XLIII. you needed me but you needed drugs more

      When Bridger lost his mom, his entire world changed. He had everything. He lived on Figure Eight in a nice house, he had the nicest clothes, he partied with his friends. He went to fancy dinners at the country club. He got whatever he asked for. Bridger was the poster boy for a privileged life. But his mom meant everything to him. He put her over everything, even his own father. It was Bridger and Jana against the world. He didn't want to know a life without her until he was forced to.

Her death caused the kaleidoscope he was always peering into to disappear and Bridger had no choice but to see the world for what it really was, a goddamn tragedy. No amount of alcohol he digested or drugs he took could take away the pain of losing his mother. He felt her ghost linger in his home. He saw her everywhere he turned, her sweet smile and kind eyes haunting.

A son's heart is a cage that exiles by never quite remembering each other your bleeds as its own and thing yearning into a knot where the heart should be.

With each step he took toward the Cameron Estate, the more it felt like shackles were on his ankles, making it harder for bridger to reach the door. He shouldn't have been there. He knew that. There was a grieving family behind those walls. But he understood perfectly. He wanted to be there for Sarah. He wanted her to know that he was there.

When Rose answered the door, she sighed. "Bridger, now's not a good time."

"I know, Rose. I'm sorry. But I—"

"You'll have to come another time."

"No, Rose, it's okay." Sarah appeared behind her step mom. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her hair was straggly, pushed behind her ears. "I want him here."

Rose looked hesitant, but eventually, she let Bridger into their home and she walked away, her sniffles echoing in the quiet home. "Hey, I know I shouldn't be here but I didn't want you to be alone." He spoke quietly.

Sarah sniffled. "No," she shook her head. "Thank you for being here. I. . ." She sniffled again and her chin started to quiver. "I don't know."

Bridger stepped forward and hugged her. Her arms circled around his torso while his wrapped around her shoulders, and he put his hand on the back of her head. Sarah cried into his shoulder, her hands pressed firmly to the back of his shirt. "I-I-I just can't get it out of my head." She sulked.

"I get it. Believe me, I do."

"I just can't believe he's gone." She choked on one of her cries.

Bridger rubbed the back of her hair. "Listen, if you want to come stay with me, you can. You and Wheezie. You can have a room to yourselves. You're always welcome." He whispered.

Footsteps coming into the room is what made them look up. Bridger saw Rafe and he paused when he saw the pair. His face and eyes were bright red from crying, and a glass of whisky was in his hand. Sarah sniffled and wiped her face with her shirt sleeve. The boys locked eyes.

Rafe looked away and went upstairs, Bridger's eyes following him.

Thinking about what their friendship used to be put Bridger into a depressed state. He was so young when he met Rafe. Their age difference caused a difference in maturity levels, and Bridger should've known better than to follow in his footsteps. But he was young and naive, vulnerable, and Rafe was his best friend. They were like brothers. Him and Sarah like brother and sister. All three of them so close in age, so close in friendship. If love is a thing held in common, they all had it in common.

But things were different now. Bridger was sure they'd never be able to go back to the way things were. Too much has happened, so much betrayal, so much heartbreak. But Bridger understood the pain of losing a parent. Rafe was the eldest. He had more time with Ward than any of them. Even if their relationship was complicated, Rafe loved his father unconditionally.

He was sat on his bed with his head in his hands, crying to himself with the glass of whisky on his bedside table. Bridger stood at the entrance of his room, afraid to move and afraid to speak.

When Rafe saw his shoes, he looked up, his red eyes on display. "What are you doing here?" He hiccuped.

"I don't really know." Bridger answered honestly.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I know."

"He's gone."

"I know."

Rafe's bottom lip trembled and he cried again. He pressed his fist to his mouth and looked at his bedroom floor. "H-H-He took the blame for everything. W-Why would he do that — Why would l-leave like that?" He stuttered uncontrollably.

Bridger took a small step further into his bedroom. He stopped and put his hands in his shorts pockets, trying to hide the trembling.

"W-W-Why would he leave us? Why would he leave me?" Rafe continued to stutter and he rocked himself back and forth like a petrified little boy who always yearned for his father's love, the love he only showed his daughters.

Bridger swallowed a painful lump in his throat. There was a part of him that wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him that everything was going to be okay, like he could do so easily with Sarah. But he couldn't. The thought made him sick. Being in the room with him made him nauseous. They were no longer the boys they were in the beginning. They weren't brothers. They were strangers who knew each other's secrets.

They stared at each other, Rafe desperate to feel love and Bridger only being able to love him with a shovel in hand. "Go ahead." He muttered.

When Rafe hugged him, he hugged him tightly, and Bridger stood there frozen. Rafe's long arms were wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep from feeling sick. What could he say to make him feel better, the boy that used to be his brother? "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Rafe said repeatedly while crying, his grip on the boy tightened.

Bridger tried to take his mind somewhere else, but he couldn't. All he could focus on was where he was now. Hugging the person who his friends hated the most. The person who hurt him time after time, and Bridger just kept letting him. His father just died, Bridger. Show some compassion. He felt ashamed to be in this position.

