Dares with the Boy Who Doesn't Care

Chapter Thirty-Six(Jamie POV)

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I talked to her.

I talked to her.

I spent the night enveloped in soft touches and steady breathing. Yet, I couldn't fall asleep.

She did nothing to help my insomnia, but maybe that's just one of my many broken pieces that just cannot be fixed. No amount of tenderness or thick affection could ever really fix me. I'm too far gone.

But last night I don't know which one of us I was lying to. I just know that I can't let it happen again. I have to stop letting my entire resolve crumble at the sound of her soft, soothing voice or the touch of her delicate and silky fingertips.

I text Noah, hoping that he'll stop treating me how I treat Kyle Fletcher. I did more than what he asked, but once I started I couldn't stop. I was doing what I wanted.

Last night it was only Rosalina and I, beautifully and gracefully. But we were so fragile that a few harsh rays of sunlight and a phone call broke what we had.

Now I'm on my way home to Jule and my worried parents. I've been dodging them for a couple of days now- ever since the party. I know my father probably had to pull a few costly strings to make sure that it didn't leak out to the press but, I needed to clear my head.

It didn't work but at least I tried, right? Wrong. I don't even need to go home to realize how much of a mistake it was.

I've been skipping out on my medication.

I take the pills and flush them down seemingly abysmal toilets. I can't just leave them in the bottle because my mother is a crazy bitch and counts them.

If she ever found out that I missed even one dose she'd probably go to wherever I was, force feed them to me then lecture me about the importance of them- as if I don't know and as if I'm not the one with ADHD.

Last night it was Rosalina and the night before that it was the loud music along with the surplus amounts of alcohol. I wasn't concerned about any of their after effects at the time. I wasn't concerned about the inevitable headache or the unrelenting tiredness. I wasn't concerned about how my mother would cry and how my father would beat me once I came home drunk or late. I wasn't concerned about how my company is going to have to cover all of this up later.  I was only concerned about the now, and how in that now I was impulsive and insane. I really need to take my Dexedrine.

**6 months ago**
-Trigger Warning-

I'm interrupted by my session with the piano thanks to Mark.

I catch him looking even paler if that's even possible. The familiar dripping sound comes from his wrist. Crimson red has gathered in a puddle on the floor.

"Why would you put cuts on your skin when the ones on your heart haven't even healed yet?" He doesn't respond to my cheesy yet well thought out statement.

Drip, drop. Drip, drop.

"Do you want me to play you a song?"

He takes another drag from his cigarette in response.

Taking his hand in mine, I notice how exceptionally cold it is. I turn it over to see the deep gash he made in his wrist using who knows what.