The viscous disease rooted inside my soul is vast and out for blood. It’s ruthless and unrelenting. And I’m quickly running out of reasons to keep fighting against it.
The pain is loud and determined to be heard. Blocking out any sense of reason I used to have. It haunts me everywhere I turn, whispering its intrusive thoughts into my mind. Poisoning me with its needs.
What if I just ended it all? Went to sleep and never woke up.
Would there be hope for me on the other side? Whatever it is on the other side.
Would I finally be free?
Happy?
Would my suffering be over?
The voice is growing louder by the day. The one telling me it’s for the best. Convincing me I won’t be missed. It’s probably right, too.
After carefully studying every change I’ve noticed on my body, I redress, exiting the bathroom. The lights are off, nothing but the glow from the setting sun illuminating my room.Not Just Breathingby The Plot in You is blaring from my speaker as I plop onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Camden and Elias are gone. Probably for the best. They’ve both given up on trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, but the lingering stares and the concerned expressions haven’t stopped. They, too, would probably be better without me here. They wouldn’t have to worry constantly about their pathetic roommate. The one who can never seem to be happy.
Maybe they’re finally starting to see that I’m nothing but a bunch of storm clouds and devastation. There’s no hope for someone like me.
My phone lights up on the nightstand, pulling my attention from my thoughts. Grabbing it, I’m surprised to see the name that pops up. I was sure I’d never hear from him again after the other day.
Jules: We need to talk. It’s been three days…
I consider not replying. It’s better to cut my losses and move on than drag this out any longer. It’s inevitable to end up in the pits. But I’m nothing if not a glutton for punishment, a true masochist, and starved for attention, just like Ryan said.
Me: There’s nothing to talk about.
Jules: Are you joking? There is plenty we need to talk about, Bodhi.
Me: There’s no point. It was fun while it lasted, but we both had to have known it wouldn’t go anywhere.
Jules: You’re fucking infuriating.
Jules: I’m outside.
Blowing out a heavy sigh, I drop the phone on my chest. Of fucking course, he’s outside. Why would he not be?Mr. I’ve Never Been Told No.Before I can even decide what to do, another text comes in.
Jules: Let me in, Bodhi.
Jules: Now.
“God, so fucking annoying,” I grumble to nobody but myself as I roll off my bed, leaving my room and heading for the front door. His impatient ass is already standing on the porch when I pull open the door. He shoves through, not even waiting for me to step aside and let him in. Making a beeline for my bedroom like a man on a mission, he leaves me to follow as if he just knows I will.
Closing the door to my room behind me, I rest my back against it, watching him but not saying anything. He’s pacing the length of my bed, hands clasped behind him, head down. He’s got on an olive-green Raglan waffle shirt with a sinfully tight pair of dark black sweatpants that show off way more of his bulge than appropriate if you look hard enough, and a pair of what I think are UGG slippers. His hair is a wreck atop his head, going every which way, making it more than obvious that he’s been running his fingers through it, and the bags under his eyes are almost as bad as mine.
We stand there in uncomfortable silence, aside from Beartooth’sDiseaseplaying quietly in the background, for several long moments. The music was much louder, but apparently Jules took it upon himself to turn it down when he stormed into my room. The tension in the air is so thick, it’s stifling, but I refuse to break the silence.
Finally—and abruptly—he stops pacing and turns toward me. “I’m so angry with you.” The roughness to his voice sends a chill down my spine.
“Yeah, join the club.”
“There were plenty of opportunities where you could’ve slipped that little bit of information in, Bodhi.”
I can do nothing but stare at him. There’s nothing I can say that will make it better. Nothing I can do that will take us back in time, allowing me to correct my fuck up. Nothing that will change the trajectory of our future—or lack thereof. There is nousin either of our futures. We aren’t destined to be together. We won’tbeat the odds.
Iwon’t beat the odds.
