someone to stay, ⁹¹¹

𝟎𝟑𝟐.

The house was silent in a way that didn't comfort her.

JJ lay flat on her back, damp hair against the pillowcase, and the clean cotton sheets stuck slightly to her skin.

The shower had been hot, too fucking hot, her skin was still flushed pink from where she'd scrubbed at herself like she could wash away everything: the smoke, the taste of it on her tongue, the weight of Ashton's arm around her shoulders.

But now, lying here in her quiet, dark room, all that effort had left her raw instead of clean.

Every inhale, she swore she could still feel the burn of weed in her lungs. It was phantom now, it having long passed, but it haunted her anyway.

She pressed her palm against her chest, almost waiting for the buzz to return, but there was nothing left except guilt.

Her throat closed, hot with the urge to cry, but she swallowed it back. She was tired of crying. She was tired of always being the problem, the delicate one everyone had to tiptoe around.

Her gaze drifted to her nightstand.

The soft glow of the streetlight outside barely illuminated the picture frame perched there, but she knew the photo by heart. She turned her head slowly, like it might hurt less if she moved gently.

It was a photo from last Christmas, before the bombing, before the tsunami, before everything.

She and her dad were sitting side by side on the couch, paper crowns from the crackers Maddie had insisted on pulling, both of them laughing at something ridiculous Chimney had said.

Buck's arm was slung casually across her shoulders, his smile wide and unguarded like usual. JJ's own smile was wide, almost identical to his.

A snapshot of a moment she almost forgot had existed, a time when she hadn't felt broken, when she wasn't lying to everyone who loved her.

Her eyes burned. She reached out, fingertips brushing the glass, tracing over the curve of her dad's grin.

For a moment she let herself imagine going back to that second in time, the sound of laughter and wrapping paper and Sophia's high-pitched giggle filling the air.

For a moment, it didn't feel impossible. But then Ashton's face shoved its way back into her mind.

The way he had looked at her when he held the joint out, the smirk, the low voice: Come on, just one drag.

JJ squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms over them until stars flared behind her lids. She hated him. She hated herself more for not walking away.

For folding. For relapsing.

She turned onto her side, pulling her knees up tight against her chest. Her phone buzzed softly in her pocket, some random Instagram notification. The screen lit up the dark, showing the time: 12:04 AM. Everyone in the house was asleep.

Everyone except her.

Her thumb hovered over Sophia's name in her contacts. For a second she debated not doing it, not dragging Sophia deeper into her storm, but Sophia was already in too deep, and JJ needed her.

The fight they'd had earlier still echoed in her ears, the sharp words like blades she kept replaying against her skin. Pathetic. Embarrassing. Maybe Sophia had meant them. Maybe she hadn't.

JJ didn't know anymore.
She didn't know a lot anymore.

But the thought of Sophia sleeping just down the hall, curled up with Chris in the spare bedroom, still close enough to reach if she needed, it steadied something inside her.