by Staci Hart
Rose
I trotted down the stairs in Seth’s building, sucking in breaths like I was breathing through a straw. I couldn’t get enough air, not even when I broke out onto the sidewalk, winding my way through people, blurred by my tears.
I’d been stupid to come. Stupid to think we could make it work, because he was right. I’d known it all along.
The thought wasn’t a comfort.
I wished I was home in my bed, where I could break completely, as I walked the blocks in a whirl, choking down sobs as they bubbled up in my throat, brushing away the tears that had no care for privacy.
I unlocked my door with relief coursing through me, breaking down my shredded veil of composure. My hands shook. A sob escaped. And then I was inside.
Ellie glanced over her shoulder at me, though I only saw her out of my hazy periphery as I hurried through the living room and into my room, closing my door behind me to the sound of my name as a question.
I shed my shoes. I climbed in bed. I clutched a pillow. And then, I cried.
It was my soul exposed, the raw ends frayed and nerves screaming. I’d lost. I didn’t know if there’d ever been a chance I might have won.
It was over. We told the truth — not the truth we wanted, but the truth of reality — and the truth was that we were better off apart.
I didn’t know which was worse. The truth, or the lie we’d been telling ourselves.
The tears slowed after a while, the pain burned down to smoldering embers. My door creaked open.
“Hey. Can I come in?” Lily asked.
I didn’t move.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” The door closed, and she lay down next to me. I couldn’t meet her eyes as she looked me over. “Oh, Rosie,” she said softly, touching the cold tears on my cheeks.
And then the tears were back, pressing at the backs of my eyes, spilling from the corners, the proximity to someone who loved me more than I could stand as the muddy wall I’d built to hold it all back broke down.
“Shh,” she soothed and wrapped her arms around me. I curled into her. “I’m so sorry, Rose.”
So was I.
She stroked my hair as I cried myself dry once more, the second wave passed, leaving me flat and gray.
“He said we were better off apart,” I finally said, my throat raw.
She didn’t say anything, though her hand paused in its slow track across my hair.
“I thought it would be easy. I thought I’d just go over there and say I was sorry and it would be okay. But it wasn’t, and I can’t blame him. He’s right, you know. We’re both so bad at this. We’ll just keep hurting each other, over and over again. It’s best to end it once and for all.”
“Not that it makes it easier.”
“No. Definitely not.”
We lay there in silence for a few minutes before she asked, “Are you glad you told him how you felt?”
I took a breath and thought about it, took a body assessment. Nose burning. Head pounding. Eyes stinging and swollen.
Heart shredded.
“At least I have an answer,” was as much as I could commit to. “What’s done is done. Now I just have to find a way to move on. Really move on, not whatever we were doing before. There’s no saving what we had before all of this.” My chin quivered. I closed my eyes. “It doesn’t matter that I think I’m in love with him, does it?”
“I guess sometimes it doesn’t, as much as we want it to. Maybe, sometimes, love just isn’t enough.”
“He … he told me he loved me, like he just wanted me to know before he said goodbye. But I already knew.”
She pulled in a heavy breath and let it out slow as I lay in the arms of my best friend, wishing I could turn the man I loved back into a stranger.
THINGS YOU CAN COUNT ON
Patrick
I STARED AT THE BLANK canvas, feet hooked on the bottom rung of my stool, just like I had been for the last hour, the last day. I didn’t know what else to do with myself. It was the only way I knew how to get what was inside of me out.
My thoughts stumbled around and around in circles, replaying everything that had happened with Rose in a loop from beginning to end.
Calling it was the smart thing to do. The right thing. I knew that, even though it felt wrong.
I’d dodged West and Cooper easily enough, though only under the promise that I’d meet them at the courts that afternoon. No one else had texted or called, and I’d kept myself locked in my room, leaving only for work. That was where Max told me what he knew, unsolicited. He’d cornered me, really, said that Rose wasn’t okay. I tried to downplay it — he was known well for his flair for the dramatic. But I knew she was hurting, because so was I.
I sighed and flipped my pencil around in my fingers. She was all I could see. I opened them, seeing the blank canvas once more.
I needed to clear my head.
I abandoned my stool and my easel to dig around in my duffle bag for a shirt and basketball shorts, changing quickly and putting my sneakers on. The canvas screamed at me, the crisp whiteness, the deep nothingness of it overwhelming. I gave it a long, final look before leaving the apartment.
It was one of the warmest days we’d had that summer, muggy and heavy, the kind of day that leaves you sweating and tired, even if all you’d done was tie your shoes and venture out to get your mail. The blacktop sweltered in the heat, and small waves radiated up gently, making things low in the distance look like a mirage.
I spotted West and Cooper at one of the far courts, smiling at me as I approached.
“Hey, man,” West said from the bench when I reached them.
“What’s up?” I set down my bag.
“Not much. Glad you came willingly,” he added with a smirk. “I didn’t want to have to show up at Seth’s and drag you down here like I did Cooper when Maggie left.”
I chuckled. “Am I going to get ‘talked to?’”
