3:30pm

51: TWAGD

         <Today Was a Good Day>

⚠️This chapter contains a shit ton of swearing. Read at your own risk :)

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Stephen 

I could swear I'd run my hands through my hair and over my face nothing less than twenty times since the call between Uncle Jones and I ended. 

This was all my fault. All my fault. Cleo was in this mess solely because of me. I should've told her the truth all those times I made up my mind to. I should've told her everything, but I thought I'd be endangering her by doing that. How stupid could my thoughts have been?

I paced back and forth the short length in front of the fence I'd jumped over a couple of minutes ago, my fingers once again finding their way through my hair. I was itching inside. It'd been approximately three minutes since Johnny and I spoke—I knew because I was paying attention to the time since the call ended. 

Johnny said five minutes. He said five minutes, and I'd still heard nothing from Uncle Jones. Why hadn't he called me yet? I told him five goddamn minutes. God, I knew Johnny. He'd stick to the time more especially at this moment, considering how wrathful he sounded through the phone.

My hands were shaking. Trembling. Sweat constantly formed above my upper lip and below my eyes no matter how many times I wiped it away. I continued to pace back and forth, feeling so helpless and useless. I could do nothing for Cleo, and if she died because Uncle Jones couldn't get to her in time it'd be my fault alone.

I stopped pacing, grabbing the edge of the fence and leaning on it. I should've stayed away from her. Damn, I knew I should've. I was bad luck. I mean, how in the hell did I think I could keep this part of my life from getting to her? How could I have let my unreal and irrational thoughts, stemming from the fact that I wanted to be with one girl, overshadow the sensibility that came with doing something as dangerous as dealing drugs?

I was so stupid. I was so fucking stupid.

"Fuck!" I shouted, slamming my fist into the body of the wooden fence. The spot that received the impact of my fist gave in immediately due to age, falling to the floor in dull clanks and splinters.

I looked at my phone. Five minutes. It was five minutes now. 

"Shit, shit, shit," I breathed, clasping my hands to the sides of my head, my pacing having resumed. "Why hasn't Uncle Jones said anything yet?"

Then I thought about calling him. That thought did not stay in my head twice. At once, I dropped my hands and unlocked my phone, going straight to the call logs. Quickly, I tapped the call icon, putting the phone to my ear as well.

I held my breath throughout the time the phone rang. And rang. And rang. No one was picking up. Uncle Jones wasn't answering. 

When the call ended, unanswered, I lowered my hand and stared at the screen of the phone, a puzzled expression on my face.

Why isn't he picking up? Why isn't he fucking picking up? Did Johnny or someone else get to him first?

No. No way.

While I was still staring at the screen of my phone, trying to comprehend what was going on, a call came in.

It was Johnny. 

My heart missed not one but two beats. Anything more than that and I was sure it'd have failed.

Dreading every second that passed, I swiped up slowly and answered the call.