Coasting

Chapter 21

A/N: Ah! Finally! I hope you guys enjoy!!

Day 63

"He was so dramatic," I told Rory as I folded a pair of jeans and plopped them down into the suitcase. I was bored before work, and packing up some of my stuff for school was the only thing I could seem to do around here that didn't remind me of Fletcher.

Rory scoffed. "Jamie. He told you he loved you and you shoved it back in his face. He has a right to be upset."

"'But you just ruined me.' Like, who says that?"

"Someone who just got their heart broken."

"Now you're being dramatic," I retorted.

"No, I'm being honest," she insisted. "Look. I'm going to be honest with you right now because clearly you need to hear it. You fucked up, Jamie. It's one thing to turn a guy down. It's another thing to tell them they aren't even allowed to say it."

I hesitated before giving in, "Alright, you're right. I could've been nicer about it. It's just that when I first met Fletcher, I would've never imagined him being this emotional. I just freaked out."

"Why?" she said. "You told me you love him, so what's the big deal."

"Because, it's different when you tell the actual person that you love them. Then it all becomes real and serious and...I just didn't think either of us would actually say it to each other. I mean I'm leaving in eight days. It's a little late for 'I love you.'"

She sighed. "You're so stupid, Jamie."

I didn't respond. Here I was, packing up my suitcase, trying to get my mind off of him. Yet here I was, thinking about him, talking about him. So I said, "Can we please talk about something else? Like you. How are you?"

I could feel her rolling her eyes. But she still took the bait. "I'm alright. 18 days until I get to be discharged from this hellhole of constant therapy."

I wanted to argue that it was good for her, that it was necessary. But I knew she knew that. She probably just needed to vent. So I said, "that does sound like hell."

"Plus my roommate's a mute. So socialization is at an all time low," she complained.

"What's she there for?"

"Anxiety, I think. I don't know. She doesn't talk."

"Right," I said. "The therapy's going well though?"

"Yeah," she murmured. "It's alright. It makes me think a lot, which I guess is what it's supposed to do so..." then, of course, she switched the subject. "There's this really cute boy in one of my group therapy sessions though."

"Oh," I exclaimed, "details. Now."

"His name is Holden. He's a year older than me. He's super smart and actually really insightful about everything. And totally my type."

I laughed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes."

"You know me well." I could hear her smile through the phone.

"So what's his story?" I asked, sorting through my makeup and throwing out some of the old mascara I'd had for far too long.

"He was addicted to Oxy for around seven months," she said nonchalantly. I figured at this point she'd probably become numb to this type of information. "Overdosed two months ago. He got discharged a couple weeks ago but he still comes to therapy as an outpatient."