Chasing White [Draft 1]

Chapter 9: Soap and Water Clean Any Wound

Bryant House. June 2, 2025.

Jason zips up my bag, a heroic smile on his face.

"We're done."

I twiddle with my phone, turning it around in my hands, while giving Jason a weak smile. His squinty eyed heroic smile disappears and he quickly plops down next to me.

"What is it?"

"I don't know." I whisper. "Something feels... wrong."

"What do you mean?"

I swallow hard. "It's in my gut."

"The Iz gut?" Jason asks, referring to my weird ability to be able to tell when something is wrong with Iz.

I put a hand on my stomach, trying to settle the feeling. "Yeah."

"But has that not gone away? You said that it's been that way since Iz was taken."

I shut down, realizing that Jason isn't going to get it. "Never mind."

"Nononononono. Don't shut me out. You don't get to shut me out. Not now."

I close my eyes and taken in a deep breath. "Something's wrong."

"What do you think it is?"

"Something bad. Very very bad."

"Uh... do you want me to do something?"

"Do what? Help her? I don't think that's a thing when she's God knows where." I rub a hand over my face then go back clicking my nail on my phone screen. Jason rubs my back before getting up and grabbing our bags.

"Do you know where we're going?"

A weak smile appears on my face, "Don't you think I would've told you if I knew?"

Jason moves both bags to one hand and frowns, "You tend to leave things out."

My head snaps up as I glare at Jason. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jason shakes his head, walking towards the door. "It doesn't mean anything."

I push myself up and throw my phone to the side. "Don't walk away from me!"

He settles his free hand on the doorframe and looks back at me. The horrible thought of him leaving me creeps into my head. He's going to leave me because of this. I shove the feeling down. As far down as I possible can.

"I'm going to drop the bags off downstairs and see where Sam and Rachel are." Jason walks away from me, leaving me alone in our room. My room.

A low growl builds up in the bottom of my throat then I let out a scream of frustration. My fist connects with the wall and there's a loud crack. I pull my fist away from the wall and reveal a giant hole. My eyes widen as I stare at the black and gray dent in my blue wall. I pull my dusty fist close to my chest, shaking my head violently.

The last time I punched something- someone- I broke my hand. Being able to break through drywall seems to be impossible for a dainty little thing like me. I quickly wipe away at my eyes with my free hand then start to examine my grey hand.

A few pieces of drywall have managed to embed itself into my knuckles. Blood is already starting to pool out around the edges of the rubble. I quickly pick out the rubble and the blood seems to flow out quicker than with the rubble in.

Quietly cursing to myself, I rush to the bathroom and turn on the sink to wash off my hand. Sticking my hand underneath the warm water, I wince, the water stinging my open wounds but oddly enough, the pain is satisfying.