15 Jamie
I didn’t think things could get worse. Didn’t think I could feel like a bigger piece of shit.
But I do.
Ever since Gram’s funeral, I’ve been worse.
I tried to go. I wanted to go. I loved that old woman more than I ever really admitted out loud.
I made it inside. Saw Ryan. Saw Christian.
We were all standing in the same room again, but none of us were actually together.
That was somehow worse than not seeing them at all.
Because it made everything real.
Made it impossible to pretend this was temporary.
Impossible to pretend we were going to wake up one day and find our way back to each other.
So I left and ever since then, I've been doing what I always do when something hurts.
Avoiding it.
Getting high.
Getting drunk.
Passing out and, for a few seconds there, not really caring if I wake up. Maybe secretly hoping maybe I won't.
But I do.
Right now, specifically, because of a thin, sharp beeping cutting straight through the fog behind my eyes.
At first, I think it’s part of the hangover- some new personal hell my brain cooked up.
I groan and roll onto my side, my arm flopping uselessly across the mattress. My mouth tastes like metal, my head packed with sand. Sunlight cuts through the blinds, too bright, too sharp. It feels like it’s going to split my skull open.
The beeping keeps going.
“Fuck,” I mutter, forcing myself upright. The room tilts hard, and I wait for it to settle, breathing through the nausea before I manage to get to my feet. I’m barefoot, half-dressed, and each step sends a fresh spike of pain through my temples.
What the fuck is that noise?
It’s not my phone. That’s dead on the nightstand.
I stumble into the hallway, then the kitchen, then the living room, following the sound as it grows louder.
And then it clicks.
It isn’t in my house. It’s next door. At her house.
I stop cold.
I haven’t been over there much since she left. I tried, at first- for Gram- but it always felt wrong. Like the place was frozen in time. Like she was still there in the walls, just out of reach.
It got too hard.
I scrub a hand down my face and shove open the front door.
Her front door is open. Wide open.
An alarm blinks red near the frame, making that shrill noise in the quiet morning. Something Christian must’ve installed- a warning, maybe, in case Gary ever came back. Which he hasn’t.
No one’s seen him since Frankie left. But who else would want to break into this place…
My hands curl into fists.
That piece of shit finally crawls back now that Gram’s gone. Like a vulture, circling once there’s nothing left to keep him away. Probably heard through the grapevine and figured it was time to strip the place bare.
Rage cuts clean through the hangover.
“Oh, I’m gonna kill you,” I mutter, already moving.
I cross the porch in long, uneven strides, heart hammering. I shove through the open door and everything in me stops.
Her curly brown hair whips around her face, her eyes going wide like she’s been caught.
“Frankie.”