And I do know —his mom, a perpetual disaster, loves him in her own fractured way. She battles her demons and loses to heroin's sweet promises more often than not, leaving Jay to pick up the pieces. Just like I picked up my own mother's pieces after dad's rages, though our broken pieces came from different kinds of battles.

"Take care, Jay." The words carry more meaning than I'll ever admit. In another life, in another Eden, we might have been real brothers instead of just broken boys holding each other's secrets. He cracks a smile that makes him look his age for once—seventeen, and somehow still undefeated despite everything.

"You're still a dick." There's affection buried in the insult, like a flower growing through concrete.

"And you're still the pain in my ass I can't shake,” I call after him.

Without turning back, Jay sticks his middle finger in the air, waves it like a victory flag, and I can't help but laugh.

I linger until he's safely inside, watching the screen door swing shut behind him. The laugh fades as quickly as it came, replaced by a familiar heaviness. Some people you can't save, no matter how much you want to. Sometimes all you can do is watch them burn and hope they rise from their own ashes.

My phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with my mother's name like an accusation. The brief moment of lightness with Jay evaporates, reality crashing back in. Time to face the music at home, where the Wells family waits like an approaching storm I can't outrun.

Pulling into my driveway, dread hits me like a physical blow. The familiar Jeep wedged between the luxury cars stands out like a wound, and my heart slams against my ribs in recognition. My breathing grows shallow, thoughts spiraling into chaos as reality crashes in. The bruises from Monty's grip throb in time with my pulse, a reminder of the violence I just walked away from. Now I'm walking into a different kind of danger altogether.

My phone lights up again with another barrage of texts, each one stoking the rage already burning in my chest.

Farrah

Why are you not answering my calls?

Less than thirty seconds later…

Farrah

Babe, I miss you.

Farrah

Come over so I can show you just how much.

I scoff and chuck my phone onto the passenger seat like it's contaminated.

Not today, Farrah.

Not when I need my head clear, or as clear as it can be with the chaos already screaming inside it. I can't deal with her manufactured drama or anyone else's bullshit until I've dulled these razor edges of anxiety and silenced the demon that's been gnawing on my brain like a starved rat.