Nowhere else to turn, so I call Sam. Hands shake bad as I dial, standing outside the bookstore, backpack slung over one shoulder. Night’s cold, biting my face, and Alex’s words—“You need to go”—ring loud in my head, sharp as hell, slicing through the dark.
Weight of it all crushes me. Sam picks up third ring, voice rough, thick with sleep. “Yeah?” he grunts, pissed like I woke him.
“It’s me,” I say, throat tight, words choking out. “Can I… can I crash at your place?
Alex—he kicked me out.”
Long pause—rustling, like he’s sitting up, chewing on it. “Why’d he do that?” he asks, blunt as a hammer. No soft stuff, just Sam being Sam, digging for the raw truth.
“Don’t matter,” I mutter, barely spitting it out.
Try to play it cool, like I ain’t breaking. “Can I come or not?”
“Yeah,” he says, short, sharp. “Get here.”
Hangs up before I can say more. Stand there, phone stuck to my ear a sec, staring at the empty street.
No choice now—gotta move. Start walking. Sam’s place ain’t far, few blocks off, little house next to his garage where he’s always elbow-deep in engines. Legs drag like they’re slogging through mud, but I keep going. Town’s dead quiet—lights out, windows dark.
Good. Don’t want nobody seeing me like this—face wet, bag stuffed with whatever I grabbed fast.
Hit Sam’s doorstep, and he’s there, leaning on the frame in a beat-up shirt and jeans, arms crossed. Big guy—broad shoulders, rough hands from wrenching cars all day.
Face blank—no pity, no judgment, just Sam. Looks me over a beat, pushes the door wider.
“Bed’s in back,” he says, all business, stepping aside. “Keep it quiet.”
That’s it—no hug, no “you good?” Just him. Nod, voice stuck, shuffle past.
House hits cold—smells like oil, dust, something sharp I can’t name. Ain’t like the bookstore, all warm with books and coffee. This is different, empty.
Points down a short hall, and I follow, passing a kitchen with junk all over the counter, a beat living room with a sagging couch under an old TV.
Feels like a pit stop—nowhere and nothing. Spare room’s tiny—bed with a thin blanket, lamp on a rickety table, cracked window leaking cold. Drop my bag by the door, mind spinning. Mattress creaks loud as I sit, hard and lumpy.
Ain’t home. Alex’s was—upstairs, books, coffee, him. Now I’m here, like I fell off a damn cliff.
Sam don’t follow. Shuts the front door, heads to his room—footsteps fade quick. Alone now. Silence hits heavy, pressing me down. Can’t stop replaying it—Alex’s words slicing deep.
“Took you in. Gave you a home. And now—” Didn’t finish, but I felt it. Betrayal. Thinks I turned on him, but it’s fake—emails, money, all planted. Been screaming it, but he don’t buy it. How’d it crash so fast?
See his face—fear in his eyes, like I’m some stranger. Chest aches, raw and deep, won’t quit. He was everything—since Mom and Dad went, he pulled me up, gave me air. My rock. Now he’s gone. I’m adrift.
Flop back on the bed, stare at the cracked ceiling—yellow stains making it colder, stranger.
Nothing’s mine here. Mind won’t shut off—Alex’s words burned in. “You need to go.” That hard edge, like a lock snapping shut. Begged him, but he turned away. Cut me loose. Can’t figure how it flipped.
Bed’s cold, blanket’s thin—pull it up anyway, curl into it, chasing some kinda comfort.
Eyes burn, but tears are done, I guess. Try to sleep, shut ‘em tight, but no dice. Brain’s a mess—Alex’s face flashing, warm then scared. Three years, and he tossed me like trash. Supposed to be family. Trusted him, leaned on him—hell, loved him.
Too much, maybe. That’s what’s killing me. He don’t know. Or he does, and that’s why he’s spooked.
Notebook’s gone—Riley’s got it, sure as shit now. If she showed him—if he saw those sketches, all those words about him, how deep I felt—maybe that’s it.
Maybe that’s what broke us.
House creaks, wind rattling the window. Weird, off, and I hate it. Sam’s snoring rumbles low down the hall—steady, but it don’t help. Roll over, yank the blanket tighter, stuck on Alex. Hear that last “go,” like a door slamming for good.
He was my safe spot—solid, home. Now he’s turned, and I’m alone, ditched by the one guy I thought wouldn’t quit me. Heart’s sinking through the bed, can’t stop it.
Hours crawl, dark and slow. No clue what time—room’s pitch black, no light sneaking in.
Fumble for my phone on the floor, screen glaring harsh. 3 a.m. Swipe it open, hands cold, check for anything—texts, calls. Nothing. No word from Alex, no “you okay?” Just silence—empty, loud as hell. Hits harder than anything. He ain’t coming back. He’s done.
Drop the phone, let it thud down, stare into the black. Quiet presses like a damn weight, nowhere to run from it.