The Breakup (Part 1)
Written for astar_isborn ... because we like torturing ourselves. This is the final product ... have fun. ;)
It was like when she completely wiped out while surfing and went down and under the board. For a moment, everything was black and all she could hear was the echoing void of water as it raced around her ears and she didn't realize her knees had given out and that she was sitting on the coffee table. Her feet were bare and she stared at her toes. Her middle one on her left foot needed more polish.
"Laniey?"
Marshall's voice broke through the void, but instead of like when she wiped out and was looking for anything to save her, she stayed firmly in her little air pocket because if she broke it, she'd stop breathing. It was a safety technique, meant to get the surfer out of the wave, keep them clear of the riptide.
"Laniey, please say something. Please."
Maybe she'd go with green nail polish next. Something bright and shiny and metallic.
"Honey?"
"You don't get to call me that now," she said, breaking the air pocket. The waves were crashing onto her and she looked up and expected her surfboard to hit her in the head. Instead it was just Marshall, standing on the other side of the living room, their living room. Their home. That they were building together. In the space between him and her she could see the walls crumbling and the foundation of their world spilling into unseen waves.
"I don't want to do this ..."
She tilted her head at him, suddenly angry. She hadn't been angry with him until he said that. Now, nothing made sense. If he was sad she could understand. After all, relationships weren't supposed to make people sad. "Wait. You don't want to break up with me, but you're breaking up with me. What? MTV decided that your time with the cute Mexican chick had run its course and now they want you to try a different flavor?"
He winced. She didn't care. He was holding her heart in his hand and squeezing it so hard she couldn't breathe.
"Laniey --"
"No." Her chest hurt. "Don't call me that. That's for when you cared about me."
"I can break up with you and still care about you."
"What, this is for our own good then?" The anger officially bubbled to the surface. "Fuck you."
"I can't handle it, Laniey."
Everything stopped and she went from being angry to being hit over the head with life. She stared down at the scars on her wrists. She'd felt so brave today. She hadn't hidden them.
And see what happened? Her brain taunted her.
She knew what Marshall meant. She still wanted him to fucking admit it. "What?" She gasped out, pressing her thumb into the white scars over the blue veins in her arm. "What can't you handle? My touring schedule? Late nights with the band? Your fucking inane jealousy over JJ? What?" She pushed him even as she dug her thumbnail into the scar. "Because I know for fucking sure it isn't the depression because you promised me, you fucking promised me when I came home, when I moved in with you, you fucking promised me that you could handle it. You said I wasn't too messed up for you. You said that we could get through my messes together because we shared all of it." She was shaking. Her feet were bouncing on the floor. Her nail broke skin and she stared at the tiny droplets of blood that emerged on her arm and guilt washed over her. This wasn't fair to Marshall. This was why he was breaking up with her. Quickly, she put her hands on her knees and willed herself to sit still.
"I ..." She tried to speak but it was like when she knew she'd hit the wave wrong and was wiping out but was powerless to stop any of it.
Each word was a body blow. "I thought I could handle this, Laniey. But I can't. I can't live every day wondering if this is it. If something is going to trigger you and I'll come home and find you lying in a pool of your own blood."
She was silent for a long time. Across the room she saw him sit down, and she wanted to curl up in the chair with him, but she was shaking too hard to stand. Wiping her eyes, she stared across the room that now felt as large as Runyon Canyon. And then suddenly, it all made sense. "To you I'm still tied to IV tubes and there are restraints on my wrists, aren't I? I'm still the over medicated girl they released from psych. I've never grown up to you, have I?" She stared at him, daring him to tell her differently. He didn't answer. That was all she needed. "You know ..." she looked back down at her knees and picked at a frayed thread in the jeans, "when we got together, I was sure I'd be too much for you, you know. You being raised how you were raised, in that fishbowl. And your mom is great but she's messed up and your dad is great but he's got his issues and Elliot ... well. Elliot. But I didn't ... you told me it would be okay." She was powerless to stop the sob that escaped her throat. She felt like such a failure. She wasn't enough even for a guy who understood what he was getting in to. "It was okay, I thought, because unlike a lot of people I could date, you'd understand me." She shook her head and stood up, needing to run. Her backpack was in the bedroom and she could grab a change of clothes and her pills and she'd go to Micah and JJ's. Her parents were out of town and some survival instinct she had a knack for ignoring told her not to go to an empty house.
