𝐈𝐍𝐊 - JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

28

Jamie's quiet footsteps faded as he left, leaving only the ghost-like feeling of his touch in his wake. Tom checks in on you once more after that. He brushes back his silky hair with a tired hand, eyes crinkling with a soft smile. You catch up on old times, talk of his recent dates with Zendaya—anything to ignore the inevitable crisis at hand.

At least, you thought that was what you had been doing.

When the two of you finally run out of things to talk about, Tom brings up the very predicament you had been trying to ignore.

"I know this is kind of late," he starts, sheepishly, "but, you couldn't you, I don't know, try and save Jamie with that magical typewriter of yours?"

Your words get stuck in your throat. Not because you hadn't thought of that before, but because you had.

"There's no more ink."

Tom's eyes widened. "What?"

"That was one of the first things I tried. The letters wouldn't type on the page."

Tom sits back in his chair as if the realization of what was happening had finally sunk in.

"Oh, my god. Y/N, I'm so so— "

     "Don't be. Please. It's fine."

     The last thing you wanted in this moment was pity.

When he leaves an hour later, your parents trail back in. They take their seats in the vacant chairs beside your bed, eyes glistening, hearts heavy, yet thankful still. The atmosphere lifts with their presence, warmth flowing where the coldness once had been.

Despite being heartbroken, you were glad they were here. Even if they had no clue of half the stuff going on in your life, the strength of their support encouraged you to push on with what little strength you had left. You knew they only wanted to see you happy and healthy. They only wanted to see you succeed.

It was in the web of these thoughts that you found the strength to breathe. And soon, you realize, that there still was something left to say.

"Mom, Dad..." you say, meeting their eyes bittersweetly. "There's something I need to tell you." You inhaled a shaky breath, but you figured if you could survive a car crash, you could survive this too.

Your dad raised his brows, your mom shifted expectantly. "Yes?"

So here came the blow. Here came the words that would draw the invisible line between your parents' will and your personal boundaries. A line you did not think you could ever draw.

There were a million memories flashing through your mind. From childish birthday parties and training wheels to first cars and graduation caps. Your parents had been there for all your milestones, and they would be here for this one as well. Because that is exactly what it was, though at first, it was hard to admit. A milestone.

The air was still, as if it too anticipated your confession.

"I broke up with Xander," you admit, waiting for the floor to drop from under you. "It's sudden, I know, but I've realized that he and I are no good together. We never were."

Your rambled words resonated throughout the fluorescent-lit room. The lights were bright and harsh. They made you want to close your eyes and curl up into a ball, but you could not. This was something you had to face.

As expected, their faces constricted with shock. A dreadful silence lingered throughout the space between you. The lights burned brighter, or had you imagined it so? The room seemed to be shrinking as well.