Two Birds, One Stone

15. Last Laugh

shoutout to the person who posted about this story on my message board today and made me wanna update

i don't have time to double edit so sorry in advance lol

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Jamie was in a worse state than I was the next morning. He'd only had a few drinks the night before, yet I could tell by his restrained movements and lidded eyes that he was battling an intense headache. His entire body sagged with sleep even though we'd gone to bed at the same time, and holding a conversation was nearly impossible. It was like his mind was choked by fog; he couldn't concentrate. On three different occasions, I saw his hands slip into his pockets, face contorted in a grimace when he, as usual, found nothing there.

     He tried to force optimism as we said our goodbyes to Stevie. "Thank you so much for everything," he pushed a strained smile. "You're the greatest."

     "I loved having you," she said, and I could tell she meant it -- Stevie had a habit of getting attached very quickly. "You'd better be there every time I come down to visit," she said, pulling him by the shoulders into a brief hug. She said something else, too quiet for me to hear, into his ear, then backed away. He was nodding.

     Then she turned to me, smiling sadly like she always did when she knew we wouldn't see each other again for a while. I opened my arms, and she gave me a life-ending hug, way too strong for a girl whose idea of a daily workout was walking downstairs to get mail. "I'm gonna miss you, bub." Then, quieter, she added, "Treat that boy well, okay? Keep being good for him, he needs it. He's good for you, whether he believes it or not."

     "Love you," I said. I kissed her cheek and tried to trample my discomfort at her words, but it was too late. The damage was done. With a few seemingly harmless departing words, she'd placed a brand new, overwhelming weight across my shoulders. Maybe they should have been harmless, but they weren't. She knew they weren't. An angry hand twisted knots below my ribs -- Stevie, of all people, should have known to be more careful. She shouldn't have forgotten how easily I could crack under pressure. 

     But then again, maybe it was my fault for all of the times I'd told her that I'd been perfectly fine lately. That I hadn't come close to losing at all, not once since last year. That Jamie was the only one with a scattered mess leaving ruins inside his head. 

    Swallowing my anger and pushing my fast-mounting worry to the back of my mind, I took Jamie's hand and his bag. He didn't even have the energy to protest. With a final, "Don't be a stranger, sis," I led him away from the apartment, trying and failing not to frown to much when I felt him stumble behind me.

     He passed out the moment his ass hit the passenger seat of my car, leaving me alone with my thoughts for the next two hours.

    Naturally, I thought about him. That should have been a good thing, but for someone who was so allegedly "good for me," thinking about him didn't feel very good at all.

    By the time I got onto the highway, I had thought myself sick.

    I wanted him to be okay. I wanted this withdrawal to just hurry up and pass already. But how much would that actually solve? He still wouldn't be okay.

     And how was I supposed to treat him right? He thought I knew what I was doing, but I had no idea. I didn't know how to handle another person's feelings, especially not ones as complicated as his -- and especially not when my own were so unpredictable. I couldn't protect him, I couldn't take care of him, so what did treat him right even mean? It seemed impossible to be good for Jamie when I was still just starting to understand him.