Marshall followed her. She couldn't look at him until she'd grabbed her stuffed dog off the bed and he was standing in the doorway, tears running down his cheeks. It all felt manipulated, like she was supposed to fucking feel sorry for him. She half expected a camera guy to emerge from the closet.
"I'm tired of fighting, Laniey," he said. "It's all we do these last few weeks. I say something and you get mad and you sulk off to be with the guys. You're always working."
"So are you," she glared at him. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm the one who keeps trying to actually schedule stuff with you. You keep avoiding me." Was he? Or was she avoiding him? Or did it matter? She was too much for him. He'd already said it. The real reason. The real fucking reason. Her knees were shaking. She needed her keys. Where were her keys?
"So maybe this was coming."
"You know what," she said, her voice so far away she wasn't sure if she was actually speaking, "Tell me something. Just be honest. Is this all you, or do outside voices control you?"
"It isn't all me, no."
"What does your dad say?"
"He doesn't know yet." Marshall shrugged. "He'd tell me not to do this. At least not ... he'd tell me I'm an idiot. He thinks you're good for me."
That made her cry harder. Clearly she wasn't good for him. If she was he wouldn't be breaking up with her. "I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?"
"That's none of your business." She could feel the rage starting to build again and she wanted to get out before she started swearing at him in Spanish and French. "My life isn't your business anymore. I'll come back when you aren't here and get my stuff."
"Laniey ..."
"WHAT?!" She felt her control slipping. "What the fuck do you want to say, Marshall? What? Stay? You don't have to leave?" She could feel her voice rising as she begged him to say the words she needed to hear. He didn't say them. "This isn't my house anymore! I gave up ..." she took a breath. It didn't help. "I gave up and changed the dynamics of my band for you. I changed my life for you. I listened to you, thought you were right, that I needed to spend more time with someone I loved rather than the brothers I have on stage. I gave in when you said you didn't want to move in with us but wanted you and me to have a life. I did it all for you and for us and I loved what we had. So don't stand there and try to block me from leaving your bedroom. Because that's what this is now. The minute you broke up with me, you know, what just happened out there, all of this became yours. I'll get my stuff when you aren't here. I'll leave the keys then. Now get the fuck out of my way."
He didn't move. She pushed past him, stepping on his foot in the process and tripped. He grabbed her arm, probably to keep her from falling but in the moment all she could see was his hand on her. "Please don't leave this way."
"Let. Me. Go." She stared into his eyes. "Drop my arm, Marshall Malone." He did. But he didn't back away. "What?" She was still crying.
"Please don't leave this way, Laniey. I ... I don't want you driving when you're this upset. I'm not an idiot. Look, I love you, okay?"
She stared at him, suddenly the fight gone. All anger dissipating. He loved her. He loved her but she wasn't good enough. It didn't make any fucking sense in her head and she was so tired because it didn't make any fucking sense. But she didn't want to go. She loved him. She wanted him. Him. Shaking, she took one step forward and put her head on his chest. He put his arms around her and they walked to where they could sit down.
They curled up in the chair.
An hour later, she closed the door behind her.
She didn't remember the drive to Micah and JJ's. She knew she'd never forget the look on Micah's face when he answered the door.
***
Micah was sitting on the couch when JJ walked in. He'd seen Elena's car outside, but she wasn't in the living room and he looked around, confused, expecting to find Elena and Micah in the living room jamming. "Where's Ellie?"
"She took my bed."
JJ frowned. "Why isn't she at her place?"
"She and Marshall split."
JJ's heart dropped. "Shit. She ..."
"I took the razor blades away from her twice in the span of an hour before the sleeping pills kicked in. And then I took the sleeping pills away." Micah shook his head. "He told her that he couldn't handle her. That her depression was too much and it was hurting him."
JJ winced at the tone in Micah's voice. Marshall could be an ass sometimes, but never to Elena and he never expected that to be the reason they split up. "Seriously?"
Micah sighed. "At least she came here. Her folks are out of town. Can you imagine her alone right now?" He shook his head. "No. Actually. Don't."
