5. Chapter 5 #2
“Just don’t get in his head. He loves Emma,” I mutter, making the disgust in my expression obvious. “He hates you. Always has.”
“I know that,” she whispers, ignoring my dig at her. “Don’t tell anyone. Please. It’s not like I can ever have a future with him after everything I’ve done.”
I clench my jaw. “You’re correct for once.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, and this time it’s quieter.
“For what happened to him. For what I’ve done to you.
I’m sorry, Micah. Please, just know that.
I finally learned what love was, but it was too late.
” More tears are flowing, but silently as she stares ahead.
There’s a darkness in her eyes now, and I wonder if it will be there forever after this.
And for a long second, I don’t know what the hell to do with any of it.
My hand slides along the wall to keep me steady as I return to the warmth of the cabin. Adriana’s words are still circling in my head, and my mind is somehow refusing to process them.
For any sliver of softness that remained inside him. Alexei ripped it out of his fucking veins.
I exhale slowly, squeezing my eyes shut.
No. I’m not accepting that shit.
I move to the kitchen, setting my empty mug on the table, then reach for the small orange bottle sitting there.
My fingers tighten around the Suboxone as I pick it up.
I grab a bottle of water, twisting the cap loose as I move, already heading for the basement stairs before I can think too hard about it.
If I stop, I’m going to start thinking about everything Adriana just told me.
I just need to see him. Part of me is in complete denial about his deteriorated state.
The stairs creak under my weight as I start down, my chest feeling tighter with every stupid step. Halfway down, I hear a dull, odd thud. Then another.
I stop, my grip tightening around the bottle in my hand as I listen.
Thud.
I keep moving. At the bottom of the stairs, the basement living room opens up in front of me, soft lamplight casting a low glow across the space.
Nico is on the couch, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, his attention fixed on the monitors in front of him.
He doesn’t look up right away. I follow his line of sight, and my stomach drops when I see Jude on the screen.
He’s…pacing, all fucked up again. His movements are sharp and weird, like his body can’t decide what it’s doing.
One second, he’s at the edge of the room, the next, he’s turning quickly, dragging a hand through his hair, then stopping abruptly.
Even through the screen, I can see how hard he’s shaking, and the way he hunches slightly.
It looks like his body hurts to exist in. And then—
He slams his head back against the wall. The sound is dull through the speakers, but it still hits. My chest locks.
“Motherfucker—” The word leaves me under my breath.
Nico exhales slowly, finally glancing at me. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Motherrrrfucker.”
He’s even worse now. Jude drags a hand down his face, fingers digging hard into his skin like he’s trying to pull a goddamn mask off of it, even if it's not there. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying from here.
His shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to a body that’s thinner than before.
He’s withdrawing.
I swallow hard. “Has he—” My voice cuts off. I try again. “Has he taken anything?”
Nico shakes his head. “Rafe wanted to wait. See where he’s at after he slept a little. He wouldn’t take the meds offered to him last night.”
I look back at the screen, watching as Jude stumbles slightly, catching himself on the wall before shoving away from it.
Yeah. I’ve seen enough.
I don’t say anything else. I just turn, already heading for the hallway that leads to the room.
“Micah—” Nico calls after me, but there’s no real force behind it. “Dude.”
I don’t stop. I wouldn’t anyway; I don’t give a single fuck. My grip tightens around the Suboxone bottle, the plastic digging into my palm. For a second, I just stand there. Because on the other side of that door…
I reach for the handle, unlock it, and push it open.
I freeze the moment I lay eyes on my best friend.
He’s at the far side of the room, half-turned away from me, shoulders tight, chest heaving like he’s struggling to get enough air in.
The chain attached to his wrist hangs slack for a second before it jerks again when he moves. He doesn’t notice me right away.
“Jude.” My voice is quiet.
He stills. Slowly, he turns his head and looks at me. For a second, there’s nothing in his expression at all. No recognition or reaction to who I am, standing here in his space. Just this empty, confused look.
My fucking chest cracks open, and I find myself placing a hand on it, sort of how Emma does. “Hey,” I try again, taking a slow step forward. “It’s me.”
His gaze sharpens, more suspicious.
“Micah,” I add, like saying it might help. “It’s Micah, man.”
