Achieving Unbroken
Chapter Twenty Three

—

"Let me photograph you in this light,
In case this is the last time that we might
Be exactly like we were, before we realized"
When We Were Young | Adele

—

Jason
[Friday, April 29th, 2017 - 7:08 AM]

"... Well, uh— When you want breakfast, it's outside of your door," Carl's small voice mumbles. "Mom said that Dad helped her. They thought you would like it," he finishes. My heart folds over itself at hearing how afraid and awkward he sounds. I want to talk to him. But my mouth does not even feel like it can form words, getting confused by all of my broken thoughts.

The image of the needle falling from his arm.

How pale he was.

No pulse. No pulse. No pulse.

I could have saved him if I had gotten there sooner.

My breathing becomes painful as my chest cramps, and I let out choked breaths in between fiery tears that race down my face and drip onto my pillow. My hand curls into a fist around the pillow that I'm laying on in a lame attempt to calm myself.

This is Joey's pillow, complete with his blue plaid pillowcase and the soy sauce stain when we ate potstickers in his bed during a Terminator marathon on TV. This blanket is Joey's, too; his baby blanket that Granny Kath knitted for him for his first birthday, that he had to bring with him on his first day of preschool.

I reach out for the Gatorade that Penny left outside of my door last night, the Gatorade that I retrieved at 2:00 AM because there was no way I was going to sleep. It's a lemon-lime flavored one. That is... Was Joey's favorite flavor.

I think Penny did that on purpose. And it makes me oddly grateful. Maybe it's because she put in the thought to bring me that, because Joey literally drank it like water and refused to drink anything else. Maybe it's because she hasn't really pressured me into leaving my room, or talking, and just left a Gatorade, like a sign that she was there for me. Maybe it's because she knew Joey's favorite drink.

Maybe it is all of those things.

When I drink some of it, I wince a little. I always hated the flavor, you know? I was always a Glacier Freeze kid, and Joey would love to just shove the lemon-lime down my throat. It was our thing. One day we got in this huge fight and Dad, Penny and Carl came home to us both drenched in our least favorite Gatorade flavors and a floor wet enough to make a slip 'n slide. Even after showering, we still felt sticky for days.

It feels weird, having all kinds of odd and ignored memories flooding back to me abruptly. I never used to think of this stuff before. But now, with the circumstances... It feels like every experience I've ever had with my little brother has suddenly returned to my mind.

Something else that I have with me is his phone. We have the same phone, so it's sitting on my charger next to my bed, resting face up on my nightstand. It was really low on battery that night. At the hospital, after it was all over, the nurses proceeded to hand me a plastic bag filled with Joey's belongings that he had on him. It was the basic stuff; phone and wallet, phone dangerously low on battery. And that night, as I stumbled back into my room, I had the thought that when Joey comes back he will want to use his phone.

I woke up to realize that Joey wasn't coming back, and I've been bathing in that news for days. I haven't taken his phone off of the charger.

Shockingly, the phone starts ringing, and I'm thinking that my mind is playing tricks on me. This isn't real. This isn't going to be my brother calling from an otherworldly place to just 'check in'. My heart stops beating for a panicked few moments.

Eyes blurry with remembering the harsh reality that he isn't around to answer the phone, I rip it away from the charger and swipe to answer, not bothering to check the caller ID. Time to deliver the message to the idiot that hasn't heard.

"Hello?"

I look around to see if there's somebody else in the room. Yes, I opened my mouth, but the voice wasn't mine. It couldn't have belonged to me.

But no one is in my room. And the person on the other line didn't speak. In fact, they still haven't spoken. All I can hear is deep breaths. My shaky hand pulls the phone from my ear to check the contact name.

It's Lilla. Lilla Harris.

Has she not heard by now? I thought that guy Peyton would have blabbed to all of Bringham at this point. And if he hasn't, I'm sure that the news outlets were on this story like white on rice.

"Successful Lawyers' Son Dead Of A Drug Overdose".

Everywhere.

"Lilla?" I rasp. She lets out a little gasp, like it's just hitting her. Like she was in denial.

"Ja— Jason?" She asks incredulously.

She knows. If she didn't, she knows now.

I hang up on her without another word. I don't want to talk to her about this, I don't want to talk to anyone.

Lilla sounded upset. Wherever she was, it was quiet; like she was calling from an empty classroom and not the cafeteria that's currently suffering from their before-school rush hour.

I wonder how she found out the news. I ponder about how she reacted, or is currently reacting, and overall I think about why the hell she called Joey's phone. My body rolls over to face the other direction, to face the wall with the door. Tears rise into my eyes, and I burry my face into the pillow that still smells like Joey's stupid body spray.

It really just rubs salt in the wound. Everyone around me discovering the fact that my brother is dead. The truth surrounds me, drowns me, and the whispers suffocate me.

I don't plan on leaving this room.

That way, the demons that lurk outside of this barrier, this protective space, this sanctuary, cannot get to me. I hear them tap at the windows, busy themselves outside of my bedroom door, haunting me at all hours. Maybe that's a part of why I can't sleep.

But, I'm pretty sure that it is the images of four nights ago that chase each other through the fucked up landscape that is my brain.

No one and nothing will leave me alone.

I'm stuck here.

My stomach growls, loud in the silent room. Groaning, I heave myself off of the mattress, forcing my exhausted muscles to work for just a few steps. My hand clutches the door handle, and I turn it ever so slowly to ensure that I do this without a sound. I pull the door open, just wide enough so that I can slide the plate of steaming eggs with bacon into my room, swiftly shutting it after the meal is safely inside.

Joey loved bacon and eggs. When we were kids, Dad used to arrange them on the plate to make a smiley face. It always made Joey smile.

That's how they're arranged on the plate right now. Two stunningly round eggs placed next to each other playing as eyes, and four ambrosial pieces of bacon set up as a smiley mouth.

"Mom said that Dad helped her."

The corners of my mouth tip up, and at the same time, my eyes refill so fast that the tears instantly spill out and onto the eggs.

"Thank you," I cry to myself. "Thank you."