---
I growled and clenched my jaw so tightly it hurt.
Who the hell is that?
Why can't they leave me alone?
I don't need anyone coming here pretending to care, only to walk away the moment it becomes inconvenient.
Just like Sandy.
I shoved the clothes that were on my bed, letting them fall to the floor in a messy heap. The motion was wild, desperate. I grabbed the blanket, pulled it over my head, and curled into myself. My hands flew up to my ears, pressing hard to block out the world.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This time, the knocks were louder. Even with my palms pressed to my ears, I heard them.
"Jolls!"
Sam's voice cut through the door.
My eyes squeezed shut.
My chest tightened.
I inhaled sharply, trying to steady the tremble inside me.
I am never letting anyone get close to me again.
I repeated the words silently, like a prayer — or a warning.
"Are you okay?" Sam called, voice soft, dripping with concern.
That made it worse.
Softness hurts more than anger.
"Please open up."
I buried myself deeper under the blanket, keeping my hands over my ears. My breathing was uneven, shaky — the sound of someone trying not to drown.
Don't let them in.
Don't let them see you like this.
"JOLLS!" Sam slammed her palm on the door again. "Open the door!"
My heartbeat sped up, hitting my ribs like it wanted to escape. I squeezed my eyes shut and rocked slightly.
"Leave me alone," I whispered to myself, barely audible.
There were more voices now — muffled, hurried whispers on the other side of the door. I could recognize the panic even through the wood.
Then I heard the last voice I didn't need to hear.
Brandon.
"Open this door or I'll break it down!" he yelled. "You know I always keep my word!"
My stomach dropped.
Not him.
Not now.
I sat up abruptly, searching for my phone. My hands shook as I unlocked it. I opened Sam's chat.
> I'm fine. I just need to be alone. I'll talk later.
I stared at the message for a moment before pressing send.
Then I powered off the phone and tossed it away like it burned.
Outside, low voices murmured.
Sam's voice rose again.
"Fine!" she shouted. "But I'm just a call away."
I felt a small ache in my chest.
Brandon followed, louder, stubborn.
"Chase and I are here too. If you need anything — anything — you call."
His words were warm.
Almost comforting.
For a moment, I wanted to believe them.
But then reality slid back in.
They would leave too.
People always do.
Tears slipped down my cheeks silently.
I curled into myself again beneath the blanket, eyes squeezed shut until exhaustion pulled me under.
---
When I opened my eyes, everything was dark except for the weak glow from the digital clock on the nightstand.
9:00 PM.
My head throbbed, pounding like a drum. My throat felt raw and dry, like I'd swallowed sand. I reached for the lamp and flicked it on.
The light was a knife.
I winced, shutting my eyes hard, rubbing my temples before forcing them to adjust. My vision slowly cleared.
Then it hit me.
The memory.
The words.
'We can't be friends anymore.'
I had been fine — until I wasn't.
Until she stood there and said it like I didn't matter.
My breathing started to quicken.
My chest tightened painfully.
No. No. No. I can't break again.
I grabbed my phone and opened a delivery app. My hand hovered, but I pressed order anyway.
---
Five minutes later:
Knock. Knock.
I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled to the door like a ghost.
"Hi," the delivery guy saidas his eyes widened. "Here's your order."
His eyes scanned my face — red, puffy, swollen from crying — and his expression shifted to pity.
He didn't say anything else.
Good.
I shut the door before he could.
In the kitchen, I pulled out a tumbler, twisted the cap off the vodka bottle, and poured.
The smell hit me first — sharp, chemical, familiar.
I took one long sip.
Then I abandoned the tumbler entirely and drank straight from the bottle.
Tears blurred my vision as liquid burned down my throat.
Her.
She left.
Him.
He left too.
My grandparents.
Gone.
Everyone leaves.
"What is wrong with me?" I whispered to the empty kitchen. "Why can't I keep people?"
I swallowed more.
And more.
The alcohol burned — and the burn felt like relief.
I kicked the stool.
"Ow—shit!"
Pain shot up my toe, but it only fueled something inside me.
I slammed my hand on the counter, sending everything crashing to the floor.
The clatter was loud.
Shattering.
Satisfying.
I collapsed to the tiles. The cold hit my skin. A wave of shivers rolled through me.
I lifted the bottle again.
Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto my lips, mixing with the vodka.
"This hurts," I whispered, choking on a sob.
I tilted my head back and drank — again and again — until the bottle was halfway empty.
"Everyone leaves," I choked out. "Everyone—"
My voice broke.
My throat burned.
I am unlovable.
The thought shot through me like lightning.
I slammed my fist against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Over and over.
Pain radiated through my knuckles.
By the time I stopped, there was red smeared on the paint.
I slid down to the floor.
I lay flat on my back, staring at the ceiling through blurry vision.
My head spun.
The room tilted.
Suddenly, nausea surged.
I stumbled to the bathroom, knocking down the soap dispenser on the way. The clatter echoed like thunder.
I didn't make it to the toilet.
I dropped to my knees.
My body heaved.
After, I crawled into the corner and curled myself up tightly. My arms wrapped around my knees. My chin pressed to my chest. I rocked.
"You did this to yourself," I whispered.
"You let her in. You always let them in."
I bit down on my own arm, needing something — anything — to ground me.
The metal taste of blood hit my tongue.
---
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"JOLLS! OPEN UP!"
I flinched violently.
Sam. Her voice was shaky — scared.
"I'm not asking again!"
My breath hitched.
I rocked faster.
My nails dug into my skin.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Brandon's voice thundered, harsher.
"This is your last chance."
"GO AWAY!" I screamed. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Silence.
Then:
"If you don't open this door — I'm calling the police!"
My vision blurred.
The bottle slipped from my fingers as everything went dark.