"I ..." JJ sank onto the couch. "Fucking hell. She ... we have to get back on the road, Micah. We can't ... I mean, I feel like an ass for saying it, but if this throws her off ...we've signed contracts."
"It won't. She came in wanting to see if we could schedule things sooner. She already called the label, asked if we could hitch onto any tours or festivals early. She needs to get out of town. The cameras are going to find her." Micah shook his head. "We'll see how she is in the morning."
"He fucking said ..."
"She's too much for him. He grew up in that mess of a family but Elena's depression is too much for him. I'm going to fucking kill him." Micah rolled his eyes. "He couldn't have at least lied to her? Told her there was another girl or something? That she could handle. She's already internalizing everything he said."
JJ sighed and got up, moving to the closed bedroom door. He peeked in, needing to hear Elena breathing. The light by the bed was on but she was sound asleep, curled up in a ball under Micah's blanket, her hair spread across the pillow, makeup trails staining her cheeks. He could see that she'd drawn on her wrists, outlining the jagged scars in black ink. Quietly, he closed the door and backed into the living room.
"I've checked on her four times. She's out cold but she's okay."
"She didn't take too many pills?"
"I gave them to her so no and as far as I can tell she didn't take any before she got here."
"Okay." JJ sighed and looked at Micah. "Is this what it's going to be like? Every time she ..."
"Maybe? He was the first one, you know." Micah shrugged. "Thing is, she's stronger than she realizes she is. It's just going to take practice. She was pretty lucid when she got here but ... yeah. I don't know."
***
She woke hazy and disoriented. It wasn't her bed. It wasn't her covers. Marshall wasn't there. Panic set in and she bolted upright and it took ten terrified breaths for her to realize she was at Micah's. In his bed. Under his covers. Of course Marshall wasn't there. She was in her ratty leggings and a baggy t-shirt and everything hurt. Everything was gritty and scary and she wasn't sure why she was here.
And then it came rushing back.
Dinner. He'd cooked. She'd rambled about the tour and how they had to repair the seats in the van because she was tired of sleeping on a broken spring. They were dreaming of being able to at least afford an RV at some point. A crappy one. But something better than the van. Now she realized how quiet he'd been.
And then it was like he'd backhanded her.
We need to break up. I can't do this anymore.
He apparently couldn't talk about touring schedules and song titles anymore?
At first she'd thought that was it, that maybe they'd run out of things to talk about but they were still sharing their lives and the silences ... the silences were never scary.
I can't watch you anymore. I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for you to end yours. You're too much, Laniey.
There was coffee. She could smell coffee. Pulling on one of Micah's old hoodies, she walked into the living room. JJ was in the kitchen and he came out and put his arms around her and she wanted to pull away but clung to him anyway. JJ was solid.
"Want some coffee?" He asked.
"Yeah ..."
She went to the couch and tucked herself into the corner and stared at the wall until JJ brought over the coffee. Her phone was on the table. Did it need to be charged? Had Marshall called? A cold realism set in. They'd broken up. She had to plan her next steps. That would keep her alive.
"Thanks ..." she said to JJ. "I ... guess you heard."
"Yeah." He came around and sat next to her. "So what's next?"
"He's going on some shoot ... I'll move my stuff out while he's gone. I figure I'll move back in with my folks for a while. Free rent. Papi is home right now, so home cooked food, you know."
"You're ... so ..."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Calm? Logical?"
"Yeah."
"Well ..." she sniffed, doing her best to hold back the emotional tidal wave. "It's that or ... I can't think about how I feel right now, JJ."
"Fair enough."
She sipped her coffee and stared into a point somewhere beyond the tattered coffee table. "I just ..."
"What? Hope that the jerk is going to come to his senses?"
"Yeah." She sniffed. "Which is funny since he's made it quite clear that I'm not good enough for him and never will be."
"What did he say?"
"I'm too much for him. My depression drags him down."
"What else?"
"I don't remember," she lied as she glanced at the ceiling, remembering every terrible word out of his mouth. Every word that was now burned into her, a reminder that when she was fine, she was great. But that when she was struggling, she was just too much to handle. "A lot of stuff that just ... I'm a mess and he's not and my mess is too messy. I'm not sexy enough you know, JJ. I drag down his standing in the cool kids world."
