Ella

Dark-red lipstick stains the edge of the glass.

I watch as condensation slips down the side. As the whisky melts the ice.

After cleaning the mess at Brenna's place, I trudged home through the snow and poured myself another glass of whisky. It's from a bottle Kaleb left behind a month or two ago. This is something I shouldn't be doing. I've been sitting here for almost four hours. I should sleep off the alcohol. But the more I drink, the more numb I feel.

I can't believe I almost kissed Kaleb.

One could argue I put a stop to it. But no one knew my underlying thoughts except for me. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to reignite all those memories from when we were teenagers. Maybe get a taste of what being fucked by Kaleb Jones is like.

Resting my elbows on my knees, I drop my face into my hands. Fuck. I'm super drunk if I'm cursing like a sailor and thinking about fucking Kaleb.

Fuck.

Kaleb called me Ellie. I haven't heard that nickname since... since...

Sitting up, I gab the glass and chug the rest of my whisky, feeling the ice cubes press against my lips. Then I grab the bottle and fill the glass to the brim. Straight whisky with no water. It looks as horrifying as it tastes, but I force down another sip, letting the liquid burn my throat the way my tears are burning my cheeks.

It's followed by another sip.

And another.

I'll do anything to forget what happened tonight.

Although my actions were allies, my thoughts were the traitors.

I wanted Kaleb's mouth on mine. On parts of my body he's already tasted. I wanted to kiss that ticklish spot between his shoulder and neck, feel him squirm beneath me, trying not to snort while laughing.

When Kaleb's lips brushed mine, past emotions rushed to the surface, nearly drowning me. All I could think about was our relationship in high school. All the ons and offs, and us breaking the rules beneath my father's watchful eyes. The times I snuck out of my bedroom window with Kaleb waiting around the corner in his car. We'd drive to our secret spot and look up at the stars while eating red liquorice and sipping Gatorade.

We were happy.

So fucking happy.

I crave that same happiness. The feeling of his arms being wrapped around me. Whenever I was upset, Kaleb was my anchor. He could centre me in the worst of storms.

I close my eyes, choking on a sob. I loved him so much.

I still love him.

And now I feel like shit, wishing I could turn back the clock and prevent anything from happening.

Picking up the glass, I throw it across the room. The glass shatters, sending glass and whisky everywhere. Whisky soaks the wall and the floor, and I watch as it drips down, leaving a wobbly streak mark.

Staring at the broken glass and soaked wall brings on another wave of emotions.

I sob uncontrollably.

"Remember when KJ was in control of damage control?"

I whip around. My heart continues to race. The tears continue to fall. Even when I see Shea standing in the doorway to the living room, there is still a persistent rush of adrenaline pumping through my blood. He's leaning against the pillar. His arms are crossed, and he's wearing pyjama bottoms with a leather jacket. There's a T-shirt underneath that looks like it's been through the washer one too many times. It also looks like he's swaying back and forth, but that might be the double vision side effect of too much alcohol consumption.

"What are you doing here?" I croak.

Shea pushes away from the doorway, smiling. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Man, if I had a dollar for how many times I've heard that question tonight..." He trails off and climbs over the back of the couch, falling into a sitting position beside me. "KJ sent me here."

My alcohol-soaked brain is already muddled with confusion. "What are you talking about? He was upstairs... He went home. Stormed off after we..."

He shoots me a sympathetic look. "For the record, KJ gave me permission to tell you everything. He's in a... precarious situation right now. Very fragile." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "Melody had a seizure. A bad one. Her body isn't accepting treatment like it did the first time. She won't make it."

Shea doesn't need to explain what he means. Melody will not meet the baby. After all her hard work and the sacrifices she's made, she doesn't get the one thing she wanted. The one thing she deserved.

"No..." My voice cracks and I choke on a sob.

He clears his throat. "She's opting for MAID."

"What?!" I exclaim. "She can't do that! No! Shea!"

Although my words are slurring, Shea seems to understand what I'm saying. He places a hand atop mine. "Ella. This is her final 'fuck you' to cancer. It's her way of beating the illness. She gets to die on her own terms as the Melody we all love. She..." He pauses, wrestling with his words. There are tears welling in his eyes, which make my heart ache like hell. "She deserves this, Ella. The power it gives her. KJ understands, but he's not taking it well. I went to the hospital to help him. He pushed and shoved, but let me comfort him. He, uh, told me what happened."

Shame rushes through my chest. I turn away from Shea, reaching for the bottle. I take another sip, staring at my reflection in the window. When the sun rises, the birds will chirp and the grass will continue to grow, emphasizing the meaning of a brand new day. But something tells me that won't apply to any of us. Tomorrow won't be a brand new day. It'll hold the same lingering sense of shame and hell and sadness.

"Has she chosen a date?" I ask, ignoring Shea's comment.

"When we get back from the trip. A week-and-a-half. It's ensuring she doesn't..." He clears his throat again. "She doesn't..."

I bark out a sarcastic laugh. "Lose her mind? Just fucking say it, Shea."

Shea sighs. "I didn't want to say it, but yes. Treatment can cause lots of things, but she's worried about memory issues. The sooner the better."

Anger pulses through me. I try to stand, but the living room sways. Shea bolts to his feet and grabs my shoulders, holding me in place. When I close my eyes, the room continues to spin. "That stupid cliché-ass saying doesn't apply to this situation. Melody dying sooner makes nothing better, Shea!"

Again, I sway, my knees feeling weak. My stomach does a funny flip.

His grip tights on my shoulders. "There's nothing good about this situation, Ella. But did you ever stop to think about what Melody wants? How much pain she's in? This is her decision. Her right."

My eyes pop open and I slam my fist against Shea's chest. "I almost fucking kissed him, Shea!" I yell. "I stopped it, but I want to. God, I fucking wanted to. So badly." My voice ends on a whisper. With exhaustion and alcohol, I have no energy left to fight. All I want to do is fall asleep beside the toilet and pay for everything I've done tonight, including abusing my body with alcohol. Whatever hangover I have tomorrow, I deserve it.

Shea picks me up like a baby. "Come on, Ella. Let's get you to bed."

I curl against Shea, pressing my face against his chest. His leather jacket smells like cologne, which makes my queasy stomach flip again. "What's wrong with me?"

Shea sighs. "Nothing's wrong with you. It's just a shitty situation."

"Does Kaleb hate me?"

"KJ doesn't hate you."

"Don't lie to me, Shea."

He stops by the hallway entry. "I'm not lying to you. I think you hate yourself. Ella... there's nothing wrong with still loving KJ. Love is the only thing that'll save him once Melody passes. We all need to be there for him, even if it breaks us. Because he's losing someone he loves. The person he wakes up to in the morning. The one who took his last name. Who he met at a fucking concert back home."

Shea doesn't bother hiding his tears. Or the way his chest heaves with each breath.

"He's losing everything he's ever wanted," Shea chokes. He shoots a pointed look at me. "But don't forget you were once that person. You were the first one he fell in love with."

His words send a wave of shock through my impaired nervous system, which makes me bawl harder. Sometimes, I think they invented the truth to kill. Because it feels like the truth has stabbed me in the heart and left me to bleed.

Shea steps through the doorway, holding me close while I sob. My bedroom smells like jasmine and vanilla, but it's never felt so unwelcoming. So lonely.

The thought of being here alone makes the tears fall harder.

"I'm sorry," I sob. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

The bags beneath Shea's eyes look like purple half-moons. "Sometimes, Ella, all we can do is cry."

He's right. That's all I can do. Even as Shea sets me on my bed and tucks me in. When he promises to stay until I fall asleep.

All I do is cry, cry, cry.