Roadtrip Oneshots

Jandy, Lost On You (Part 3)

Jack

I sit at my table and stare hard at the counter. Eyes fixed hard on the twenty or thirty or so bottles that stand there. Glaring. But I feel the pull of it, all the way from the other side of the room. I remember the feeling of nothing. The feeling of having no feelings.

But I also remember what it did to Andy. To the person I loved the most and let go of. I remember what it did to my friends. And also, I remember what it did to me.

I clench my fists a few times, and then I rise to my feet. I come to a stop next to the sink, and turn the tap on. Reach for the first bottle, unscrew it, poor the contents down the drain.

My hand trembles as I do so, but I carry on. It takes longer than I thought, watching the drain guzzle down the liquid like there was no tomorrow. Tears spring to my eyes when I think of how Andy must have felt as I drank myself away. Away from him, and away from myself.

But soon it's done, and I'm left a trembling. I wrap my arms around myself when the cold sinks into my skin, and I find a blanket. Wrap it around my shoulders and pull it tight around. I wander then, thinking that if I stay still I'll only get colder.

It's weird, seeing no bottles anywhere. No cans. For the first time in far too long, my flat is clean. No mess.

But for the first time in a long time there's a lack of Andy, and I feel it sink into me.

'Andy I'm sorry,' I whisper when I walk into the bedroom, 'I really didn't mean it. I didn't mean to hurt you so much.'

I trace my finger over the duvet covers, play with the corner of the pillow.

'I'm gonna sort myself out, Andy. I'm going to get my life back, and then hopefully you, if you'll have me,' I say. Jaw set.

And when I turn, I see my phone on the floor... I can't remember the last time I'd laid eyes on it, let alone use it. The battery's flat out, and I plug it in.

It turns on sometime later, I'm not quite sure. But it turns on, and an emptiness settles in my heart when I have no messages. Nothing from no-one. I don't know how I feel about it. I know I deserve it, after everything I've done to the people that care about me, but it hurts that people gave up.

Although I don't blame them.

I scroll through my contacts, my only contacts.

Andy. Rye. Brooklyn. Mikey.

I can't remember the last time I'd spoken to the last three... heard from them. Seen them.

'I screwed up.'

I'm horrified by my actions. I slump to the floor and lean against the wall, phone in hand.

I think of Andy, and debate texting him. But I can't find the strength too. I don't want to get his hopes up, if they even rise. I don't want to see him, and then let myself fall back down again. I can't do that to Andy; not again.

Then I think of Rye. The person that took me in when he learnt the truth. The person, beside Brooklyn, who had been the kindest to me when I first ran away here.

I click on his contact, shivering and shaking, and have no idea what the hell I'm going to say. It's been months... maybe even years. I don't even know. I don't know how much of my life I've missed because I wouldn't talk to anyone.

I need your help Rye.

I hit send, and let my phone fall to the floor. Pull the blanket tighter around me, moreso than before. I still feel cold. Exhausted. I find myself crying again, something I've done a lot in the past day or so. Andy's letter lays on the floor beside the bed, where I let it fall earlier.