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I laugh just as my phone vibrates.

Emma: Are you still coming?

There are texts from Rachel too, but I’ve silenced them, avoiding another round of apologies. Or accusations. Or whatever mood she’s in today.

But Emma’s texts force me to scroll through Rachel’s.

“No way.” I groan. Someone, please tell me how I got myself into this.

“What’s that?”

“I have to go to a fricken high school basketball game.” And not because of Rachel’s texts. Because of Emma’s.

Samuel laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in a while. “Good luck, man. Come back and tell me how this ends.”

Me: On my way. There in 15

Sitting between Emma and Rachel in the student section, I know almost immediately that I can’t stay. I barely make it ten minutes. Rachel’s drunk, sitting with a group of teenage girls like she’s one of them. I think a couple of them may be drunk too. And she’s ignoring me.

Rachel’s playing games. I’ve been a spectator of this game. Never been on the receiving end of it. The needy girl who pushes the guy away as soon as he gives her attention, just to test how much he cares about her.

I refuse to participate.

Rachel removes the small mint tin from her purse. That’s all it takes to push me over the edge.

“What’s that?” Emma asks, knowing it sure as hell isn’t mints. I shake my head, too angry to answer. Tempted to take the drugs and chuck them across the gym.

I questioned what she was taking when I saw the tin last week. And the more I’ve seen her pop the little white pills, the more unpredictable Rachel’s moods have become.

That’s the real reason she had me stop at the dive bar the night she came down with the flu. Her friend is only her friend because she pays him to get her high.

I’m doubting she really had the flu, at least not at the beginning. She was most likely crashing and experiencing withdrawals. Explains most of her symptoms. And the sudden mood shifts are probably a side effect of her tweaking out on whatever she’s hiding in that tin, on top of the liquor she drinks like water.

This woman. I’m beginning to see her now.

Rachel hasn’t always acted like this. Not when we started working together on the project last summer. And not when we started hanging out in February. Quirky and unfiltered, definitely, but not unhinged and vicious.

I stare at the basketball court without seeing. My blood is racing. All I can hear is the pulse in my ears. I bite down to keep from erupting.

“I’m sorry, Emma, but I can’t—I can’t do this.”

I stand and exit the row. Rachel calls after me, “Where are you going?” I keep walking.

“Jonathan!” Emma calls out as I’m about to push open the double doors to the parking lot. I take a minute to compose myself before I face her.

Emma walks closer. “Where are you going?”

I wait until she’s in front of me before I tell her, “Emma, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be responsible for her every time she gets paranoid and emotional.”

I’m too fricken tired for any more drama. I’ve already lost too much. Hell, I’ve lost everyone. I can’t take on what doesn’t belong to me.

“Please don’t leave.” Her eyes widen with the plea. A similar expression to Rachel’s, except Emma is sincere. “If you do, I am so afraid she’s going to make a huge scene, and I don’t know how to handle that.”

I hate putting her in this position. She doesn’t deserve it. But I also hate being in it.

“Are you leaving me?” Rachel finds us, like she always does. “I knew you were.”

“Rachel, stop.” I don’t hide my exasperation. She’s seriously acting like a child. I’m too young to feel this old. “Not here.”