“Not by me. Not unless you want to be, in which case I’m sure I can find a thing or two to say.”
“I’m sure.”
Cooper smirked. “Well, now I’m curious.”
West shrugged. “I mean, I’d probably say something like …” He glanced at me. “Nah. Tricky doesn’t want to hear it, Coop.”
Cooper sat down and retied his laces. “Yeah, probably not.”
“You guys have zero stealth.” I stretched out a leg and leaned on my knee.
Cooper leaned back on the bench, his face more serious. “What happened, man?”
I shifted to stretch the other leg, unable to answer for a moment. “We’re bad for each other. Why keep fighting the inevitable?”
“Because you love her,” Cooper said.
“That’s why I’m walking away. Someone has to put an end to it once and for all or we’ll just keep doing this.”
“So you’re stopping it right when she finally said all the things you’ve been waiting to hear? I fail to see the logic here.” Cooper stretched his arms over his head, threading his fingers as he reached to the side.
My brow dropped as I pushed the stretch until it burned. “It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” West said. “The two of you want to be together, but you’re not, and why? Because of some perceived, make-believe fear that one of you will hurt the other?”
“It’s all we’ve ever done. We don’t know anything else.”
Cooper shook his head and leaned in the other direction. “Not in the beginning.”
“Yeah, well, I fucked that up, and we’ve been on the merry-go-round ever since.”
“I’m just saying,” Cooper pressed, “if happiness existed for you two once, it could happen again.”
The frustration binding my chest tightened, and my voice carried an unintentional edge. “With everything hanging between us, I don’t know how to find happy with her. The issue is trust. I don’t trust myself not to freak out when things get real and run again. I don’t trust that she’ll fight for me, for us. I
can’t be sure that I’ll be strong when she’s weak, or that she’ll be strong for me.”
West’s lips were flat. “No one ever has that guarantee, Tricky.”
“I’m not asking for a guarantee. But she and I have done this before, and we have a shitty track record.”
“You can’t give up,” he said plainly.
I threw up my hands with a huff. “Fuck, dude. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Walk away and save us both the pain.”
“Yeah, well, love isn’t always responsible.”
I had no argument. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”
West kept going. “So you could get hurt. She’s willing to risk it, but it won’t work if you’ve got one foot out.”
“So I go all in? Bet it all even though it’s been falling apart since it started?”
His face was earnest, pleading. “You go all in and fight for her when shit goes down. Don’t let her walk away. Don’t walk away from her. Love her, man. Love her like you do.”
I shook my head. “It’s not enough.”
“Of course it’s enough.”
“No, it’s not. You don’t understand, West. My life … my life isn’t simple. It never has been. As much as I want her, I can’t have her because I’m poisonous. I’m toxic. And at the end of the day, I’ll never be good enough for her. I don’t deserve her or any of you — I’m just lucky that I had you all for the time I have.”
West’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about?”
I let out a breath, lips flat.
He put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a hard look. “Patrick, listen to me. Rose isn’t your dad. Rose isn’t Seth. Rose doesn’t love you for any reason other than that she does. You didn’t have to do anything. Don’t you get it? Fight because you want it. You fought to get straight. You fought to get away from your dad. You fight when you want something, and you want her, so why aren’t you fighting for her?”
My throat burned. “I … I don’t know.”
“Isn’t having Rose — even if it’ll end someday — isn’t having her enough to swallow your fear?”
I couldn’t speak.
“She wants to try. If you want to try, if you want her, then fucking go get her. Don’t let anything stand in your way.”
I nodded, my voice rough when I answered, “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” He smiled easily and picked up the ball. “Now come on, Tricky. Let’s burn you down. Set you to rights.”
And we did — we played until I’d sweat out my doubt, burned through my fear, and in the ashes of that, I found Rose once again.
Patrick
Dusk had fallen, and the only light was pointed at the canvas. I guided the brush, knowing where the black watercolor would drip, where the brushstrokes would be visible. The idea had struck me on the way home from the courts, and the minute I sat down, the painting poured out of me. I hadn’t moved since.
I loaded the brush and held out a hand, tapping the base against the flat of my palm to knock the paint onto the canvas in splatters. And then I sat back and looked it over.
It was perfect, or as close to perfect as I could ever get. Now, I’d let it dry, get cleaned up, and make my way back to my old building so I could start to make it right.
I stood and stretched, rinsed my brushes and laid them out to dry.
Someone knocked on the door.
Rose, I thought as I walked through the living room with my heart aching.
When I pulled open the door and found Jared standing there, cold adrenaline pumped through me. He looked much the same as he did years ago, back when we used together, back when he started selling dope. Seth and I were his first customers.
“Tricky?” He looked me over in disbelief. “What the fuck, man.” He came in for a hug, clapping me on the shoulder. I didn’t reciprocate, and he pulled back, smile fading. “Long time. Seth here?”
“He’s at work.” I hadn’t let him in.
He stepped back into the hallway. “Ah, yeah. The old grind, right? He didn’t tell me you were moving back in. You start it up again too? Nobody can stay away from the white nurse too long, am I right?” he asked with a chuckle.
