Page 26 of Before We Break Again
Halsey
I stareat Dustin as he grips the door handle, like it’s the only thing holding him together.His knuckles are white, his breath uneven, his entire body tense as if he’s on the verge of shattering.
This poor man.
This poor, loving, lonely, scared man who has gone through so much and never gotten the help he so desperately needed since he was a child.Back in Blissful Meadows, I didn’t see it.How could I?I was barely eleven, too young to understand.I only wanted to see him smile.His grandparents, kind and loving as they were, never thought to send Dustin to therapy.
But it’s now so obvious to me.
No one had ever thought about the damage that he had already suffered by living with two very narcissistic parents.A father who pushed him to be the best and a mother who didn’t care for her son at all.
His parents died.He was hounded by the media that was trying to use his sad story to sell magazines.
Dusty lost everything he knew in a single day, uprooted from the life he knew and thrown into something unfamiliar without any warning—without the guidance or support to navigate the grief.
And then he found us—me and Santos—and for a while, we were his safe place.But we were just kids, naïve, thinking we could somehow hold him together.When they tore us apart, they shattered what little stability he had left.I’m not surprised that everything he went through pushed him to drown his pain in alcohol and drugs, to numb the memories, erase the fear and the sorrow.To bury it all so deep it would take years to resurface.
Seeing him like this ...the panic, the fear, the way his body shakes as he fights to keep himself together—it’s too much.I know what this looks like.I’ve seen it in patients, in people who’ve been fighting demons for too long.And Dustin?He’s standing on the edge of that cliff, teetering, one step away from falling.
He’s pulling away, retreating into that place where he thinks he’s alone, but I can’t let him walk out like this.
“Dustin, just—just stop for a second, okay?Please.”
He doesn’t turn around, his back still to me, his voice flat.“You said you’ll help Santos, that’s all I needed.”He pauses, gripping the door tighter.“I have to go.”
I take a step forward, the words catching in my throat, but I force them out.“You have to stay.”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, but his voice wavers.
“You’re not fine,” I say, my own voice shaking now.“You’re not okay, Dusty.I can see it, and I—I don’t know what to do because I’ve never seen you like this.And it scares me.”
His shoulders stiffen, and for a second, I think he’s going to leave anyway.He doesn’t turn, but I see the tension in his body—the way he’s barely holding himself together.
My heart aches, but I step closer, trying to reach him.“Talk to me,” I plead, my voice softer.“Please, don’t shut me out.”
When he finally turns to face me, his eyes are wild, filled with a storm of emotions—fear, shame, anger—all fighting for control.“What do you want me to say, Hals?”His voice cracks, raw and strained.“All I need is for you to help him.”
Of course.It’s always about Santos or anyone else.Always about saving others but not himself because Dustin thinks he’s beyond saving.He’s convinced that all he’s good for is protecting others, that he’s not worth the effort.My poor lost boy.
“You need me to help him because you couldn’t back then,” I say gently and now I get why he’s looking for me.He doesn’t need a doctor.He can get one of those anywhere.“You love him so much that you want to give him everything, even the girl, don’t you?You want him to be whole.”
He nods, just a small dip of his head, like it’s the only truth he knows.
It breaks my heart.Dustin’s always been willing to sacrifice anything for us.If it were me who needed help, he’d be asking the same thing—trying to save me, no matter the cost to himself.But I can’t let him disappear into this self-sacrifice.
“What doyouneed?”I ask, my voice soft but firm.
“Nothing,” he mumbles, his eyes darting away.“I’m fine.”
“Dusty, you’re not okay,” I say, stepping even closer.“Tell me how I can help you.What’s going on?”
His hand drags through his hair, and I see the tremor in his fingers, the desperation barely hidden behind his calm façade.“I’m one step away from—” He stops himself, swallowing hard, and I feel a chill run through me.He doesn’t need to finish the sentence.I know what he means.
Dustin’s not just struggling.He’s fighting something bigger than either of us.The craving, the urge to give in and let the drugs take the pain away.It’s right there, pulling at him.
I move closer, my hand hovering near his arm, my heart in my throat.“Dustin,” I whisper, my voice trembling, “please.Don’t do this.Don’t let yourself go down that road.”
I want to beg him to stop for me, but I know it’s not fair.This isn’t about me—it has to be for him.If it’s not, it won’t mean anything.
