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After what feels like hours, I'm able to lift my head up off the floor. My tongue is so dry it's stuck to the roof of my mouth, so I drag my feet to the kitchen and grab water. The water tastes horrible, so I chase it with two shots of vodka, choking as it burns my throat. I pull my dark blonde hair into a messy bun, glancing at the clock.
It's already 4am. I can't even breathe, let alone sleep. I check my phone, hoping for something to show me that Jameson is okay. There's nothing.
I flip the TV on, scanning the channels for something to fill the silence. Not that it will help, I know that it won't.
A soft knock at the door makes me jolt to my feet, tiptoeing to the peephole. I'm relieved to see Logan standing there but confused as to why he's not Jameson's crutch.
"Hi," I whisper, pulling the door open, "what are you doing here?"
He steps in through the door, his arm brushing mine.
"Logan," I beg, "Is everything okay? You're scaring me."
He sighs, "Yeah, he's at my place. He raged for a few hours then passed out."
I am instantly relieved. A weight lifted off of my chest, allowing me to breathe a little easier.
"Hanna, when are you going to stop this?" He begs, his hand rubbing the back of my arm, sending goosebumps down my arms, making the hairs stand straight up.
"I can't, Logan, I can't stop." I step away, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.
"You don't deserve this, none of this." He waves his hands around, "He's not good for you! When are you going to wake up and realize that all he will ever do is hurt you."
I shoot him a death glare, "Why do you even care?"
He slowly breathes out, his body closing in around mine, and I hate the way he makes me feel. Not at all like Jameson but something else. Secure maybe? Safe?
He's always here for me, always bringing Jameson back, constantly wiping my tears before walking out the door. Always answering my calls.
"I care because I can't watch this anymore. It's ripping me apart inside. I love Jameson, but I love you too."
His words shock me, "You love me?"
"Yeah, I don't know. I can't explain it. Every time I look into your eyes before closing the door at night, something inside of me dies. It's like watching him slowly put your flame out. Every time hurting me more than the time before."
Maybe it's the vodka, or perhaps it's his brutal honesty, but I suddenly feel sick. I rush to the bathroom, afraid I might be sick. Logan hands me a wet towel, "Are you okay?"
"No!" I sob, "He doesn't want me. He said he didn't want me anymore. How can he just throw us away like that?"
Logan turns my face to him, his hands warm against my jaw, surprisingly gentle, "If you ever want to be happy, to feel something other than this pain, you are going to have to let him go."
The tips of his fingers drag slowly and intimately down the side of my neck, my mind even more clouded than before, not because I'm about to kiss my boyfriend's best friend but because he's right.
I have to let him go.
"When are you going to leave for Disney?” Adam asks through the phone, the worry in his voice basically jumping through the receiver.
"Thursday," I sigh, "we're flying down Thursday."
"Are you okay?" He asks, knowing how broken I've been these past few years when he was here for Ellie and me. When Jameson wasn't.
"I'm alright, yeah."
"Is he giving you any trouble?"
"No, he isn't. He's… well…different."
"Different?" He questions, the suspicion evident in his voice.
