I exhale a ragged breath, the guilt clawing its way back despite the heroin. The persistent feeling that I’m acoward, hiding from the mess I’ve made surges to the front of my mind, and I can’t shake it. Shame and fear keep me rooted here, trapped in this cycle I can’t break.
The room feels like a prison, and I can’t tell if I’m having a bad trip or if I just didn’t take enough. The heroin usually offers a reprieve, but it’s hollow. Deep down, I know this isn’t the answer. It isn’t something I can do forever, but there is nothing else out there for me either.
Deciding I just need a stronger dose to numb the thoughts pinging around my head, I repeat the motions from before. Adding more to the syringe, I administer my medicine of choice again, sighing as the room become hazier and my thoughts finally quiet.
“Jax, baby, you okay?” a slurred voice adds from my side. I turn my head sluggishly, vision swimming. A girl sits next to me, her eyes glazed and unfocused. I don’t remember her name, just another fleeting presence in this chaos. She reaches out, her hand brushing my cheek. “You need anything?”
Her touch feels foreign, and I can’t remember where she even came from. She’s just another lost soul, drawn to the same darkness consuming me. I shake my head slowly, the movement heavy. “No, I’m fine,” I mumble, though the words ring false.
She leans closer, her breath warm and tinged with smoke and alcohol. “You sure? You look... rough.”
The air is thick with acrid smoke, sweat, and the sour stench of vomit. Each breath feels like a struggle, the atmosphere pressing down on me. Voices murmur and rise, laughter mingling with cries and hushed conversations. Every sound reminds me of the fractured lives surrounding me, all of us clinging to our vices as a lifeline.
Rough doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m unraveling, piece by piece. But admitting that?
I can’t.
Not to her, not to anyone.
I force a weak smile, hoping it’s enough to push her away. “Yeah, just need a minute.”
She hesitates but nods, her doubt evident in the way her gaze lingers. “Okay. But if you need anything, I’m here.”
I watch as she stumbles away, her figure blending into the dim shadows. The room is full of people like her, like me—broken, lost, seeking solace in whatever escape we can find. I let the haze take me again, welcoming the temporary escape from the pain clawing at my insides.
The heroin dulls everything, but one thought slices through the fog, sharp and unrelenting: I don’t deserve their love or loyalty. They’d be better off without me. Maybe they’ll find a way to move forward, stronger without the mess I’ve become.
And maybe... they’ll finally be free.
CHAPTER 7
DESPERATION
ENZO
The bus reeksof stale sweat, fast food, and desperation. Everyone looks wrecked—unshaven faces, bloodshot eyes, and clothes that haven’t seen a laundry machine in far too long. The air feels heavy, like it’s pressing us into the floor, the mix of hope and anxiety so fragile it might shatter if we breathe too hard. I pace back and forth, the narrow space not nearly enough to burn off the restless energy boiling inside me. My dark hair falls into my face, and I push it aside, scowling.
We’re approaching the end of our last day to find Jax—along with the last of our patience and ideas. After splitting up around midday, we regrouped for a quick dinner and one last brainstorm before heading back out.
The problem is, none of us can agree on where to go next. The back-and-forth has been dragging on, each suggestion shot down until frustration has me ready to rip my hair out.
Now, silence hangs heavy between us, a suffocating weight none of us seem willing to break. Dylan sits withhis phone, his usual cocky smirk replaced by a sharp line of focus. Marcus slouches across from him, blond hair disheveled, eyes hollow with exhaustion. Lily looks the worst of all, pale and drawn, her phone clutched in her hands like it’s the only thing keeping her together.
A suddenpingbreaks the silence, jolting me out of my thoughts. My eyes search for the source.
Dylan stares at his screen, his green eyes widening. “Guys, I think I found something.”
We crowd around him, our collective breaths catching as we stare at his phone. The image is blurry, posted on a fan blog, but it’s unmistakably Jax—disheveled, gaunt, haunted. He’s slumped in an alley, looking like a ghost of himself. The caption stings like a slap:Saw Jax from Electric Wounds looking rough downtown. Anyone know what’s going on?
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. Anger bubbles up, sharp and hot. “We have to find him.”
“I’m sending a private message to get more details, but we can head into the city and refine the location on the road. Hopefully,” Dylan replies, his fingers flying over his keys.
Marcus nods, his jaw tight. “Let’s go.”
“Should I reach out to Harris about the post?” Lily asks in a quiet voice.
Dylan wraps his arm around her. “I can do it, sweetheart. Let me just send a few messages as we get settled, then I will let him know.”