"Well," JJ offered her a smile, "that just could be because you're a metal musician and we're so not cool."
She sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. "That's a good point. My blonde tips just aren't what the modeling world wants." Something about the way she said it made tears prick her eyes. She sniffed again and set the coffee mug down and started to cry. "God ..." she sniffed out ... "I ... thought I'd cried this all out last night."
"The sleeping pills stopped you," JJ said. "Come on. Come here."
She curled up against him. "Where's Micah?"
"Out buying a gun."
"Shut up."
"He went to the label to take care of some stuff for us."
She sighed. "So this is what it feels like to get your heart broken."
"I'm sorry, honey."
"Thanks." She stared down at her wrists and the designs she'd drawn on them last night. "I guess I'm a full fledged adult now, right? I've got a job and health insurance issues and I've had my heart broken. Nothing else to do but retire and die."
"I think you've got some fun stuff between now and then."
"I'm glad we're going on tour."
"Yes. You're glad you are going to be in the van with me, Micah, and Ella."
"I dream of having techs."
"I dream of sleeping anywhere other than the front seat of a van."
She giggled. It felt good. "A bus would be nice," she said. "Gas money would be nice."
"You can go home at least."
"Shut up."
"No. I mean it. Go home. Raid the freezer."
Elena laughed and sat up a bit. "Actually, that's a good idea. Text Micah. Have him meet me at my parent's place. They're out of town. Let's get drunk and eat too much and play in the pool. Tomorrow, we'll get shit done."
"Sounds perfect." JJ said. "Just perfect."
Elena climbed off the couch and went back into the bedroom to at least put on jeans. And to cry in private.
"Leave the door open," JJ called.
She stared at the door, and then realized why he was saying it and it dug even deeper. Even her best friends didn't trust her not to kill herself. She appreciated it. She understood it. But it was just another reminder. She was nuts. She was nuts and they had to look out for her. She wasn't capable of ever being on her own but she was going to push away everyone who would ever take a chance on her.
She'd never be okay, not really. Would she?
"I'm okay!" She called out. "I promise."
She was sure JJ was on the other side of the door but she didn't open it. She needed this bit of control.
It was like when she completely wiped out while surfing and went down and under the board. For a moment, everything was black and all she could hear was the echoing void of water as it raced around her ears and she didn't realize her knees had given out and that she was sitting on the coffee table. Her feet were bare and she stared at her toes. Her middle one on her left foot needed more polish.
"Laniey?"
Marshall's voice broke through the void, but instead of like when she wiped out and was looking for anything to save her, she stayed firmly in her little air pocket because if she broke it, she'd stop breathing. It was a safety technique, meant to get the surfer out of the wave, keep them clear of the riptide.
"Laniey, please say something. Please."
Maybe she'd go with green nail polish next. Something bright and shiny and metallic.
"Honey?"
"You don't get to call me that now," she said, breaking the air pocket. The waves were crashing onto her and she looked up and expected her surfboard to hit her in the head. Instead it was just Marshall, standing on the other side of the living room, their living room. Their home. That they were building together. In the space between him and her she could see the walls crumbling and the foundation of their world spilling into unseen waves.
"I don't want to do this ..."
She tilted her head at him, suddenly angry. She hadn't been angry with him until he said that. Now, nothing made sense. If he was sad she could understand. After all, relationships weren't supposed to make people sad. "Wait. You don't want to break up with me, but you're breaking up with me. What? MTV decided that your time with the cute Mexican chick had run its course and now they want you to try a different flavor?"
He winced. She didn't care. He was holding her heart in his hand and squeezing it so hard she couldn't breathe.
"Laniey --"
"No." Her chest hurt. "Don't call me that. That's for when you cared about me."
"I can break up with you and still care about you."
"What, this is for our own good then?" The anger officially bubbled to the surface. "Fuck you."
"I can't handle it, Laniey."
Everything stopped and she went from being angry to being hit over the head with life. She stared down at the scars on her wrists. She'd felt so brave today. She hadn't hidden them.
And see what happened? Her brain taunted her.
