Chapter 23 - Jess

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    Pain

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    Pain.

    Crushing Pain.

    A pain that has a vise-like grip around my heart, squeezing and squeezing until I can't breathe.

    It hurts so bad that the throbbing in my head is dull in comparison.

    Why does everything hurt so bad?

    My head has gone under till I'm sinking, sinking so fast it doesn't matter how hard I try to swim.

    A tear escapes my shut eyes, and I squeeze them tighter together to chase away any more. I shouldn't cry. I won't.

    I want my mom; I want my mom so much.

    You can come home now; why won't you just come home?

    I'm not strong enough to do the one thing that would mean I could be with her again.

    I'm pathetic.

    Weak.

    Broken.

    Don't cry, don't.

    The bed beneath me is comfortable but not mine. I remember coming to Ezra's, so I know it's his. I peel my eyes open, and the room starts to spin.

    I jump up so fast and sprint to the bathroom; I'm going to be sick. I make it just in time to empty my stomach contents into it. I'm so focused on heaving that I don't hear the door open behind me.

    Hands pull my hair out of the way, and I look back to see Ezra standing there.

    "Thanks," I choke. "Don't give me shit for seeing me like this."

    "You know I will," he jokes lightly.

    He drops down to his knees, holding my hair as I continue to vomit repulsively. His hand strokes down my back, comforting me. I must look like a train wreck. When I finish heaving up my lungs, Ezra stands and puts his hands in his jeans pockets.

    "There's an extra toothbrush in the vanity. Get cleaned up and meet me in the kitchen. I'm making breakfast."

    I'm left alone as I try to regain some composure. I try to banish thoughts about last night, but the more I try, the more thoughts I have, causing my brain to throb even more.

    Instead of drowning in my emotions, I brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face. I look like death, but there's nothing I can do about it.

    Sighing, I step out into the living room, and the smell of breakfast instantly wafts through my nose. My stomach growls at the thought of eating something that will absorb the alcohol. Hangovers still haven't gotten any easier to deal with.

    Approaching the kitchen, I see Ezra cooking a full bloody buffet. He's got scrambled eggs and bacon frying on the stove. Fresh fruit is chopped on the bench, and pancakes are stacked on a plate.

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