Even Heroes Have Scars

[108] Everything You're Not

Jacob's P.O.V.

As I entered Cole's house, he led me to the living room, which was toward the back of the house and was more private. He crossed his arms over his chest, like he was angrily waiting for my excuse for ghosting him.

"I'm sorry for disappearing without telling you. It was really sudden. I told my sister about the drugs and alcohol usage, and she checked me into rehab a few hours later. I needed help. I wanted to get better, and I couldn't do it on my own," I explained, noting that he didn't look as empathetic as I had hoped.

"So, what, now you're better, and you want to hang out again? Like an apology will fix everything?" he asked bitterly.

"Cole... I – I don't think you realize how bad it was. I think you should get help, too. And so should Ben, and probably his brother. This shit's dangerous. I mean, look at what almost happened to Demi – what did happen to Demi."

"Jake, I'm not you, alright? I'm not Demi, or Amy Winehouse, or Mac Miller, or any other person you could use to compare me to. I'm not hooked or addicted or whatever you think I am," he said, using air quotes.

Only now did I notice his eyes, and his struggle to stand properly. "Dude, you're high right now. You're high a lot of the time. It's not recreational anymore. This is a real problem. It has to stop. I want you to get better for your own sake."

"I'm not going to fucking rehab, bro. That's your shit, not mine."

"I'm sure your mom can help you."

"I'm not telling my mom. That's not happening. I said I'm fine!"

I could imagine that this was how Ansley's conversation went with Demi. Thank God she was snitching to Cole's mom for me. I wasn't sure if I could do that myself.

"My sister's telling you mom right now. She knows, and she's gonna help you."

He immediately grew red in the face, finally adding color to his pale, drugged skin. "What? Who the fuck said you could tell my mom? You had no fucking right!" he screamed.

He rose his arms from his sides and clenched his fists before pushing me backwards.

"I'm trying to help you!" I shouted, stumbling back as I tried to verbally defend myself; this was feeling all too familiar – him beating on me.

He got up in my face. "I can't believe I ever thought you'd be anything more than an entitled, stuck-up, punk-ass little bitch. Fuck you." He wasn't even yelling. He was letting his words marinate in the air.

My jaw hung open a bit, and I practically fell over, as he had backed me all the way against the couch. Part of me was waiting for the punches, but I would not be a victim of his again. I snuck out from where he towered over me and jogged out of the house, face beet red and sweat pooling all over my tense body. I tried to ignore his shouts for me to never talk to him again.

When I got to the car, Ansley asked what happened. I didn't give her details, but I did tell her we were done and that she was right all along – I never should've trusted him.

That night, Ansley took us out to dinner to celebrate my return. It was nice, just the two of us. I didn't realize how much I missed hanging out with her and having these little bonding moments.

The next day, after the dust settled a bit more, Drew knocked on the door. I was surprised to see him, but I was also very glad he came over, as I knew there was school the next day and the fear of facing Cole alone there rattled me to the bone. Thank God he stuck by his word that we could be friends again. We went to my room and sat across from each other on the bed to talk.