She knew what Marshall meant. She still wanted him to fucking admit it. "What?" She gasped out, pressing her thumb into the white scars over the blue veins in her arm. "What can't you handle? My touring schedule? Late nights with the band? Your fucking inane jealousy over JJ? What?" She pushed him even as she dug her thumbnail into the scar. "Because I know for fucking sure it isn't the depression because you promised me, you fucking promised me when I came home, when I moved in with you, you fucking promised me that you could handle it. You said I wasn't too messed up for you. You said that we could get through my messes together because we shared all of it." She was shaking. Her feet were bouncing on the floor. Her nail broke skin and she stared at the tiny droplets of blood that emerged on her arm and guilt washed over her. This wasn't fair to Marshall. This was why he was breaking up with her. Quickly, she put her hands on her knees and willed herself to sit still.
"I ..." She tried to speak but it was like when she knew she'd hit the wave wrong and was wiping out but was powerless to stop any of it.
Each word was a body blow. "I thought I could handle this, Laniey. But I can't. I can't live every day wondering if this is it. If something is going to trigger you and I'll come home and find you lying in a pool of your own blood."
She was silent for a long time. Across the room she saw him sit down, and she wanted to curl up in the chair with him, but she was shaking too hard to stand. Wiping her eyes, she stared across the room that now felt as large as Runyon Canyon. And then suddenly, it all made sense. "To you I'm still tied to IV tubes and there are restraints on my wrists, aren't I? I'm still the over medicated girl they released from psych. I've never grown up to you, have I?" She stared at him, daring him to tell her differently. He didn't answer. That was all she needed. "You know ..." she looked back down at her knees and picked at a frayed thread in the jeans, "when we got together, I was sure I'd be too much for you, you know. You being raised how you were raised, in that fishbowl. And your mom is great but she's messed up and your dad is great but he's got his issues and Elliot ... well. Elliot. But I didn't ... you told me it would be okay." She was powerless to stop the sob that escaped her throat. She felt like such a failure. She wasn't enough even for a guy who understood what he was getting in to. "It was okay, I thought, because unlike a lot of people I could date, you'd understand me." She shook her head and stood up, needing to run. Her backpack was in the bedroom and she could grab a change of clothes and her pills and she'd go to Micah and JJ's. Her parents were out of town and some survival instinct she had a knack for ignoring told her not to go to an empty house.
Marshall followed her. She couldn't look at him until she'd grabbed her stuffed dog off the bed and he was standing in the doorway, tears running down his cheeks. It all felt manipulated, like she was supposed to fucking feel sorry for him. She half expected a camera guy to emerge from the closet.
"I'm tired of fighting, Laniey," he said. "It's all we do these last few weeks. I say something and you get mad and you sulk off to be with the guys. You're always working."
"So are you," she glared at him. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm the one who keeps trying to actually schedule stuff with you. You keep avoiding me." Was he? Or was she avoiding him? Or did it matter? She was too much for him. He'd already said it. The real reason. The real fucking reason. Her knees were shaking. She needed her keys. Where were her keys?
"So maybe this was coming."
"You know what," she said, her voice so far away she wasn't sure if she was actually speaking, "Tell me something. Just be honest. Is this all you, or do outside voices control you?"
"It isn't all me, no."
"What does your dad say?"
"He doesn't know yet." Marshall shrugged. "He'd tell me not to do this. At least not ... he'd tell me I'm an idiot. He thinks you're good for me."
That made her cry harder. Clearly she wasn't good for him. If she was he wouldn't be breaking up with her. "I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?"
"That's none of your business." She could feel the rage starting to build again and she wanted to get out before she started swearing at him in Spanish and French. "My life isn't your business anymore. I'll come back when you aren't here and get my stuff."
"Laniey ..."
"WHAT?!" She felt her control slipping. "What the fuck do you want to say, Marshall? What? Stay? You don't have to leave?" She could feel her voice rising as she begged him to say the words she needed to hear. He didn't say them. "This isn't my house anymore! I gave up ..." she took a breath. It didn't help. "I gave up and changed the dynamics of my band for you. I changed my life for you. I listened to you, thought you were right, that I needed to spend more time with someone I loved rather than the brothers I have on stage. I gave in when you said you didn't want to move in with us but wanted you and me to have a life. I did it all for you and for us and I loved what we had. So don't stand there and try to block me from leaving your bedroom. Because that's what this is now. The minute you broke up with me, you know, what just happened out there, all of this became yours. I'll get my stuff when you aren't here. I'll leave the keys then. Now get the fuck out of my way."