My jaw flexed, lips flat, heart banging like a war drum. “I’m clean, and Seth isn’t here.”
He nodded and looked up and down the hallway. “All right, it’s cool. Just give him this for me?” He pulled a bundle of plastic and white powder out of his pocket and extended it to me.
I couldn’t hear for the blood rushing in my ears. I hadn’t seen any in years, and time had only made the shock that much greater, reverberating through my mind.
“Give it to him yourself.”
Jared’s face hardened, and he closed his fingers around the bag, slipping it back into his pocket. I felt relief almost immediately. “Take it easy, Tricky. Don’t think you’re better than us just because you got out. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll be back one day. Not one second.” His eyes narrowed as he looked me over before turning and walking away.
I closed the door, hoping I was wrong. That Jared coming over was an attempt to get Seth back in. That he hadn’t started up again — he hadn’t. He couldn’t. — that it was some horrible mistake. A vulture picking at the bones of the damaged.
My heart didn’t slow as I walked through the apartment and opened his bedroom door, stepping into it, feeling like a traitor and a thief. I knew him well enough to know his hiding places. I checked the hollow book on his bookshelf to find it empty. I found the wooden box in the back of his closet with the devil burned into the lid, but there was nothing there but some old photos. And then I looked behind his bed where I found the cigar box.
It was a box I knew well.
My hands shook, the black wolf on the label snarling at me, the words Big Wolf in block letters across the top. I flipped open the lid, knowing exactly what I’d find. Needles. Tubing and cotton. A spoon and a lighter. A small bag of white powder.
I closed my eyes and took a breath. I hadn’t seen his needle kit in so long, but the sight of it brought back the memories in a wave, followed by a flash of need, of want. Even after all these years, my body remembered.
I shut the lid with a snap
I was still trembling as I walked into the kitchen and set the kit on the table, leaning on the counter with my hand over my mouth, arm tucked under my elbow, eyes on that fucking wolf.
Seth hadn’t changed.
I should have known. I wanted so badly to believe he could, believe that he was different this time, and in the end, he’d lied to me. Again.
I don’t know how long I stood there in his kitchen with shock and anger and fear tumbling through me. Time stretched to a crawl, snapping back to speed when I heard Seth’s key in the door.
He smiled at me when he walked in, though it slid off his face when he saw his kit on the table. He looked back up at me warily.
“Jared came by for you,” I said flatly.”
He put out a hand. “It’s not what it looks like, Tricky.”
“Then enlighten me.”
He set down his bag, his eyes wide as he tried to convince me. “I’ve got a handle on it, man. It’s not like it was before — I only use on the weekends, just for fun. It’s not interfering with my job or my life, I won’t let it. I’ve been down that road before.”
I laughed, sharp and loud and without a hint of joy. “Yeah, you have. Just for fun?” I shook my head. “I cannot fucking believe you. This is how it starts. This is how it always starts — you know that. But you have no control. You never have control. None of us do, not when it comes to this. How is it that you didn’t get rid of your needle kit? That should have been the first thing you did. There is no halfway with this. There’s no sometimes, and you’re lying to yourself if you believe otherwise.”
He hurried to the table with conviction across his face, in his voice. “It’s different now,” he pleaded. “I know I can handle it, Patrick. I’m stronger than I’ve
ever been. I still don’t drink. I don’t even smoke weed. But this … I don’t know who I am without this.”
“I know. But I know who I am without it. Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? Don’t you realize I can’t be around this? I can’t even see this fucking box, Seth.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“Well, I fucking did. You lied to me, Seth, and this time is the last time. This ends here.” I pushed off the counter and made my way to my room.
“I didn’t lie to you. When you asked me, I was clean. I didn’t ask you to move in here, and when you offered, I didn’t think you’d take me up on it.”
I didn’t answer as I blew through the apartment with him on my heels.
“Dammit, Tricky,” he huffed. “I always knew you thought you were better than me. Like you’re strong and I’m weak. You’ve got the answers and I’m some dumbfuck screw-up who can’t get his shit together.”
I turned on him, brow low. “I don’t think I’m better than anybody. But as much as I want more for you, I can’t help you. I never could. And I can’t give anymore.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t leave, man. What am I going to do if you leave?” His chest heaved as he begged. “What do I have to do to make you stay?”
But I shook my head. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do.”
His face bent in anger, neck taught as he pulled back a fist and slammed it into the drywall, popping a hole in it the size of a softball. He breathed heavy as he leaned against the wall, pressed his forehead to the sheetrock, voice ragged, body ragged. “I tried. I’ve been trying. I don’t know what more you want from me.”
“I want you to want to quit. But you don’t. You never will. You have to quit for you, not for me, not for anything but yourself.”
His voice cracked. “I don’t know how.”
“I know,” I said sadly. “But I can’t stay. I can’t, Seth. I can’t know that’s within reach. I can’t walk in to find you with a needle in your arm. I just … I can’t. You have to understand that, if nothing else.”
