23 Jamie
I wake up feeling like utter shit- not hungover, but exhausted on a level I’ve never felt. I guess crying like a fucking baby for most of an entire day will do that.
It takes a lot to get out of bed, not knowing if she’s still here, next door, under the same roof. And not being sure if it would be harder if she was still here or not.
I am halfway to the kitchen when I hear her voice.
I stand, frozen at the open doorway, and watch them on the porch.
Christian’s back is to me. Frankie’s sitting next to him curled in on herself, coffee in her hands.
I look at her, really for the first time. Yesterday I was too overwhelmed to actually see her.
She’s changed, grown up. Her hair is longer, her curves are more pronounced. She’s… she’s fucking stunning. But she also seems smaller somehow, like she’s defeated or something.
I lean my shoulder against the frame and listen to their conversation.
She sounds calm. Too calm. Like she’s just recounting facts instead of talking about the kind of life that should’ve broken her. I can see Christian physically reacting to her words but fighting it.
Three years completely alone. And she survived. She lived.
Meanwhile, I had a house. People who loved me. Two friends who would've done anything for me.
And I still fell apart.
I'd already been heading in the wrong direction before she left, had dropped out of school and was already in deep with some bad shit, but at least back then I could still pretend I had a purpose. I could help her. Protect her. Be there when she needed me.
Then she disappeared.
And I let myself disappear too.
Christian stands abruptly.
For a second, I think he's finally going to say everything he's been holding back.
Instead, he turns and leaves.
Instead of being brave- of going out there and seeing her, of telling her how sorry I am that she lived through all of that, of telling her there is nothing she’s done or been through that could ever change the way I see her…instead of addressing the complete emotional ruin I was yesterday-I leave.
I go out the back door. Hop the chain-link fence. Cut through the alley and end up at the garage.
The fucking garage. The epicenter of everything I hate about my life.
A couple of guys are inside. One of them is hunched over the workbench, packaging up drugs. We’re not some big, powerful operation. Not a steadfast loyal team. This isn’t the fucking Cosa Nostra.
We’re a disorganized, loose collection of guys taking shortcuts. No real loyalty. No real trust.
Just greed, laziness and selfishness. And I hate them all.
“Hey, J- need a bump?” one of them asks as I pass.
I do. Or at least I used to think I did.
But the thought makes my stomach turn, and I realize it’s not just the crime, or the booze, or even the drugs- it’s all of it. This place, this life, who I’ve become while the people I care about were surviving, growing up, and waiting for me to do the same.
It disgusts me. All of it.
I want to be better. I don’t even know what “better” looks like for someone like me. But I know I’m done with this shit.
I want more than this. I don’t deserve anything good or shiny. I sure as fuck don’t deserve a girl like Frankie, or a friend like Ryan. Or Christian in any capacity.
But I want better than this.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Christian: You okay?
No. Not even close.
I almost laugh.
I’d just watched grief hollow him out from the inside talking to her. Watched him literally run away cause he couldn’t handle it anymore and yet he was still checking on me.
Because that was the thing about Christian. No matter how wrecked he was, some part of him was always reaching back. Toward me.
Even when I least deserved it.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering before I answer.
Me: Yeah. You?
The reply comes almost immediately, painfully Christian in its certainty.
Christian: I will be. We will be okay.
Jesus Christ. Why can’t I stop crying?
There is an urge, but I don’t reach for anything to dull the feeling. I let it hurt. I let it mean something.
And when I finally move again, it’s out of the garage and towards… something else. Something better than this.