He didn't move. She pushed past him, stepping on his foot in the process and tripped. He grabbed her arm, probably to keep her from falling but in the moment all she could see was his hand on her. "Please don't leave this way."
"Let. Me. Go." She stared into his eyes. "Drop my arm, Marshall Malone." He did. But he didn't back away. "What?" She was still crying.
"Please don't leave this way, Laniey. I ... I don't want you driving when you're this upset. I'm not an idiot. Look, I love you, okay?"
She stared at him, suddenly the fight gone. All anger dissipating. He loved her. He loved her but she wasn't good enough. It didn't make any fucking sense in her head and she was so tired because it didn't make any fucking sense. But she didn't want to go. She loved him. She wanted him. Him. Shaking, she took one step forward and put her head on his chest. He put his arms around her and they walked to where they could sit down.
They curled up in the chair.
An hour later, she closed the door behind her.
She didn't remember the drive to Micah and JJ's. She knew she'd never forget the look on Micah's face when he answered the door.
***
Micah was sitting on the couch when JJ walked in. He'd seen Elena's car outside, but she wasn't in the living room and he looked around, confused, expecting to find Elena and Micah in the living room jamming. "Where's Ellie?"
"She took my bed."
JJ frowned. "Why isn't she at her place?"
"She and Marshall split."
JJ's heart dropped. "Shit. She ..."
"I took the razor blades away from her twice in the span of an hour before the sleeping pills kicked in. And then I took the sleeping pills away." Micah shook his head. "He told her that he couldn't handle her. That her depression was too much and it was hurting him."
JJ winced at the tone in Micah's voice. Marshall could be an ass sometimes, but never to Elena and he never expected that to be the reason they split up. "Seriously?"
Micah sighed. "At least she came here. Her folks are out of town. Can you imagine her alone right now?" He shook his head. "No. Actually. Don't."
"I ..." JJ sank onto the couch. "Fucking hell. She ... we have to get back on the road, Micah. We can't ... I mean, I feel like an ass for saying it, but if this throws her off ...we've signed contracts."
"It won't. She came in wanting to see if we could schedule things sooner. She already called the label, asked if we could hitch onto any tours or festivals early. She needs to get out of town. The cameras are going to find her." Micah shook his head. "We'll see how she is in the morning."
"He fucking said ..."
"She's too much for him. He grew up in that mess of a family but Elena's depression is too much for him. I'm going to fucking kill him." Micah rolled his eyes. "He couldn't have at least lied to her? Told her there was another girl or something? That she could handle. She's already internalizing everything he said."
JJ sighed and got up, moving to the closed bedroom door. He peeked in, needing to hear Elena breathing. The light by the bed was on but she was sound asleep, curled up in a ball under Micah's blanket, her hair spread across the pillow, makeup trails staining her cheeks. He could see that she'd drawn on her wrists, outlining the jagged scars in black ink. Quietly, he closed the door and backed into the living room.
"I've checked on her four times. She's out cold but she's okay."
"She didn't take too many pills?"
"I gave them to her so no and as far as I can tell she didn't take any before she got here."
"Okay." JJ sighed and looked at Micah. "Is this what it's going to be like? Every time she ..."
"Maybe? He was the first one, you know." Micah shrugged. "Thing is, she's stronger than she realizes she is. It's just going to take practice. She was pretty lucid when she got here but ... yeah. I don't know."
***
She woke hazy and disoriented. It wasn't her bed. It wasn't her covers. Marshall wasn't there. Panic set in and she bolted upright and it took ten terrified breaths for her to realize she was at Micah's. In his bed. Under his covers. Of course Marshall wasn't there. She was in her ratty leggings and a baggy t-shirt and everything hurt. Everything was gritty and scary and she wasn't sure why she was here.
And then it came rushing back.
Dinner. He'd cooked. She'd rambled about the tour and how they had to repair the seats in the van because she was tired of sleeping on a broken spring. They were dreaming of being able to at least afford an RV at some point. A crappy one. But something better than the van. Now she realized how quiet he'd been.