His brow furrows, his head tilting just a fraction. Then his expression twists. “Micah…” he repeats. “Yeah.”
Relief hits me so fast it almost knocks the air out of me. “Yeah,” I breathe. “That’s right.” I take another step closer, slower this time, careful not to push too fast. “I’ve got something for you,” I add, lifting the bottle slightly. “It’ll help you feel a little better. Not entirely, but—”
His eyes drop to my hand, and everything changes. “No,” he says immediately.
My chest tightens. “Jude, it’s not—”
“No.” He shakes his head harder now, backing up until the chain pulls tight, the metal snapping with a harsh sound. “No, I’m not—fuck, I’m not taking that—”
“It’s not what you think,” I cut in quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s Suboxone. Remember? Heather talked about it when we were still in Seaside. She was getting it for us. It’ll help with the heroin withdrawal symptoms.”
“I said no!” he hisses, his voice cracking through the room.
I snap my mouth shut. He’s breathing harder now, his hands shaking violently at his sides before one of them jerks up, dragging through his hair again like he’s trying to tear thoughts out of his own head.
“I need—” His voice breaks, and he chokes on the rest of it, his body flinching like the words themselves hurt.
“I know,” I say quickly, taking another step forward despite the way my heart is breaking. “I know, I’ve got you. Just, just let me help you.”
He looks at me again, and for a split second, I see him.
“Micah,” he says again, quieter now. “I can’t.
..” He shakes his head, backing up again even though there’s nowhere to go, the chain pulling tighter with every step.
“I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t—” His body jerks suddenly, and he doubles over, a sound resembling a gag and a sob tearing out of him.
I move without thinking, closing the distance too fast. “Jude—”
“Don’t fucking touch me!” he snarls, and I freeze.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say, quieter now, forcing every word out even as everything inside me starts to unravel. “I’m here to help. That’s it.”
“No, he—” His voice fractures, his gaze darting briefly to the walls like something might be hiding there. “He’ll—”
“He’s not here,” I cut in firmly. “Jude, listen to me. Alexei isn’t here.”
His breathing stutters. And for a second, he just stares at me. Then his body trembles harder, the withdrawal clawing back in, stealing whatever fragile grip he had for that moment.
“I can’t,” he says again, weaker now.
Yeah. I can see that. And there’s nothing I can do to fix it.
I stand there, a few feet away from him, the Suboxone still in my hand, completely fucking useless as he shakes and breaks in front of me. I feel it. Adriana was right. Something in him is still there, but whatever they did to him...
He’s buried so deep I don’t know how the hell we’re supposed to reach him.
“Hey,” I say, softer now. “Look at me.”
His eyes flick up again as he flinches, like the words triggered him or something.
I swallow hard, forcing my tears down. “You remember last summer?” I ask.
His brow furrows.
“We were on that shitty little stage in Tucson...” A faint, broken laugh leaves me. “You said the sound was garbage and threatened to punch the guy running it.”
A beat.
His eyes shift, like he remembers.
“I told you you’d break your hand before you broke his jaw,” I add.
Silence.
I take a tentative step forward. “You were laughing,” I say, quieter. “Actually laughing when Kami’s drunk ass punched the guy instead. She busted some knuckles but she did it.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, his jaw tightening like something in him is fighting to the surface. “I remember that,” he whispers.
“There you are,” I murmur, almost to myself.
His eyes lock onto mine before he looks away from me, seemingly too exhausted for the rest of the conversation.
I stand there for another moment, watching the way his shoulders tremble. I hate to leave him withdrawing, but he won’t take the Suboxone. “I’ve missed you, man.”
He stares at me, motionless. And it almost makes my fucking skin crawl.
“If you’re not interested in taking this, it’s okay,” I say, holding up the bottle of medication. “I’ll be back. Promise.”
Jude finally turns away from me, and I can’t tell if he truly remembers me, or he’s just having a moment of clarity before he descends into hell again.
Probably the latter. So I slip back out of the door, locking it securely.
The second I step back into the basement living room, I see that Nico is still on the couch.
“I told you not to go back there,” he sighs.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard through my nose, the bottle still in my grip. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I know. But I had to at least offer the medicine to him again. Withdrawing fucking sucks.”
Nico rolls his eyes. “Oh, I know.”