Page 100 of Fight or Flight
“Me either.”
“Were you going to run?”
He nods and takes the joint from me.
“Why, if you didn’t want it?”
“Because it was expected of me.”
“Do you always do what’s expected of you?”
“Only when it’s not worth pushing back. Sometimes going along with the plan is easier.”
“That feels like my whole damn life.” I take another deep drag off the joint. “I’ve been living someone else’s life for so long I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Jace asks, gently prying the joint out of my hand.
“I’m not KJ. I’ve been trying to be him for so long, but I’m not, and I just keep disappointing everyone.”
“KJ?”
“My brother.” I watch him blow out a stream of smoke. “He died.”
“I’m sorry.” He hands the joint back to me.
“My sister Rosie died too.” I watch a thin plume of smoke rise off the cherry of the joint for a few beats “I went from the middle kid to an only child overnight.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and the lack of platitudes is a welcome change.
Most people tell me stupid shit like they’re in a better place or they’re watching over me, or that it was God’s plan or some shit like that when they find out about my siblings dying. Or they act like it’s some huge deal in their life and just go on and on when they didn’t even know them.
Jace isn’t doing that, and more of those tingly bubbles ping-pong around in my head as my thoughts go hazy around the edges.
“I’ve tried to be everything for my parents.” I take another hit off the joint and hand it to him. “I was an awkward nerd who loved magic and music, but then they died so I played hockey like KJ did, and did baseball because he loved it. I got perfect grades because Rosie was so fucking smart, way smarter than I’ll ever be, and it’s never enough. Now I’m supposed to be leader next year because KJ isn’t here to do it, and I don’t want it. I don’t, but it’s tradition, so I don’t have a choice.”
He presses the joint between my fingers, and I lift it to my lips.
“My parents never got over it.” I snort-laugh and take a hit off the joint. “Not that you can ever get over losing two of your kids. But it’s been so hard on my mom. Every holiday, birthdays, milestones, anything that reminds her that they’re gone makes her so sad. I don’t know how to help her, and she’s not always like that. When she’s not sad, she’s amazing and the best momever, but when she’s sad, it’s like she’s breaking in front of me, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”
Jace takes the joint from me. “It’s not your job as the kid to make it better.”
“I know. But it’s hard to watch someone you love hurt like that. And I know my dad is just being strong and stoic and holding it together for the family, but some days I just want to scream at him because it’s like he feels nothing. He doesn’t cry or get sad or yell or anything.” I shoot him a quick look. “That’s probably why you pissed me off so much.”
“I’m not following.” He takes the joint from me and lifts it to his lips.
“You do that. You only show what you want to show, and it’s like you don’t feel things.”
“I don’t, not really.”
I roll my eyes and pluck the nearly finished joint out of his hand.
“What was that face for?” he asks, but he’s smiling faintly, like he finds my babbling amusing.
“Because everyone feels things.”
“I don’t,” he repeats. “Not the same way as other people.”
“Why not?” I giggle. “Because you’re a psycho?” I ask, remembering his earlier joke.
