,” I say carelessly, slumping back down onto the stool. “You got to take risks in life, man.”
“Fucking grow up,” Darren snaps, his fingers tightening around the baggie. “You’re sleeping on my couch tonight, and tomorrow morning, I am personally taking you to a rehab facility.”
“I don’t need rehab,” I slur, shaking my head.
“Oh, yeah? Is that right?” Darren questions darkly. I giggle again as his hands flew back into my pockets, aggressively searching the rest of my clothes. This time, he pulls out five more identical plastic baggies, slamming them down onto the marble counter. “Does this honestly look like a casual habit to you, Mitchell? This is a literal addiction.”
I fumble with my words, my mind racing as the chemical high temporarily clashed with the alcohol. “I—I just—”
“You have to face your actual problems, man,” Darren says, his voice dropping into a quiet, heavy plea. “You aren’t going to survive much longer if you don’t stop this shit.”
The kitchen fell into a dead, suffocating silence for about five minutes. The forced smile wipes from my face, and the agonizing weight of reality finally crashes through the numbness.
“It’s just too fucking painful, Darren,” I croak out, my voice breaking completely as thick tears finally blur my vision. “I physically can’t handle the guilt without taking a sniff. It’s the only thing that keeps her voice out of my head.”
“I can help you through it,” Darren says softly, placing a firm, comforting hand on my shoulder. “Just let me help you, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur quietly, staring down at the counter.
Darren grabs a stack of clean blankets and a pillow from the linen closet, setting me up on his living room sofa. He pats my shoulder one last time before turning off the lights. “Goodnight, Mitch.”
“Night.”
----
I let out a miserable groan, my eyes cracking open to the sound of a loud, violent banging echoing through the house. I sit up fast, a white-hot spike of a hangover instantly driving through my temples.
How the hell did I even end up at Darren’s place?
Oh, yeah. The cocaine. The breakdown.
I scramble out of the blankets, rushing down the hallway toward the front door where the relentless banging was getting louder. I swing the door open, my heart dropping as I came face-to-face with two uniform police officers.
“Hello,” I say, forcing my voice to sound hesitant and calm. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for a Darren Roberts? Is he currently on the premises?”
My hands grew instantly cold, but I kept my face entirely blank. “In reference to what, exactly?”
“A string of grand theft auto reports. Several stolen vehicles have been traced back to this area.”
I nearly swore aloud under my breath, but I tightly clamp my jaw shut. See, I knew Darren stole cars. He had been doing it on the side for months, desperately trying to scrape together enough cash to build a savings account for him and Mac. The problem was, Mac was currently six months pregnant.
“He didn’t do it,” I say flatly, stepping slightly forward to block their view of the interior.
“We’d still like to speak with him, sir.”
“He’s not home right now,” I lie smoothly.
The officers exchange a look before turning back to me. “Please let him know that investigators need to speak with him as soon as possible.”
I gave a curt nod, waiting until they turn around before firmly shutting the door and locking it.
At around five o’clock that evening, Darren finally walks through the front door, looking completely exhausted. He catches sight of me sitting at the kitchen table and lets out a relieved breath. “You’re still here. Good.”
“The cops came looking for you today,” I say flatly.
Darren froze in the entryway, his keys slipping from his hand. “Fuck.”
“I thought you were supposed to be way more fucking careful than that?” I hiss, standing up from the table.
“Look, let’s not talk about my legal problems when you currently have a severe cocaine addiction to worry about,” Darren snaps defensively, running a stressed hand through his hair.
“We already talked about my shit, and I agreed to go to your rehab place. Now let’s talk about a solution for you,” I growl, stepping into his space.
Darren shrugs his shoulders, looking completely defeated. “There isn’t much I can do, Mitch. If they have a case, they have a case.”
“Mac has your baby on the way, Darren!” I yell, the anger boiling over. “You should have thought this through before getting messy!”
“Well, I didn’t, okay?!” Darren roars back, his eyes wild with fear.
I step closer, my voice dropping into a harsh, intense whisper. “Do you honestly want to miss the birth of your first child because you’re locked behind a set of bars?”
Darren let out a long, broken sigh, his entire posture slumping as he stares down at the floor. “Of course I don’t, man.”
I hated seeing my brothers looking so entirely defeated. It triggers a fierce, protective instinct deep inside my gut that made me want to take all their problems and make them completely disappear, no matter the cost.
“I’ll go,” I state firmly.
Darren frowns, looking up at me in total confusion. “What do you mean, you’ll go?”
“I’ll go to prison for you,” I say, my voice completely steady. “I’ll walk into the station and turn myself in for the thefts.”
Darren let out a dark, disbelief-filled laugh, shaking his head. “You will not do that, Mitchell.”
“Dude, just fucking think about it for a second,” I state, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to look at me. “I am not going to listen to a bunch of pussies whine about their feelings in some soft-ass rehab facility. It won’t work for me. But if I go to prison? I’ll be forced to get clean, the state gets their scapegoat, and you actually get to stay right here and see the birth of your baby.”
“Mitch... I can’t let you take the fall for my mistake,” Darren murmurs, his eyes welling with thick guilt.
“Well, then I’m not giving you a choice,” I say, turning away and grabbing my coat. “I’m doing it.”
----
Three More Months Later...
“Here’s your new luxury suite, Roberts,” the prison guard grunts, aggressively shoving me through the heavy steel door of the cell.
I stumble slightly from the force, but I quickly collect myself, my heavy boots gripping the concrete floor as I take in my new surroundings.
“Well, well, well,” a low, mocking purr travels from the corner of the cell. A massive, intimidating inmate steps out from the shadows of the bunk, looking me up and down with a sickening grin. “Look what we have here. You are going to make me a very good little bitch, new meat.”
I narrow my eyes, my jaw tightening into stone. See, being locked up in state prison meant there were no prescription psychiatric meds for Mitchell. My raw, unedited temper was completely on the surface now.
I step right into his space, my voice dropping into a lethal, guttural hiss. “I am nobody’s fucking bitch.”
The guy’s grin instantly vanishes, his face twisting into rage. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that, you little punk.”
“Make me,” I spat.
He didn’t hesitate. Before the words could even fully leave my mouth, his fist came flying forward, catching me solidly right across the jaw.
My head snaps back, the sharp taste of copper instantly filling my mouth. But as I wipe the blood from my lip, a dark, wicked smile slowly spread across my face. I didn’t care about the pain. In fact, it felt good.
I launch myself forward, throwing my entire weight into a heavy punch that cracked right against his nose, sending him crashing onto the concrete floor. My first day in prison, and I had already gotten punched in the face—but it was completely fine, because I beat the absolute shit out of him for it anyway.