Her hands fumbled for mine before she remembered they were wrapped up like some tragic Halloween costume. Instead, she grabbed my arm. “You’re a mess, Bev. And I know that because I know you. You think I don’t see what’s happening? I just... I don’t understand why you didn’t call me.”

“What would you have done?”

“I don’t know! Anything!” Her voice cracked again as she shook her head. “I could’ve been there. I could’ve… I don’t know, just been with you. I should’ve been there.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice flat. “So you could make some big scene about how tragic my life is? So you could⁠—”

“Stop it,” she cut in. Her eyes widened, hurt flashing in them. “Stop acting like I don’t care, Bev. I know you’re mad,” she said, her voice softer now. “I know you’re hurting. But you don’t get to push me away just because you think you can do this alone.” Her fingers tightened around my arm again. “I love you, Beverly. Okay? I’m here because I love you. Not because I want to make a scene. Not because I want to turn this into some big dramatic thing. I’m here because you’re my best friend, and I’m scared. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard you try to make me.”

I swallowed hard, my chest too tight and heavy.

She wasn’t supposed to say that.

She wasn’t supposed to call it what it was.

My vision blurred as tears welled up again, stinging my already exhausted eyes. “I’m just so tired,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Tiffany stood abruptly, leaned over, and wrapped her arms around me. I couldn’t even lift my hands to hug her back, but I buried my face in her shoulder and let myself break.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You don’t have to know how, Bev. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Tiffany’s right,” Jamal chimed in. “You don’t have to figure it all out today.”

Tiffany nodded. “Yeah,” she said, sniffling. “You just have to… I don’t know, keep breathing, I guess.”

“Breathing feels like shit.”

She let out a small, choked laugh. “I know.”

Jamal glanced at my bandaged hand. “You gonna do it again?”

I frowned. “Do what?”

He gestured vaguely in my direction. “Break more shit. Destroy more rooms.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Tiffany pulled back to look at me. “Okay, well…if you do, can you maybe not use your hand next time?” She tried to smile. “Maybe like…a pillow? A punching bag? Or scream into a blanket? Hell, I’ll buy you a baseball bat and an old TV if you need something to smash.”