She lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank god. Eh, that’s pretty good. Where’d you learn that?”
“June and Toby,” I lower myself beside her and continue working my way through more lines of history.
“June and Toby?”
“Foster parents. I lived with them for eight months. Best eight months of my childhood. They were musicians and let me fool around in their home studio.”
“Really, wow.”
“Yeah, it’s where I learned that music doesn’t have to equal pain and drugs. They’re the reason I’m here and not strung out under a bridge somewhere.”
“What happened to them?”
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug. “They’re still around. We do dinner every so often. They’ve even come to a couple of our shows.”
“They sound ace.”
“They are. I did really well with them.”
“Then why did you leave?”
My fingers stall on the strings. I lose the rest. “Jonas came back.”
Her reaction is in the silence. Jonas has that effect.
“Anyway…” I push myself up and return the guitar to its stand. A knock rescues me from more awkward seconds courtesy of Jonas Everett.
“Jess, can you come out here?”
The urgency in Parker’s voice makes my stomach knot. “Be back in a minute?” I say to Mila, on my way to the door. I pull it open, and Parker yanks me into the hall.
“She’s here,” he hisses.
“Who?”
“Natasha! I thought you said you were done with her.”
“I am.”
“Well…” He waves his arms to emphasize how wrong I am.
“Where is she?”
“On the porch.”
He glances at my closed door. “Want me to distract Mila?”
“Thanks, man. I’ll get rid of her.”
I take off for the entrance before Parker can unload any of his told-you-sos.
Derrick offers a slap on the arm as I pass through the kitchen.
Natasha waits with arms crossed, mascara smudges etched into the creases around her eyes. I can’t tell if the makeup is exaggerating or dulling her death stare.
“Hey,” I say, stepping onto the stoop and closing the door. A biting March wind cuts through my thin t-shirt, and I cross my arms.
“Why haven’t you responded to my texts?”
“Why are you still texting me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I thought we resolved everything. I got your messages, but I don’t have anything else to say.”
“So I tell you I still love you. That I want to see you, and you just ignore me?”
My fists clench. “You don’t love me. We already talked about this.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel!”
I cringe and glance around. I know how well voices carry through the glass to my room. “Can you keep your voice down?”
“Why? Don’t want the world to know what an asshole you are?”
“Natasha…”
“Or do you have another girl here? That’s it, isn’t it? Found yourself a new dealer?” She leans toward my closed window. “Hey, new slut! He’s only using you!”
“I’m going back inside,” I mutter and reach for the door.
She smacks my hand away. “You’ve always thought you were too good for me.”
“Tash, please—”
“Don’t call me that! You’re a junkie, Jesse Everett. Just like all the other shitty lowlifes who pound on my door.”
“I’m not a junkie.”
“No? Because I seem to remember a desperate loser begging—yes, begging—at my door for a hit. You were so wrecked you let Trav drug and assault you just for a taste.”
“Fuck you, Natasha. I haven’t even used in weeks.”
“Ha! Well, congratulations. You want a trophy? You’ll be back. You always come back, and when you do, guess what? I’m gonna say ‘fuck you, too.’”
“I won’t be back.”
I won’t.
Just enough to fight, fight.
“You’re weak, Jesse. You can’t change what you are.” Her face twists into an evil I haven’t seen before on her. “Good luck, boy scout.”
She throws a small plastic bag at me and storms off.
Four white pills. My hand shakes as I pick it up. Blood pulses through my chest in a painful rhythm.
Just enough…
Just enough.
∞∞∞
I shove the bag in my pocket before going back inside. If ever I needed a moment alone to figure shit out it’s…
Fuck.
The entire house is waiting for me in the foyer—Mila front and center. I close the door slowly behind me and brace for war.
“I’m guessing you heard all that.”
“Is it true?” Parker asks, stepping forward.
“Which part?”
“The mugging a month ago? Was that an assault by a dealer?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, trying to push through them.
Parker grabs my arm and yanks me back. “I asked you point blank and you lied to me! And what did she mean by letting Trav drug you? What else happened that day, Jess?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Of course it’s my business!”
“I’m not a kid anymore. Stop acting like my parent.”
I flinch as he slams me into the wall. The jolt is enough to ignite an older burn in my ribs, and I double over to catch my breath.
The small plastic bag falls from my pocket.
“What the—”
He swipes it off the floor, eyes burning. The room goes dark.
“You fucking liar!”
“I didn’t ask her for it.”
“But you were going to keep it, weren’t you? Dammit, I’m so sick of this!”
Parker storms toward my room, and I rush after him.
“What are you doing?”
“How much is there?”
“What? There’s nothing in my room!”
“Stop lying! What else are you hiding?”
“Nothing!”
He rips through the contents of my desk, scattering papers and supplies. Frustrated, he shoves it away from the wall, burying my notebook in a grave of debris.