And then it was like he'd backhanded her.
We need to break up. I can't do this anymore.
He apparently couldn't talk about touring schedules and song titles anymore?
At first she'd thought that was it, that maybe they'd run out of things to talk about but they were still sharing their lives and the silences ... the silences were never scary.
I can't watch you anymore. I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for you to end yours. You're too much, Laniey.
There was coffee. She could smell coffee. Pulling on one of Micah's old hoodies, she walked into the living room. JJ was in the kitchen and he came out and put his arms around her and she wanted to pull away but clung to him anyway. JJ was solid.
"Want some coffee?" He asked.
"Yeah ..."
She went to the couch and tucked herself into the corner and stared at the wall until JJ brought over the coffee. Her phone was on the table. Did it need to be charged? Had Marshall called? A cold realism set in. They'd broken up. She had to plan her next steps. That would keep her alive.
"Thanks ..." she said to JJ. "I ... guess you heard."
"Yeah." He came around and sat next to her. "So what's next?"
"He's going on some shoot ... I'll move my stuff out while he's gone. I figure I'll move back in with my folks for a while. Free rent. Papi is home right now, so home cooked food, you know."
"You're ... so ..."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Calm? Logical?"
"Yeah."
"Well ..." she sniffed, doing her best to hold back the emotional tidal wave. "It's that or ... I can't think about how I feel right now, JJ."
"Fair enough."
She sipped her coffee and stared into a point somewhere beyond the tattered coffee table. "I just ..."
"What? Hope that the jerk is going to come to his senses?"
"Yeah." She sniffed. "Which is funny since he's made it quite clear that I'm not good enough for him and never will be."
"What did he say?"
"I'm too much for him. My depression drags him down."
"What else?"
"I don't remember," she lied as she glanced at the ceiling, remembering every terrible word out of his mouth. Every word that was now burned into her, a reminder that when she was fine, she was great. But that when she was struggling, she was just too much to handle. "A lot of stuff that just ... I'm a mess and he's not and my mess is too messy. I'm not sexy enough you know, JJ. I drag down his standing in the cool kids world."
"Well," JJ offered her a smile, "that just could be because you're a metal musician and we're so not cool."
She sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. "That's a good point. My blonde tips just aren't what the modeling world wants." Something about the way she said it made tears prick her eyes. She sniffed again and set the coffee mug down and started to cry. "God ..." she sniffed out ... "I ... thought I'd cried this all out last night."
"The sleeping pills stopped you," JJ said. "Come on. Come here."
She curled up against him. "Where's Micah?"
"Out buying a gun."
"Shut up."
"He went to the label to take care of some stuff for us."
She sighed. "So this is what it feels like to get your heart broken."
"I'm sorry, honey."
"Thanks." She stared down at her wrists and the designs she'd drawn on them last night. "I guess I'm a full fledged adult now, right? I've got a job and health insurance issues and I've had my heart broken. Nothing else to do but retire and die."
"I think you've got some fun stuff between now and then."
"I'm glad we're going on tour."
"Yes. You're glad you are going to be in the van with me, Micah, and Ella."
"I dream of having techs."
"I dream of sleeping anywhere other than the front seat of a van."
She giggled. It felt good. "A bus would be nice," she said. "Gas money would be nice."
"You can go home at least."
"Shut up."
"No. I mean it. Go home. Raid the freezer."
Elena laughed and sat up a bit. "Actually, that's a good idea. Text Micah. Have him meet me at my parent's place. They're out of town. Let's get drunk and eat too much and play in the pool. Tomorrow, we'll get shit done."
"Sounds perfect." JJ said. "Just perfect."
Elena climbed off the couch and went back into the bedroom to at least put on jeans. And to cry in private.
"Leave the door open," JJ called.
She stared at the door, and then realized why he was saying it and it dug even deeper. Even her best friends didn't trust her not to kill herself. She appreciated it. She understood it. But it was just another reminder. She was nuts. She was nuts and they had to look out for her. She wasn't capable of ever being on her own but she was going to push away everyone who would ever take a chance on her.
She'd never be okay, not really. Would she?
"I'm okay!" She called out. "I promise."
She was sure JJ was on the other side of the door but she didn't open it. She needed this bit of control.