Morose ✔️

2

That was worse than going home to wallow in my own sorrow and live another day or two. There would be people there. People I didn't know, who didn't know me, who would take one look at my crushed state and make their own conclusions. Or maybe they'd heard what happened those months ago..

"Jesse, I just wanna go home," I protested, hoping to get him to understand I didn't want to go there. Or anywhere, except the safety of my bed. Or the water.

He raised a brow at me suspiciously and snorted. "Don't think I'll let you be alone after that."

He had a point.

Damn the only real friend I had, I thought, even though he hadn't been a friend for a while. Out of every inhabitant in this stupid town Jesse was the only one who would've stopped, realized what I was doing and not let me go. The odds were so fucking low that this would happen that I didn't even realize I raised them by stopping along that side of the river, as opposed to the other..

Then again, had I been thinking about all of that, maybe I would've been more serious in my attempt. This was spontaneous, maybe an attempt at getting someone to notice and offer me something for not doing it, a reason to keep going. Next time, I thought, I'd better be more prepared.

Jesse brought me to a large house. Not large like a villa, but large like it had room for a big family inside. From the outside it looked normal, just a little rough around the edges, and it probably needed a stroke of paint or two. The street was dark, and the porch of the house was lit up by a yellow light on the wall, making it look way more cozy than I knew it probably was on the other side of that tired door.

I shuddered.

Damn it.

"Jesse—"

"Livy," he interrupted, turning around to look me dead in the eye, his voice much less chipper now, "I've got stuff to do here tonight and I'm not letting you out of my sight in your state. Suck it up."

He turned back around and tugged on my wrist with his own as he ascended the stairs up to the porch. Music made the windows rustle, and as Jesse opened up the front door, I recognized the distorted sound of James Heftield's guitar, and I closed my eyes, letting my so called friend guide me over the threshold of a place I knew so little about, yet feared so much.

Fear. What an odd feeling to have when I just minutes ago wanted to let the river's currents wash me away.

There were a few people sitting on sofa backs, tables and ottomans in the living room directly inside the door, all of whom had a drink in their hand of some sort, talking over the loud music. The one closest to us held his fist out to Jesse, who bumped it casually and nodded to the guy. His short, black hair looked messy where he practically hung over the armrest, his clothes were stained black— from oil, maybe— and he grinned as he sized me up with his intrusive eyes.

"You keep your girlfriends on leashes now?" he asked, gesturing towards me with his chin.

Jesse chuckled and raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, before shaking his head, and said, "No, this one's just a friend."

I appreciated that he didn't say anything more than that when it was clear he didn't know, and I followed him through the room into what looked like an office. "It'll just take a second," he excused, and walked around the large, modern desk in the middle of the room, sat down and opened up a laptop. I didn't want to snoop, so as I stood there, literally tied to him, I let my eyes roam the room instead.

The wallpaper had small flowers on it on the top half, wooden panels covered the bottom, and it looked older than the furniture. There were bookshelves here and there, the odd, dried up plant between dusty covers, and a pretty landscape painting hanging elegantly on one of the bare walls. I angled my head to see better, admiring the brushstrokes and colors, though they seemed faded from age.