Achieving Unbroken
Chapter Forty One

—

"Bed bugs only bite the lonely
Baby I've got scares from
wishing you could hold me"
Another Summer Night Without You | Alexander 23

—

Lilla
[Friday, July 30th, 2018 - 11:48 PM]

"It was all over the news in the next week," Jason continues. "'Teenage son of owners of Oakland Law dead of a drug overdose.' Friends and distant relatives kept calling and thinking that it was me who died. My parents told them it was Joey. They said 'oh, that was the younger one'. It really only made things worse."

"Oh my God," is close to all that I can think of saying right now. We had all gotten the "key words" at school and on the news: Joey, death, overdose.

But the details, the play-by-play, were more horrific than I could have ever imagined.

I feel the sudden need to go punch Charlie Felds, too.

"Like I've told you before, a lot of changes were made in my family that affected him in a disastrous way. After that night, I slowly trailed through the stages of grief: refusing to believe he was gone, angrily blaming myself for not seeing signs and my parents for making such huge decisions, wondering if I turned to alcohol or drugs the pain would go away. This whole time, I was simultaneously experiencing the depression stage, which I was heavy in when junior year started. The school year dragged on, I got better, and then... You."

I turn my head away from the rolling waves to face him.

"Me?"

I'm the reason he's on the track to being at peace with himself and Joey?

His eyes shift, and tear into mine, grabbing on so strong that I can't look away unless he does first. The idea of blinking is nonexistent.

"Yes, you. Everyone at school was too scared to be bothered with me. And maybe it's because you knew Joey, unlike everybody else, but you showed me that I deserve to be able to start moving on. No one had done that. No one had shown to me that I needed to be heard, and that I could get out of the hole that I had dug for myself. No one had shown me that... God... I don't know how to really say it."

I bring my hand up to lightly clutch his arm, rubbing my thumb against the soft fabric of his sweatshirt.

"Just try, its only me."

A few strangled breaths later, he figures out a way to put it.

"No one had showed me that how I continued to go about life mattered. My parents have made a habit of tendencies that they developed after his death. Loraine won't eat, Mom doesn't sleep and spends most nights at the firm, and Dad has just become so skeptical and such an asshole. Kinda like me, I guess."

At this realization, Jason pulls his body away, and faces back towards the ocean. I keep my hold on his arm.

"Hey," I tug on his arm, "you are not an asshole. You went through something that the majority of kids at Bringham won't ever experience. They all heard about what happened and had made their own poor judgement calls. I wouldn't want to talk to anybody, either."

He doesn't have a response. I think he's going through the past year in his mind, like he has been this whole time. This is something he hasn't hashed out with himself, or anyone else, for awhile. What surprises me most, though, is that he got through the story with only a few tears to cry. He had frozen up when he tried explain the moment he found his brother, and was hesitant while getting into details; everything was fuzzy and blurred and piercing in his memory.

"You know, when Piper and Peyton and Allison first told me, I didn't even stick around long enough to hear how it happened. I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall for an hour. That was when I called you— Or, Joey."

I notice his eyes flicker to me at that.

"I was in denial too. Your brother was a great kid, Jace, and I had so much fun tutoring him. I didn't wanna think that such a young kid, with his whole life ahead of him, got his future taken away. That's why I called. And when you answered... It was a done deal. I spent first period crying."

Tension, that I didn't realize had locked up his body, released. His shoulders slouched, almost in relief. I see his nostrils flare as he exhales through his nose.

"Every time I saw it on the news, I would turn to my mom or dad and I'd always say 'Joey's like Andrew Wood. He wasn't a drug addict.'"

Now, I have Jason's attention back.

"Andrew Wood? The lead singer for Mother Love Bone?"

"Andrew Wood died of an overdose the first time he tried heroine. He wasn't a drug addict. And you say that Joey wasn't either."

"He wasn't."

"Exactly. That's why he's like Andrew Wood."

Neither of us say more. I let him process, and I have some processing to do myself; not just the story of Joey's death, but Jason telling me he went into the stage of acceptance when I came along.

It makes me nervous. What if I can't do for him what he thinks I can? I'm on a pedestal. What if I fall?

The worry and guilt sink in my stomach, deep.

What if I am giving him false hope?

I can't stop helping him. According to Jason, I already have helped him more than I thought. And I'm beyond excited that I am.

I just don't want to let him down.

