Page 67 of The Attack Zone

And that’s when the tears start. Because I don’t deserve these guys. I don’t deserve their being so understanding over and over again. No matter how many times they have to deal with me being too loud when I’m hypomanic or unable to get out of bed when I’m depressed, they’ve always been there. It’s not fair to them. I’m not worthy of them either. But they’re all I have, so I guess I’ll just keep being a selfish bastard and use them.

My phone buzzes in my pocket with a text. I wipe thetears from my face to pull it out, but Thomas snatches it out of my hands before I can see the screen.

“I don’t think you should look at your phone until you know how you’re going to handle this,” he says.

He’s right. Of course he’s right. If I see a mean comment from some random Twitter account, I’m going to lose it even more than I already am.

“Do you want me to tell Stacey where you are?” Caleb asks.

“No,” I say. It’s sharp and hard and I don’t mean it the way it comes out. But I can’t have her coming over here. Not now. Not when I know I can’t be with her. I’m not ready to face that reality on top of the rest of this shit.

“Okay,” Caleb says softly. I know he understands a little bit more than most people, because he deals with his own mental health stuff, but right now I feel so isolated and I don’t know how to move forward.

“No,” I say sharply.

“Okay,” he says too calmly. “Let us know if you need help though.”

And I know he means it. I know I can count on these guys, even if I don’t deserve them. I’ll lean on them because I have to. But I don’t have to lean on Stacey. I don’t need to drag her down into this. It’s time to cut the cord.

CHAPTER 33

STACEY

TWO DAYS LATER

It’s been two days since Mitch left me sitting in that restaurant alone, and I haven’t heard from him since. I even caved and texted Thomas this morning, but he left me on read too.

The thing is, I’m not even angry. Well, at least not with Mitch. I’m angry with that post and I want him to let me help him. I could craft a statement that would freaking castrate the account that posted it, and it would make me feel so much better to at leastdosomething about it.

But instead, I’m just sitting on my couch, staring at the bouquet of peonies sitting on my coffee table. They’re starting to look a little sad since they’re almost a week old, and I’m dreading tomorrow being the first Thursday in over a year that a new bouquet doesn’t arrive to replace them.

But I know it won’t.

Because he won’t even call me back.

I’ve done my best to focus on work over the past fewdays, but I keep checking my phone every three seconds to be sure I haven’t missed a text or a call. Of course work is still important to me. It always will be. But the moment I looked up at that empty chair in that restaurant I realized that Mitch is just as important. I know now that being needed isn’t a bad thing; it’s actually kind of beautiful. And knowing that he needs help right now and isn’t letting himself get it is killing me.

My phone buzzes on the table and I all but launch myself off the couch to grab it. It’s a text. From Hazel.

Hazel: Hey friend – just checking in. Want to grab dinner?

I don’t want to leave my comfortable sweats or emotional support dying peonies. I don’t want to talk about Mitch not talking to me. I don’t want to accept what that means. But I also don’t want to hurt Hazel’s feelings and maybe a real meal would be a healthier choice than the leftover Chinese food I planned on heating up when I finally got the strength to get off my couch.

I arrive at the restaurant and grab a table for me and Hazel. It’s quiet, but I get a table in the corner just to be safe. The last thing I need is someone overhearing Hazel and I talking about Mitch. We’ve all had enough of people poking their noses in our business to last a lifetime, I think.

Hazel arrives a few minutes later looking as effortlessly stunning as ever. “Hey, hun,” she says as I stand to hug her. Our normally quick embrace pauses, and I find myself wrapping a second arm around her. I take a deep breath in and squeeze her tight, unable to let go. When I feel tears start to sting my eyes, I feel like I’ve truly lost it. “It’ll be okay, sweetie,” she continues, hugging me back, waiting for me to let go.

I finally do and we each take a seat at our corner table.

“How is Mitch doing?” she asks once our server has disappeared to get us water.

“Oh,” I start. “I ... don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she says, a confused look on her face.

I take a deep breath. This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.

“He hasn’t spoken to me since it happened,” I say. “I’ve texted and called, but he won’t reply. Thomas even ignored me this morning.”