Jesse stormed through the door to the kitchen, tearing his wrist from Fletcher's grasp. Fletcher stayed hot on his heels.
"Jesse, slow down!" he called. But Jesse could barely hear him. His heart pounded in his head and his ears and cheeks burned. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He scrambled to settle his mind but it was running in every direction. What was happening to him?
The sound of a familiar laugh came from the couch off to his right. He caught sight of Jennifer sprawled out on it, staring up at the ceiling, and looked away with eyes shut tight. The sting of his irresponsibility and embarrassment was still too fresh in his mind for another reminder. He quickened his pace. He had to get away. From what and to where, he wasn't sure, but his instincts screamed at him to run.
"Hold it, Jesse!" Fletcher cried, barely managing to wedge himself between Jesse and the front door. Jesse grabbed for the handle but he beat him to it. He held it fast and tried to look his friend in the eye. "What's going on? Talk to me!"
Jesse didn't want to talk. He wanted to escape.
"Move," he said simply.
"Come on, man, it's me! You can talk to me, can't you?"
Fletcher reached out and gently pushed against him, trying to get him to back away from the door. It took a few moments but eventually Jesse started to calm down. The frantic urge to get away started to settle and he worked up the courage to return his friend's gaze. Fletcher gave him a gentle grin. That look was always so inviting.
"There. Now let's get this sorted out, okay?"
Jesse relented and followed him to the dining room table, reluctantly taking a seat. Fletcher sat beside him. He didn't say anything, but kept his eyes focused on his friend. He knew there was something going on inside him, he just needed space to figure it out.
Jesse looked at his hands in his lap. He'd really done it this time. Wren's words echoed through his head. He felt a slight sting in his eyes and he shut them tight. He would not cry. Instead, he scrunched up his nose and gave the dining room table a forceful shove.
"I'm such an idiot," he grunted, standing from his chair. He moved to the other side of the dining room and started pacing back and forth. "I thought I was better than that. I thought I was, but I—" He stopped to take a couple quick breaths, running his hands through his hair. "I'm just like him." He slammed a fist against the wall and paused there, breathing hard. When he spoke again his voice was much softer, barely above a whisper. "She's right. I'm a kid. Just like my stupid old man."
Fletcher watched as his whole body crumpled and sank against the wall. His normally confident and collected demeanour had disintegrated, revealing a scared man torn into a million pieces. Slowly, quietly, he got to his feet and walked over to where Jesse now sat on the dining room floor, knees hugged to his chest. He crouched down and put his hand on his shoulder. He decided to try steering the conversation in a direction that was easier for Jesse to process. Concrete facts first.
"Could you tell me what happened?" He asked softly. "Please?"
Jesse felt himself go tense. How was he supposed to explain himself? He hardly had an idea of what had gotten into him. He'd done something bad and, as much as he hated to admit it, it would have been worse if Wren hadn't stepped in. The thought of telling Fletcher terrified him. He was his closest friend in the whole world. What if he turned and hated him like everyone else? He certainly wouldn't stick beside himself.
"C'mon," Fletcher coaxed. "You can tell me."
Jesse took a deep breath. "I screwed up. Jennifer got drunk tonight and I assumed it was Jack's fault. But really, she got into my case of beer in the garage. Then Wren and I got into a fight about it, and I was a real hardhead. And I...broke Jack's staff." He opened his mouth to say more but froze, terrified to let out the rest. Fletcher waited patiently for him to continue.