Letting Jason down is my worst nightmare. I couldn't do it. The thought brings tears to my eyes, and before I know it, the mix of tiredness and thinking about Joey and Jason's pain are exposing the tears to the chill of the night.

"I really do care, you know," my voice rasps. A tear slips from my skin and on my arm. "About how you continue on from this point. About your family. About you."

He turns to me, his own tears glimmering in his eyes. I suddenly feel out of place, because I'm not the one who had to find my brother dead on a bathroom floor, because I am not the one who just had to relive it.

I shouldn't be crying.

Mentally cursing myself, I tuck my sleeves over my hands and drag them over my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "This isn't my place to be crying, I'm being so disrespectful, I—"

I get abruptly cut off by his hand sliding along my cheek. He's still staring at me, expression softer now, and his hand is hot on my face. His thumb is rubbing back and forth against my cheek, getting rid of any remaining tears and wet spots. Neither of us dare to say anything.

If we say something, this moment made of glass gets thrown to the floor.

Somehow, his face is closer to mine than it just was. A deer caught in the headlights, I don't move away.

His face is closer now.

Closer.

I can feel him breathing on my face, cool and a contrast to the heat his hand is creating on my face.

God, no bad breath again. How does this boy do it???

Whatever is about to happen, it shouldn't. Not right now. No matter how badly I want it, no matter how much this awful and rule-breaking part of my mind is screaming to just move a little closer, and tilt my head, and indulge in the dreams I've been having. I tell myself to stop staring needy at his mouth and to pull away.

We just had a long, straining discussion about his dead brother. He's vulnerable. Do it when you two are happy, when the moment is more romantic, when the guilt won't pound you through and through instantly after.

"Will you come back to the house with me?" My voice sounds fragile. I can't tell what he's thinking; if he's disappointed, relieved, or like he's just realizing what was about to happen.

A millisecond later and my face is cold, he's standing up, offering his hand to help me up. I accept it and mumble a thank you.

We keep a steady foot between each other as we begin to make our way to the stairs, like if we are any closer we won't be able to control ourselves.

I'm still giving myself a pat on the back for my self control earlier.

Even so, I feel weird not comforting him, or touching him, because as much as we will deny it; we have been pretty physical lately. I've enjoyed it, and he isn't opposed to it as far as I'm concerned.

Deciding to take a risk, I slink my right arm around his waist, tugging him to my side so that I can rest my head on the edge of his shoulder. His sweatshirt smells like the salt water at the beach. And, in response, I feel him drape his left arm around my shoulders, keeping me close. I grin into his sweatshirt.

Him and I walk the rest of the way to the house in each other's embrace. When we reach the back door and slip inside as quietly as possible, the two of us pause before separating into our respective bedrooms. Jason looks hesitant.

"You're worried about having a nightmare, aren't you?"

The way he looks at me after I ask gives it away.

"If I was with you, would it make you feel better?"

His eyes go wide.

"No, Lilly, I couldn't ask you to—"

"Hey," I cut him off. "In the few months I've known you, you have proven yourself to be one of the most respectful and loyal people I've ever met. If you aren't uncomfortable, I'm not either. We've shared a lot with each other in the short time time we've been talking, and it's made us really close. If it will decrease your chances of having a nightmare, I want to do whatever I can."

I can see him mentally debating with himself over the idea. It's sweet that he's worried about me being uncomfortable, but honestly, after hearing all that, I wouldn't mind the comfort either. Without a word, he reaches his hand out, and I instantly take it. He pulls me into him and Patrick's bedroom, where Patrick is clearly asleep if his snoring is any indication.

When we approach Jason's bed, he stops and stares at it for a moment.

"You get in first," I whisper to him. Giving me a final look, he gently peels the covers back and crawls into the bed. He leaves the blankets open for me, and I slip in beside him, pressing my back against his chest so we can both fit. "You good?" I tilt my head back to ask.

"Yeah," he rasps, sounding breathless. I do my best to avoid the pounding of his heart on my shoulder.

I feel his hand on my hip, and it cautiously tries to move across my stomach, asking for silent permission. Holding back a giggle, I lace my fingers with his and tug his arm across my torso, holding it in place. I feel him sigh in relief behind me, the air brushing against my hair.

I don't allow myself to fall asleep until I feel Jason's breathing even out behind me. Once I do, my eyes flutter shut, and I welcome the sleep that overcomes me.

Jason doesn't wake up the entire night.