Page 85 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

Another hour passes uneventfully before the knob on the front door finally jiggles.

We all freeze, holding our breath as Phoenix slinks inside, his hair hanging in his face and sniffling softly. His eyes slam into mine when he lifts his head. They’re swollen and bloodshot, and he looks awful. I move to stand, but he shakes his head stiffly and goes straight into his room—the door slams and locks.

“Well…fuck,” Kelly murmurs.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jorge says and goes to the door. He knocks. “Let me in.”

Wordlessly, the door opens, Jorge disappears inside it, and then we wait.

And wait.

Their voices are muffled, but Phoenix’s gets progressively louder and louder until I hear his roar, “I DON’T WANT TO SEE HIM!”

Everyone looks at me with pity, and I decide fuck it. Grabbing my suitcase, which I packed while we waited, just in case this happened, I give everyone a once over. “Thanks anyway,” I say, voice cracking.

“He’s just mad,” Kelly rushes out. Devon agrees, “Yeah. He…you know how he gets when he feels backed into a corner.”

Michael walks over to me and grabs my shoulder. “Don’t leave.”

“He doesn’t want me here,” I whimper, chin wobbling. “It’s done.”

“AND YOU’RE BEING A BABY BACK BITCH!” That’s Jorge.

“I’m…gonna go,” I say, heading for the door.

My fingers barely slip over the cool metal fixture when Phoenix’s door flies open, slamming into the drywall. I glance over at him, and his eyes water. “Rehab?” he demands, the word an accusatory question.

Fuck. Jorge told him? Seriously. The man weasels his way behind Phoenix, looking guilty as fuck.

“You’re going to go to fucking rehab when I’m leaving the country? When…when I won’tbe here?” God, his voice right now. It’s so raw and utterly guttural. Like me trying to do better is somehow making it all worse. I can’t do anything right, can I?

What do I do? What do I say? I squeeze the knob tightly and force myself not to blink despite tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “Isn’t that what you want?” I find myself asking.

He snarls, angry and devastated, all mashed into one clusterfuck of emotion. “It isn’t about whatIwant. You told me, to myface, that you would rather die doing drugs. And now? Now you’re planning on going to rehab, and you didn't tell me? You left me out? What the fuck!”

I flinch at his yell, looking at all his friends for help, but it’s crickets in here. Fucking crickets. “I…I…”

“Make it make sense, Elijah,” his voice booms. “Fucking make it make sense. I can’t keep doing this. I…can’t,” he cries this time, wiping his face.

It makes perfect sense to me. I’m doing this because I keep hurting him…keep hurting myself. Something has to give, right? I can only go on like this for so long before I really do die. There’s no mystery behind what I’m doing to my body, my organs. Yes, I’d rather live in denial because that’s what I know and am comfortable with, but I hate seeing him like this. I hate knowing that it’s my fault.

Always my fucking fault.

My chin tucks to my chest as my shoulders hike up to my ears. Maybe I shouldn’t even try. What’s the point? I don’t have a home, don’t have friends or family. And I highly doubt Phoenix is going to keep putting up with my shit. I wouldn’t. Hell, I haven’t.

In the past, anyone who even tried to get close to me, I promptly gave them the boot. I’ve never wanted another person like I want Phoenix. When I was a kid, I wanted parents, but that ship sailed long ago.

But I can’t say any of this. The words won’t come out. I’m just digging the point of my chin into my body, hoping it’ll open up and hide it. Doesn’t he realize how ashamed I am? I’m fucking nothing but a waste. A goddamnwaste.Should’ve been a cumshot. I waste no time deciding. I twist the doorknob and rip open the door.

“Just stop, Eli,” Phoenix scolds me with a cry.

No, Phoenix.

Enough is enough.

I force my legs to move, fleeing his apartment with speed. Lifting my suitcase, I fly down the stairs, with each step taken I gain momentum. This is what I should have done in the first place. Running is second nature to me after spending so much of my life trapped. There’s commotion up the stairs as I hit the bottom, but I don’t stop. Outside, I blink through my tears and keep walking. It’s dark out, minimal cars on the road, and the winter air makes me shiver.

Just when I think I’m in the clear, I hear him. The thunder of his feet clapping against the concrete and his guttural, “Wait.”

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