“Stop it, Parker! You have no right to touch my stuff.”
“No?” he shouts back. “Then who’s supposed to keep you alive?”
On to my dresser. The pile of clothes on top hurtles to the floor. Another wave crashes from the first drawer. Then the next.
“Parker!”
I lunge and grab his arm, but he sends me staggering to the floor. My dresser is a skeleton when I look up, empty drawers hanging like broken limbs.
When he goes for my closet, I’ve had enough. I charge him, and he lands against the wall with a thud. A second later, my own face explodes with pain from a hard fist. I fall back, and he’s on me, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. I block the first blow but can’t bring myself to fight anymore. It’s Parker. It’s.
Another strike. And another. And—
I cough painful air from my lungs, and the weight suddenly lifts.
Parker’s expression shatters as he stands over me, gaze scouring my bloody face.
“Shit, Jess.”
He reaches down to help me up, but I push his hand away.
“Just get out of my room.”
My arms tremble as I brace them against the floor.
“Jess…”
“Leave!”
His eyes make one last pass at the damage before he stalks away. By the time I push myself up, only Mila remains.
Only disappointment. Fear. Regret. Pity.
“He had no right,” I say quietly. He had no right.
She shakes her head, eyes dark. “You promised.”
“I’m no god, just a piece of hell. Here to tell you how it is.” My throat closes around the lyrics as they seep out.
Tears veil h
er eyes. “I hate your choice, Jesse. I hate it.”
My chest throbs from more than a misplaced strike when she backs away. Footsteps down a hall can hurt just as much as a fist.
This is why no one wants you, you little shit.
Nausea sweeps over me when I stare at what’s left of my room. Is it even worth piecing back together? I drop to the floor by my closet and rest my head on my knees. My closet. Inviting images flash through my brain. Hiding. Safety. Just—
I burst to my feet and pull open the door. Hazy memories return. A shelf. A strip of tape. I tear through clothes and old shoeboxes.
Peace. It’s right here. I know it, sense it, even if I can’t remember.
My fingers slide over edges and cracks.
Where is it? Think.
There! I rip the bag from its hiding place and soak in the contents. Six pills in this one.
Just enough.
∞∞∞
I wake to a dark, empty house. It takes a moment for the swirling to steady enough to navigate the switch on the lamp by the couch where I finally passed out. Light breathes life into the room, and I squint at the shadows. The demon screams are muddled, giving me the freedom to swing my legs to the floor and pull out my phone. Eleven twenty. Maybe everyone’s in bed? Parker, D, Reece—Mila!
No no no. Please no.
My pulse picks up as I force my knees to straighten. The walls continue to shake, and I stumble toward the French doors separating the living room from the kitchen. After a few seconds of forced breathing against the frame, I inch along the wall, through the kitchen, and into the hallway toward my room.
There are no sounds from upstairs so the guys are either sleeping or out somewhere. I wonder if Parker ever came back. I check my phone again, but there are no messages from my brother. Funny how you come to miss the things you hate when they disappear.
The air thins the closer I get to my door. What if she’s there? Oh god, what if she’s not?
It’s all right in the—
No. Because there’s no candlelight if she’s gone.
Pain sears along my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s just my bruised ribs.
“Please be here. Please be here.” Even in the croak of a whisper I hear the naked fear.
You’re Zeropower Jesse Everett.
A slave.
A joke.
An assassin.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My eyes burn. The mass in my chest becomes a pulsating tumor, pushing up, up until I can’t breathe. I press my fingertips into the wallpaper.
Please be here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Everyone’s sorry. No one’s really sorry. Sorry is a tool.
No! I am, I am.
“I am. Mila, please. I’m sorry. I need you. I need help. Please be here. Don’t leave—”
I stagger through the open door, and…
Everyone leaves.
No one wants you.
Everyone leaves because you’re a piece of shit failure not worth the air in their lungs.
Everyone leaves because you’re the traitor, faker.
A fucking promise-breaker.
I collapse against the wall, hug my arms around my knees, and let the demons have me.
∞∞∞
They howl in the darkness. Old memories, new accusations. They show no discretion in their attack. I cover my ears—a useless habit I picked up in a basement ten years ago. Pain works better. Bloody fingernail arcs in palms or scalp-tearing grips on hair.
I’m not a pushover. I fight. I endure. I even have enough strength to open the message from Mila on my phone. It’s only when I can’t take anymore that I shove the rest of my secret stash in my mouth.
Four pills. Just enough. Not enough. Too much. I just need the screaming to stop.
I curl up on the wood floor, drifting in and out of my cloud. It’s peaceful there. Serene and hopeful, until I’m jerked back to the chaos. Screams and pain. Then, the cloud. Then hell. Then cloud. Then.
Then.
∞∞∞
This time I wake to familiar and strange.
