Recovery (Sequel to Been You)

Chapter 52: Break Up With Me

JUSTIN'S POV:

Ely leads me down the walkway outside of the house, away from the bulk of the traffic. When she stops, I stop with her. Her bare skin is covered with chill bumps as she shivers in the cold December air. She's wearing a bikini mid-winter, of course she's cold. I slide my jacket off, putting it around her shoulders.

"Thanks, Justin," she says emotionlessly.

"Baby -" I start, wanting to stop her before she starts what I know she's about to do. Please, don't, Ely.

"Justin, you really hurt me," she argues, knowing I was trying to stop her.

"I know, and I'm so sorry. I messed up, I know. It won't happen again, I promise," I plead.

"I just... I need some time alone. I... I don't know why you've been so controlling and... different lately, but I can't do it, Justin," she expresses.

"Please, El. Don't do this. I need you," I choke out, the cold and my own tears stinging my eyes. I almost don't believe my eyes when she takes my jacket off of her shoulders sadly, handing it to me.

"Goodbye, Justin," she whispers, a tear falling down her cheek. "I love you."

I push my jacket back to her. "I love you, too," I manage. "Keep the jacket. You'll catch a cold," I worry, walking away. Ely briskly walks back into the party, as I head home. Teary eyed, I pull out my phone, dialing the only number I know by heart. I break down completely when the voice answers.

"Justin? Are you ok? It's 11:30," my mom worries through the phone.

"She left me, Mom," I cry shamelessly, as I walk home alone. It's quiet for a moment.

"Oh, honey. Do you want to tell me what happened?" Mom comforts.

"Ely used to have eating problems and I just wanted to make sure she's eating, so I was forcing her to eat. Sh-sh-she got mad at me for bossing her around and said that she never forces me to eat or anything. And then I said something really bad and I don't wanna say it again, but she can't forgive me and she just -" I ramble through my tears, probably incoherent.

"Okay, Justin, honey, I need you to take three deep breaths," my mom advises. I do as she says, and it does help. I hadn't realized how little I had been breathing. "Okay? It's gonna be alright. I know you love her, and I know this hurts. But it's gonna be alright, Justin. Just don't give up, okay? I know that she loves you, too. But you just need to give her time. She's hurting, too. This'll all work itself out, okay?"

"It won't, Mom," I blubber, a total mess now. "She, she, she was with another guy and -" I cut off, unable to finish.

"Aw, Justin, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to speak to her?" Mom offers.

"No, that'll just make it worse," I answer, wiping my face as I near the hockey house. "Look, Mom, I gotta go. I- I just have to go," I say emotionlessly.

"Are you sure, Justin. I'm worried."

"Yeah, Mom. I'll call tomorrow. I'm tired," I deadpan.

"Okay, sweetie. I love you. Don't do anything that you'd regret," Mom advises.

"Love you, too," I say, hanging up as I walk into the house.

When I enter the living room, I'm bombarded with Christian yelling, "How'd it go, man? Did you get your girl back?"

"Who's your dealer?" I ask, ignoring his question, desperate to take the edge off of this hurting.

"I'll take that as a no. But, uh, the whole thing about having a dealer, is your not supposed to tell people who your dealer is," Christian muses. When I don't laugh, he continues, "Look, I can't tell you who it is, but I can pick you up something. Nothing hard, though. Can't have you fucking up our season."

"Without some weed to make this hurt less, the season is fucked regardless," I retort.

"Oh, just weed? I've got some upstairs, if you want it now?" Christian offers.

"Please," I beg. He gets up from the couch, leading me up to his room. Once there, he pulls a plastic bag of the substance out of his top drawer, tossing it to me along with some papers. I reach into my pocket to pull out some bills, but he shakes his hand at me.

"Don't worry about it, bro. If it keeps you sane enough on the ice? It's all good," Christian says.

"Thanks, man," I appreciate, taking it to my room. I sit on my bed, about to roll a joint. I stop to look around at the subtle evidence of Ely's presence left around my room. Hair ties on my dresser, bobby pins on my floor, a bra on my nightstand, the smell of her perfume. I breathe in deeply, taking it in. It makes me feel warm inside. I gather the drugs, taking them downstairs. I don't want to taint what little memory I have left of her. I take the weed out back in the cold of the shed. I roll one, smoke it, and feel the pain drift away.