"I-I-I know things are different now, and that I fucked up our friendship, but, I love you, Bridge. I'm sorry." Rafe cried and his chest shook with sobs. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I miss you."

Bridger released the tears from his closed eyes and they fell down his face. Finally, he brought his hands up and put them on Rafe's back, his shame drowning him. He was lying. He was trapped in his own depression. He didn't miss you. He doesn't love you. He doesn't love anyone. At one point, Rafe needed him. He needed his best friend by his side, but he needed the drugs more. He wanted the feeling of complete numbness more than to be loved by somebody who deeply cared about him. And Bridger was too young to understand how Rafe was destroying him.

"I love you. It's okay. I can't—I can't forgive you. But, uh, it's okay. I-I-I love you."

Rafe continued to cry. "I'm sorry for ruining everything."

Bridger's throat burned when he swallowed his tears and he felt like he just swallowed poison. The poison burned his skin. Rafe was poison. Bridger allowed the poison to burn him and he suffered in silence.

Bridger and Sarah sat beside each other in her backyard. He felt ashamed to be in his own body, his rubbed red skin itching, and he wanted to peel it off. Both of their eyes were rimmed red and glossy. "I talked to Rafe," he spoke first, his voice hoarse.

Sarah looked at him.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have. He tried to kill you. He hurt me. But I-I had to—"

"It's okay, Bridger." She softly interrupted him. She looked ahead of her again. "You can't let him get in your head again. He'll ruin you."

"I'm already ruined."

Sarah played with the bracelets on her wrists, and she toyed with the bandana she had wrapped around her neck. "I think I have to break up with John B."

Bridger looked at her. "What?"

She licked her lips. "I can't stay with him, B."

"Sarah—"

"You saw his reaction. He looked. . .relieved." Sarah blinked and her eyes went glossy again. "What am I supposed to do with that?" Her voice cracked.

"He loves you, Sare. Like, he's in love with you."

She stared at him and her chin started to tremble. "And I love him. But. . .I don't feel loved. I feel scared. How is that you understand and he doesn't? How?"

"I don't know. I don't know." Bridger quickly shook his head. He rubbed the back of his neck. It was a hard situation. One that neither her nor John B deserved to be in. He loved them both. "I'm still going to be your best friend."

"So you think I should do it?" She asked him, almost like the she was wanting him to talk her out of it.

"I think you should do whatever is right for you." He told her and looked her way again. "I can't tell you what to do, Sarah. But you just went through something awful. You're grieving. It's okay to take time for yourself. Like I said, John B loves you. He'll understand. But you need to understand him, too."

It was a hard thing to love someone so much when you're struggling on the inside. Bridger knew all about it. "We're too young to be feeling these heavy things."

When Bridger returned to his house, he walked into his room and saw JJ on his bed, sleeping. His shirt was on the floor and he was on his stomach, his face buried into the pillow and his blonde hair surrounded his head like a curtain. His sudden footsteps in the room caused him to wake up. "Baby?" He said groggily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake up." Bridge said quietly and he kicked off his shoes.

"No, no, it's alright. Just taking a cat nap. Your bed's comfortable as hell." JJ sat up and rubbed his eyes. When he blinked, he saw Bridger's red and splotchy face. "Hey, have you been crying?"

"Uh. . ." He rubbed his face and cleared his throat. "No, it's just, uh, allergies. That time of the year."

"You're the worst liar in the world."

"Yeah, I know."

JJ got up and sat on the edge of the bed. "What's going on?" He asked with concern.

Bridger licked his lips and stared at his shoes. He was still feeling unsettled from earlier, and his skin still burned. He felt like a tragedy. "I went to Sarah's to see how she was going. And I, uh. . . I talked to Rafe. We talked, yeah. Just me and him."

"You talked to Rafe." JJ repeated.

"I couldn't help myself."

"Rafe, the guy who got you hooked on drugs and tried to kill his own sister?"

"I know, okay?" Bridger raised his voice as well as his head. He brought his trembling hands to the back of his neck. "But you don't get it, J. His dad just died. My mom's dead. We were b-best friends." He accidentally stuttered, which caused JJ's face to fall sorrowful. "Now I feel like an idiot. I keep letting him get in my head and making me think he still cares, but he doesn't."

"Hey, it's okay." JJ shot up from the bed. He took his hands and brought the down from his neck. Then he wrapped his own around his neck and brought him downward, Bridger's face hiding into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm listening. I promise."

Bridger closed his eyes and felt tears fall down his face. "I hate him so much."

"No, you don't. And it's okay." JJ assured him and rubbed the back of his neck.

"But I do."

"You don't."

Bridger wrapped his arms around his torso and bright JJ closer to him when he felt himself cry more. JJ kissed his jaw. "I love you. I love you. I'm so sure about it." Bridger cried into his shoulder. "I choose you, okay? I'll always choose you first."

JJ blinked his eyes, the statement confusing him but it warmed him at the same time. "I choose you too, Bridge. Always." He whispered to him, and he truly had no idea how much it meant to Bridger. Because he would put him first even if nobody else would.

"I'll always choose you first" = Rafe chose drugs over their friendship but Bridger and JJ will always choose each other before anything else