CHAPTER twenty-five #2
His jaw tenses like he wants to argue, but can’t summon the strength. I inch my hand higher, sliding it over his shoulder, embracing him like I might be able to hold the broken pieces together.
Then his jaw tightens further, eyes flashing with something bitter as he stands abruptly.
“What the hell do you know about any of this? What, with your perfect little life? Your perfect family,” he snaps, the words razor-sharp.
The insult cuts deeper than I expect. It burns. But I recognize the deflection. I’ve done it myself. He wants to push me away, to wound me badly enough that I’ll walk. But he doesn’t know yet that I don’t scare easily.
“I know more than you think,” I say, voice quiet but firm. His brows furrow slightly, but he says nothing. So I draw a shaky breath, stand in front of him, and peel back a layer of myself I rarely show.
“I lost my sister,” My voice wavers, fragile but resolute.
“Gracelyn. She died from a fentanyl overdose seven years ago. I spent years watching her disappear piece by piece—into pills, into heroin, into people who didn’t care if she lived or died.
I stopped sleeping too. I waited by the phone every night when I should’ve been off being a teenager,
“It’s the reason why I don’t have many friends now,” I say looking toward the floor. “Being the sister of a drug addict didn’t exactly attract people.” I look back up.
“I think I held on to Heidi for so long because I didn’t really have anyone else. While most kids my age were making memories and friends, I was staying up at night, lying awake in the dark, watching over my sister, making sure she was still breathing.”
His eyes never leave mine, but they are filled with anguish.
“I spent years driving through the city streets, searching for her with Ashton. She would disappear for days at a time and my heart would clench every time a call came in late at night. It was completely draining, but I could never bring myself to stop… I couldn’t give up on her.”
He’s still. Completely still.
“I found her,” I whisper, barely able to speak the words. “She was so cold. Her eyes… the most beautiful shade of green, like sea glass, and they were just… empty. Gone. I still see them when I close my own.”
Elias’s arms drop slowly to his sides, and for a long beat, he just stares at the floor.
“She had been sober for months… I blamed myself for a long time. I felt like there was more I could’ve done to save her, but I know now that there wasn’t.
“Because I got help. Not help to forget, but to learn how to cope, to learn that no one is responsible except for Gracelyn. The pain and the memories will never be gone, but it made things more manageable to get through each day. There’s help out there for you, too, if you want it,” I say.
He doesn’t respond, just stays frozen in place.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching for him again. “I don’t know your exact pain. But I do know what it’s like to carry it, to live in the hollowed-out space where someone you loved used to be. The guilt of feeling like there’s more you could’ve done.”
His hands twitch, and then finally, finally, he steps into me. He pulls me into him with a desperate gentleness, like he’s afraid I might disappear too. His arms wind tightly around me, and one of his hands cradles the back of my head, trembling fingers tangling in my hair.
He breathes against my temple, voice breaking.
“I didn’t know. Ramona, I—fuck, I’m sorry.”
I press my cheek against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my ear. I wrap my arms around his waist, rubbing slow circles into his back. He leans down, resting his chin on top of my head, his body trembling with the force of everything he’s never said out loud.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you. I don’t tell many people.”
He exhales shakily, and I feel the wetness of a tear hit my hair.
“We all have our scars, Elias, but they are easier to bear together.”
I ease him down onto the bed, guiding him with a tenderness that feels instinctual now. He stretches out slowly, the weight of his exhaustion apparent in every movement. When his head settles in my lap, something in me tightens—not painfully, but achingly sweet.
My fingers find their rhythm in his thick, dark hair, tracing gentle circles against his scalp. It mirrors that first night in the back room, when he finally let me in, even just a little.
Now it’s my turn to let him in.
I take a deep breath before I speak again.
“Gracelyn was my best friend.” He looks up at me slowly, eyes soft as he listens intently.
“She used to tell Ashton I was hers,” I continue, a faint laugh slipping out despite the heaviness in my throat. “That he could only borrow me when she decided.
“She’s the reason I love music as much as I do.
She’s the one that introduced me to the emo scene.
She was also a brilliant musician… unreal honestly,” I shake my head slightly, still amazed even now.
“It felt like she could pick up any instrument and, within days, play it like she’d been doing it her whole life. ”
He never looks away, his focus stays locked on my words while my fingers absentmindedly drift through his hair.
“The three of us started going to shows together as soon as we were old enough,” I say quietly. “Those nights… they’re still some of my favorite memories. Loud music, dancing for hours, and laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I always felt the most alive in those moments.”
My voice fractures on the last word. My hands falter in his hair, the motion stopping altogether. I glance away, blinking fast, trying to keep the emotion contained, but it spills over anyway.
Elias doesn’t hesitate. He pushes himself upright and moves in front of me, settling on his knees. His hands cradle my face so gently it almost undoes me more, his thumbs sweeping under my eyes to catch the tears as they fall.
“Come here,” he says as he lies down beside me, pulling me into him. I fold into his chest instinctively; my head tucked under his chin while his arms circle me protectively. My tears soak into his shirt as sobs work their way out of me.
He doesn’t say anything. Just holds me.
His fingers trace slow, soothing paths down my arm—back and forth, back and forth, before he gently kisses my forehead— silent reminders that I’m safe, that I’m not alone with this grief.
I feel myself drifting off just as his breath begins to even out too. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, steady as a metronome, and I feel the tension leave his body, muscle by muscle.
And in this moment something feels different, deeper. Like he’s not just letting me in. He’s choosing me. He’s trusting me.
This moment shifts something in me—our so-called summer fling settling into something weightier, more real. But instead of fear, there’s only stillness. Certainty. Like my heart already knew before my head could catch up.