Page 70 of Anything But Lonely

Not because it hurt more, but because it forced me to see something I’d spent so long trying to ignore.

I’m not numb.

I’m burning. Actively. Constantly. Burning.

And the people who love me—Jack, Rumi, Ava, Anderson—have been standing close enough to feel the heat, watching me turn to ash while I insist there is no fire.

“So,” I start, taking items out of the box one-by-one, just to do something with my hands as Jack organizes a box of paperwork in a file cabinet. There’s tension in the air, like an elephant in the room that neither of us is addressing. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“About what?” he asks, dropping an empty box to his feet before grabbing another and hiking it up onto the desk.

“How you found me,” I answer softly, grabbing a pen from one of the boxes, spinning it between my fingers. “When you came over today.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jack says, “not until you are the one who wants to.”

I let his words sink in, but I don’t say anything.

Admitting that there’s something to talk about is admitting to everything I’ve been avoiding. And I truly think facing it all might kill me.

“I cry every night.” Jack’s admission sits in the air, and my lips part in surprise.

He turns to where I sit on the floor, setting the pile of paper in his hands down on the desk.

“I barely made it through losing Bennett. I thought I’d never experience pain like that,” Jack explains, bringing up how he lost his best friend a few years ago. “And then Mom’s cancer came back,” he continues, “and we lost her.” He shakes his head, dragging a hand over his mouth. “And it hurts a hundred times worse.”

I feel a prickle in my nose as pressure builds behind my eyes, and it doesn’t let up, no matter how much I try to will it away.

“And if I didn’t have Rumi to lean on, or Anderson and Ava, if I didn’t have Evee to live for,” he pauses, his green eyes boring into mine. “I don’t know if I’d be standing right now.”

I look down at the pen in my hands, the sadness building inside of me so overwhelming my knees would be buckling if I wasn’t already sitting.

“You have to lean on others to get through this, Emmy. You can’t do it alone.”

“I’ve been doing just fine until now,” I snap, anger building so suddenly at his words.

“Have you?” Jack asks, his voice raising slightly.

“Tell me, Jack. Where were you when she needed her medications? Or when she threw it all up because of the radiation? What about when she could barely sit up in bed to drink a fucking sip of water? Or when she tried not to cry at the pain?”

“Emerson—”

“Oh, that’s right. You weren’t. Because I was.” I throw the pen I’m holding into the box and shove it away from me.

“I tried my best to be there, Emmy. I really did. You have to know that I never wanted you to deal with all of that on your own, and I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there as much as I wanted to be.” Jack's voice is pleading, and it causes a crack in my chest.

We don’t show emotion. We never have. I learned young—so did Jack.

So watching as he struggles to hold himself together has me losing grip on everything I thought I knew.

“Well, that doesn’t really help us now, does it?” I snap, sinking further into the anger. Because anger is easier. Easier than everything that’s threatening to destroy me right now. “Because I was the one who was there to feel her hand go limp in mine. To hear the machines flatline. To hear her take her last fucking breath. I was there. By myself.” A drop of water falls onto my jeans. It distracts me for a second, my eyes going to the dark spot in the denim.

I look up at the ceiling, wondering how the ceiling could be leaking.

“Where is that water coming from?” I ask as Jack comes down to kneel next to me.

“Emerson,” he says carefully, settling a hand on my shoulder. “You’re crying.”

I press a palm to my face, feeling the streaks of water on my cheeks, my eyes going blurry as I hit my breaking point.