Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader
Word Count: 13.2k
Warnings: Cursin', Smokin', Drinkin'. Angst: Struggle and Poverty, Abandonment, Mental Distress, Confusion, Secrecy, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Death, Tormenting Thoughts, Mentions of Violence, Reckless Driving, Mentions of Weapons and Guns, Stress, Anxiety, Mentions of Family Issues, Cheating, Domestic Disputes, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of Divorce, Physical Fighting, Blood, Threatening, Abandonment, Pregnancy, Mentions of Death, Bodily Injury, Heavy Angst, Allusions to Shady Activities, Police and Crime Investigation, Conspiracy, Mentions of Murder, Coercion, Drugs and Addiction, Usage of Drugs During Pregnancy, Big Emotions, Mention of Severe Weather, Mentions of Tornados, Crying, Fluff. Smut: Kissing.
STELLA POV
LATE APRIL, 1975
You cleared away the smoke that had settled in the air from the pot of green beans you'd forgotten about on the stove, whipping your dish towel through the air toward the open window.
"Dammit to hell!" you cried, wondering how in the world you'd managed to forget about yet another cooking meal. You tossed the charred beans into the trash can, and threw the blackened pot into the sink, defeat filling your entire being yet again. "Get it together, Stell."
You tossed the dish rag over your shoulder as you collapsed into the singular chair in the kitchen of your apartment, letting your head fall into your hands as you imagined your whole kitchen going up in flames.
Things weren't the greatest.
It'd been three months since you'd had a fix, and two months since you even felt the urge. Josh and Sam had wired you a few hundred dollars to help with the down payment on your new apartment, and for the first time in years, you felt good again. You felt clean. You'd managed to get a waitressing job at the breakfast diner down the street, but money was coming in a little more slowly than you thought it would.
The apartment wasn't much, but it beat the hell out of a few of the other places you'd wound up. This place actually had a working bathroom and a lock on the front door.
Like an alarm clock to pull you from your imagination, the phone rang, loud and shrill. A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing 8 o'clock at night.
"Hello??" You answered in a huff.
"Hey, Stell? It's—it's Maureen."
"Maur...hey honey, it's been a little bit. How are ya?" You pushed your bangs back off your forehead, the panic of finding your home full of smoke finally settling to the back of your mind.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, hon. Hey, listen, are you sittin' down?" She asked, her voice laced with concern. You knew that voice. Something was wrong.
"Yeah, why? Maureen, what's wrong?"
"Honey, I—I got some bad news. I just found out that Ace passed. Couple days ago."
As you struggled to comprehend what she'd just said, your world seemed to stop. Everything around you fell black. The air, stolen straight from your lungs...and the tight wrench in your gut almost doubled you over.
"Stella, honey, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah...I—how'd you find out?" You managed to choke out, the words not even sounding like English.
"I read it in the newspaper just a bit ago, saw it in the obituaries. Stell honey, they...they ruled it as a suicide."
At her words, every bone in your body felt like shattering glass, snapping and breaking into millions of pieces as you fought to hold yourself up, keep yourself from succumbing to the floor and everything beneath it.
