Beside

58 - torn

"Jellybean, why do I feel so angry all the time?"

"Maybe it's like a soda can, all shaken up with feelings. We just need to find a way to let it out slowly."

"No. No, I think I'm just... like this."

ᖴO᙭

This flask tastes like regret.

It burns, the single malt scotch carving a trail of fire down my throat. It was a gift from my cousin Paige on my seventeenth birthday. "For the nights you need to forget," she'd said, which, apparently, is every goddamn night now.

Hell, it's only been fifteen hours, and I can barely breathe.

My knees are up, elbows draped over them, as I sit outside our front door, right on the golden Unit 5 marker. I roll the flask cap between my fingers, watching the dull silver catch the dim light, a faint reflection of my face warped in its curve. I look like shit. Eyes hollow, skin tight and pale.

My head tips back against the door, the flask hitting my lips again. It tastes metallic now, sharp and bitter. I suck my teeth, coughing.

"What a sorry goddamn sight."

I grin, the movement pulling at the ache in my jaw. "It's about time." I glance up, squinting against the light behind him.

Noah.

Hiking bag slung over one shoulder, dark hair longer and messy, his scar catching a dull shine. My grin widens into something wry.

"Welcome home, man," I say, lifting the flask.

He simply extends a hand.

I hesitate, the flask dangling from my fingers, before twisting the cap back on and slipping it into my pocket. My palm claps against his and he pulls me up in one swift motion.

The hallway tilts briefly, and I steady myself, brushing my jeans down out of habit. The scotch doesn't help much with balance. Noah eyes me, his gaze lingering like he's assessing damage.

He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder, the movement drawing a creak from the strap. "How is she?"

I suck in a breath. "About as good as the rest of us."

Noah's throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze flicking toward the door. "All three?"

"All three," I confirm, my words dragging. "Don't forget Maddie's reappearance. That was great. Oh, and the love of my life left with Whitney on a plane."

"Charlie?"

I laugh. "At the vet. Little guy's got a brain tumour. $7000 surgery." Noah tries to say thanks but I wave it off. "I love that dog. Don't look at me like that."

Noah doesn't say anything to that.

"Chris will be back, you know." My words sound hollow, but I need to believe them. "She'll come back." I pull the flask back out, twist the cap off and take another pull, the burn chasing the cracks down my throat.

Noah steps forward, hand on the doorknob, but he hesitates. "All three? Really?"

I suck my teeth again, staring at the floor. "Yup."

He turns the knob, the door creaking open just enough to spill warm light into the hallway. To his credit, he doesn't flinch at the sight.

First off, the place is a shitshow—clothes, dishes, dirt. Then there's Cam on the couch, spine ramrod straight, eyes shut tight, headphones clamped over her ears. Jed's beside her counting his fingers and muttering, "It has to break, it has to break, it has to break."