Familiar: my ceiling, my sheets, the rustic smell of our 19th century surroundings.
Strange: the face leaning over me, the restrictive pressure on my arm, the light that penetrates still-foggy pupils.
“Vitals look good. He should come out of it, but…” The stranger transfers her focus to someone else.
“We know. Thanks for your help, Meg. We owe you.”
That voice. I know that voice. My stomach churns from another familiar.
“You’re welcome, but I’m not doing it again. Next time, he gets admitted. Get him help. Got it?”
“Got it.” And that familiar voice settles my nerves.
“Parker?”
“I’m here, brother.” A second later he is, his face hovering close, his hand warm around mine. “You scared the shit out of us.”
I look past him toward the familiar intruder. Every muscle in my body tightens.
Parker follows my gaze. “You have him to thank for the fact that you’re alive and out of the tabloids with a hope of a career. Meg is his doctor friend.”
“Former doctor friend if you ever call me like this again,” she warns.
The intruder nods. “I understand. Thanks again.”
She stops for a hard look as she passes him. “You of all people know where this road leads if you don’t get him help. He was lucky. This time.”
Now the familiar man turns strange. I don’t recognize him with that expression. Afraid? Conflicted? Guilty?
“Get him help, Jonas. At least get him to group with you. Introduce him to Chris.”
He must have lied to her about who I am. She probably thinks I’m his son. That he cares, that I listen to him.
“We’ll do our best. Thanks, Meg.”
Parker’s assurance is harder to shrug off.
“Your best may not be good enough,” she says, eyes resting on me as if for the last time. She knows the difference between temporary and permanent goodbyes. I don’t know which kind I want this to be.
Her exit brings no relief.
“I thought you weren’t using anymore,” Parker says.
“I wasn’t. I’m not.”
He drops next to me. “Really? Then how’d you fuck yourself up to the point of needing a doctor?”
“It’s complicated.” My voice is weak.
“Complicated? No, Jess, it’s not. You’re an addict and you need help. You’re going to kill yourself one of these days, and—”
“Parker?” The intruder’s voice is calm. A hand reaches out and compresses on my brother’s shoulder. A strange hand. “Why don’t you go grab us some coffee or something?”
Parker glares at the man. Then me.
The silence after Parker leaves is eclipsed by the sound of a desk chair dragging along the floor to my bed. The man lowers himself into it and studies me.
“I don’t care what Parker says. I’m not thanking you.” My voice is starting to come back.
“I don’t expect it.”
“This changes nothing.”
“I don’t expect that either.”
“And don’t think for a second I’ll ever—”
“Jesse, please.” That unfamiliar hand now rests on my bed, and even stranger, I don’t smack it away. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since the beginning. I’m not here for forgiveness. You owe me nothing, and I wouldn’t accept it even if you tried. I failed you, son. I failed in every way a father can fail. I’m only here to do everything in my power to make sure you don’t end up as the same pile of garbage I was. I want you to have the future you deserve, not the one I forced on you.”
Strange.
So fucking strange this scene.
I close my eyes and pretend it’s not.
∞∞∞
I keep my eyes closed until I hear the creak of a chair and click of a door. When I look up my room is empty but not dark. Sunlight streams in
through the window, and I pull out my phone. That change makes me less afraid to face Mila’s messages. There are two.
I start with re-reading the first.
Jesse,
What can I say that will make me walking all right? It rips my heart out to leave you, but I can’t stay. You think I don’t understand, but I do. I’ve seen the pain, the battles you fight, and although I may not suffer the same pain, I’ve suffered its effects. When I was seventeen I attended a charity dinner with my dad. Within five years, four of those in attendance had died of an overdose and two died by suicide. When I saw you passed out on the couch again, I saw your choice. I’ve seen the path you’re on too many times. I was willing to fight with you to change course, but I won’t stand by as an escort. You can’t afford an accomplice, and I deserve better. You will hate me for this, but I care about you too much to leave without a last fight. I had a long talk with your father before I left. Jesse, I believe him. All he wants is a better future for you. Let him help you.
Yours,
Mila
There’s another waiting for me, sent after the first. Bold and bright it warns me of coming pain. Warns and entices. It’s Mila. Her words. Her link to my shattered heart, and I have to open it. It’s Mila.
Jesse,
I still haven’t heard from you. Parker told me you OD’d. God, I’m scared. Please at least let me know you’re okay. Ring me?
Mila
My heart races. Ring me. Call her and what? Tell her I’m okay? But I’m not. So call her and lie? That’s the right thing to do.
I message her back.
Mila,
Got your messages. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I understand why you left. Good luck with everything.
Jesse
It might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
The first thing I do after pushing send is find my notebook.
Overrated, garage-band wasted, talent-jaded
They said
Destined for rejection, binding imperfections, nothing but objections
Limelight (NSB Book 4) Page 15
