The One She Needed

SEVENTEEN

ALEX

I'm okay.

I keep telling myself that until my heart believes it. Until the ache dulls, until her absence doesn't feel like a knife lodged between my ribs.

She didn't mean it. She didn't.

I move through my days like a ghost, trying to convince the world—and myself—that I am unbothered. I enrolled in community college, determined to make Mom's sacrifices worth something. But no amount of studying can make the weight in my chest disappear.

How do you live knowing the person you'd do anything for wouldn't do the same for you? If I asked Uncle Frank, he'd say the answer lies in whiskey. Maybe when I'm done with the bottle, I could smash it over her mother's head. I wish I could say I was joking.

Late at night, dreams of Raquel haunt me. Her fingers against my skin, her breath in my ear, the way she whispered my name like a secret only we shared. I don't sleep much anymore—too afraid of the cruel trick sleep plays, making me believe she's still mine, only to wake up and find the bed cold.

The frame I hold is just a hollow thing now. A picture without meaning.

Sam has been my rock. Becca, though—she has enough on her plate. I refuse to let her carry my burdens, too. And Mom... Mom looks at me like I'm broken. Like she wants to fix me but doesn't know how.

I hate it. I hate feeling weak.

The days blur together—school, the garage, home. A cycle that's slowly eroding me. Johnny says I need to break free from it, though I never really considered him a friend. So imagine my surprise when he cornered me at the garage and declared we were going out, no negotiations.

The alcohol burns down my throat, warm and numbing. Johnny vanished the second a brunette flashed him a smile. I envy him for that—for the ease with which he moves through life, unburdened.

Looks like I'll have to settle for the only comfort left.

The brown liquid...

***

20:12 PM - To R

Maybe it's the drinks giving me the courage to text you again. Though I promised myself I wouldn't. Hell, I claimed I'd never be that guy at a bar. But I'm here, cold, wishing I was between your warm legs.

21:23 PM - To R

Realized the message I sent wasn't right to send to someone's almost wife. But I don't care. Tell me does he make you scream like I can?

22:40 PM - To R

I miss smelling your hair. Why won't you talk to me? Just say something.

23:25 PM - To R

Yur laugh is one of the things I love about you. I knw u think it sounds silly sometimes but I lov it.

01:38 AM - To R

Iiii leov you need you

03:42 AM - To R

U don deserf me can I smell yo hair

04:15 AM - To R

Adkk ekfkanfka dkdlih

05:09 AM - To R

PLiz ddont llev

Regret is a slow poison, creeping up my throat as I scroll through the messages, each one worse than the last. And the voice messages? I can't even bring myself to listen.

I need to get myself together.

The details of last night slip through my fingers like sand. I woke up on the couch, head pounding, stomach churning, and no memory of how I got there. Johnny, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. He filled me in between fits of laughter, but all I could focus on was the weight of my own humiliation.

She hasn't answered.

Which is good. Right?

I try not to dwell on it as I work, ignoring Johnny's snickers. But when I hear someone else say they'll come find me, I freeze.

And then I see her.

Gina.

***

Her hair is longer, brushing her shoulders in soft waves. But everything else is the same—the emerald eyes, the freckles dusted across her cheeks like constellations. The ghost of a girl I once knew, standing in front of me.

Why is she here?

Over lunch, we sit across from each other in the local sandwich shop. The conversation is light—her animated retellings of far-off places, wild adventures, skydiving, exotic foods. She speaks, but my mind keeps circling the question I need to ask.

"Why did you come to see me, Gina?"

She stops mid-sentence, blinking.

"I wanted to catch up." She sips her lemonade, eyes darting away.

I arch a brow, skeptical. "Is this your way of indirectly asking if I'm over you sleeping with my friend?"

Color floods her cheeks. She shifts, uncomfortable. "I told you before—I didn't mean for that to happen."

Once upon a time, that excuse burned like acid in my veins. Back then, losing her felt like losing a limb. Losing him felt like losing a part of myself. But I'm tired. Tired of carrying pain. I have enough of it with Raquel.

"I'm not going to yell. I just don't get why you're suddenly so eager to see me. You used to avoid places you thought were dirty."

Her gaze sharpens. "I've changed," she says simply. "And I owe you an apology. A real one. I ran away back then, and that wasn't fair to you."

The anger that would have once consumed me barely flickers.

I nod. "Fine. Apology accepted."

She exhales, shoulders loosening.

I take a sip of my drink. "Thought you'd never come back."

For a moment, she hesitates, then looks away.

"Well," she murmurs, "when you're miles away in a foreign land, you start to feel a pull. A need to return to something familiar. Something that feels like home."

I don't say anything.

Because for some of us, home isn't a place.

It's a person.