COMFORT CROWD [3] , jj maybank

8. we gotta tell pope

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  MY BAG AND I sit on JJ's makeshift porch bed. I told him I'd stay with him, that's what I'mma do. I'm gonna stay with him. Neither of us have said I'm sorry. But, I'm not letting him stay here alone. We got back an hour or so ago. It's early—late? It's 5am.

The sun is just coming over the marsh as my knees are tucked into my chest. I can hear JJ enter through the front window, things falling as he stomps over to the back door. He kicks it open but I don't flinch.

He does when he sees me on the bed though. "What are you doing here?" JJ asks. I move my bag in front of me, "I'm staying—with you. I told you I would," I hide my smile. The sunrise makes his blue eyes a blue flame. "You can't sleep on the porch. It'll hurt your back," JJ says.

"I slept on sand and rocks for a month. This couch is cushioned and I even brought extra pillows and blankets," I say as I grab a heart shaped pillow from my room and throw it at him. JJ catches it and seemingly gives in as he sits down next to me. "You're persistent, Sam Vernon," JJ gives me a small smile.

  I shrug with a bigger smile, "You're stubborn, JJ Maybank. And, I'm sorry. I never said sorry for what happened the other night. And for saying you don't care. You do. A lot," My words tangle with a sob nearly but I cough. I don't need to cry right now.

"You gotta tell me when it's bad again, baby," JJ takes my hands in his, "I can help you. I will try to help you."

"You do help me," I say as I hold his head in my hand. He closes his eyes tightly and then opens them again, hands crawling up to my shoulders, "Please tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours then."

The wiggle in my lip nearly sends me over. The sorrow in JJ's eyes twists my stomach. How do I tell him this? How much do I tell?

I tuck my knees to my chest, back against the house now. "It's easier—without me, JJ. I do stupid shit and I'm not worth the risk," I admit. I wish I didn't though as his face drops and he crawls over to sit next to me. JJ lets out a shaky breath, "I like your stupid shit. It makes you, you or whatever."

No, you don't, JJ. He thinks my stupid shit is fighting or losing my mind for a bit. Not murder. Better yet, the murder of my own father. My breath hitches, "J, you don't get it—"

"You know how many times I've thought everyone would be better without me? You wanna know a really, really cheesy fact," JJ raises his eyebrows. "Hm?" I hum, heart thumping as it reels from JJ's suicidal confession.

"One time John B told me you were my anchor. Alright? I thought, oh that's kinda stupid and Sam would hate that's cheesy shit if I ever said that but like, it's true. And, I'm not very romantic but you are my anchor. Have been since you nearly bashed Amelia's head," JJ is smiling but I just feel sick. "I don't think I'd be better off without you, J," I say slightly muffled into my knees.