Chapter Text
Jeremy Knox decides he will end his life on the day of Jean’s birthday. He will do it a week later, that gives him seven days to make it easier on his friends. He can at least prepare them for it—for his absence. He wants to be a good memory, not a sour one.
Friday.
Jean really sucks at Monopoly. He’s never played it before, he confesses as much when he opens the present Xavier got him.
He is not the best with stress so he’s muttering in French and trying to keep up with all the properties he lands on, but he’s handing out note after note of rainbow paper. He’s got two mint green twenties and a single purple fifty left.
Jeremy finds it fun to watch him. So focused, with a crease between his eyebrows. He wants to lean over and smooth it with his thumb, but he refrains. He doesn’t catch the word Jean says as he hands his fifty over to Laila. His French lessons are not very in-depth and he doesn’t think there’s a tape on swearing. Maybe he’ll have to look.
“Play nice,” Jeremy says.
Jean glares at him, “I am nice.”
On his next turn he lands on Mayfair instead of passing GO and he hands Jeremy all his remaining notes. Jeremy adds them to his growing stash.
“I hate this game,” Jean says definitively.
“Don’t be a sore loser,” Laila chirps.
“I hope you go to jail for all you have done to me.”
Jeremy finds Jean’s sulking a little charming, it makes him laugh to see him cross his arms and intently watch the rest of the game.
Laila goes to jail and then shortly ends up bankrupted by Min who just smiles sweetly as Laila packs up her stuff. She pretends to be nice but is secretly very brutal—a little overly competitive.
Jeremy and Min duke it out for a few more rounds. Xavier hands him his $200 for passing GO—the only one trustworthy enough to be the bank teller—and Jeremy relishes in sweet success as his hotel on Mayfair catches a final victim.
Min is a good loser and she shakes Jeremy’s hand like they’re concluding a business meeting and not Jean’s first foray with the most anger-provoking board game in the world.
“Rematch?” she asks.
“I am not playing,” Jean says immediately. Sulking.
“Maybe another time. We don’t want to make Jean hate the entire team,” Jeremy says.
“Yahtzee?”
“Maybe cool it on the board games. We may be Trojans but there’s no rules for strangling each other over rolling some dice,” Xavier suggests. “And it’s Jean’s birthday, so we should do what he wants.”
“I want to go to the court,” Jean says.
“Anything but that.” Xavier starts tapping out a rhythm on his crossed legs. “We just played a game and the ache is starting to set in.”
Jean huffs, “I do not have that problem.”
“We get it, you have crazy endurance,” Cody pipes in from the couch. “But we need to just flop on a soft surface and sleep once the adrenaline wears off.” They indicate behind them with a thumb over their shoulder, where Pat is lying on the couch, propped up by a fluffy purple cushion, with his arms crossed like he’s in a coffin, and he snores particularly loud at that moment to illustrate Cody’s point. “Pat’s got the right idea.”
“Ohhh, bed, I miss you. Bed, I love you. Bed, I'll never take you for granted again,” Cat groans. She’s half-wilted by now, staying awake just for the sake of the kinda-party although she was ready to crash at least two hours ago. She stifles a yawn.
Their match came to a tie so they had to stay on the court for an extra 45 minutes to bring the win home and they’re all feeling it. Well, except for Jean.
“We should call it a night,” Jeremy says. “Pick it up tomorrow.”
Jean doesn’t say anything but nods.
Xavier and Min start packing up the Monopoly and Jean stares at the box with poorly concealed disgust. Ananya comes back from the bathroom and rouses Pat with a hand on his shoulder. He jolts to awareness but immediately relaxes under her touch. Cody says, “home time.”
Everytime he tries not to envy them, Jeremy ends up with a lump in his throat. He tries to dislodge it with a cough, but ultimately fails. Until he’s picking up the wrapping paper that Jean had painstakingly undone the tape of, and folded back up into little cards despite the floozies trying to tell him to just rip into them.
It was endearing.
There’s just something about Jean that makes Jeremy feel warm. He had come from a cold place, same as Jeremy, but his warmth had survived. Jeremy’s, he’s not so sure.
As Jeremy steps into the kitchen to access the rubbish bin, Jean is only a few steps behind him. Jeremy pauses for a second and whatever Jean is holding clinks. A turn reveals he’s gathered up all the empty cups that the floozies had used.
Jeremy dumps the wrapping paper in the bin and turns back to leave the kitchen. Laila is picking up empty pizza boxes and Cat just leans on the back of the armchair as if it’s the only thing keeping her up. She blinks slowly.
He helps with packing up Jean’s new pile of goodies. Most of which he vehemently tried not to accept. Jeremy isn’t entirely sure if he’s received gifts before coming to California. It was pretty obvious that he’d never had a birthday party, even just a small one.
As Jeremy takes a few more pieces of rubbish to the bin, he notices that Jean is scrubbing the glasses in the foamy sink.
“There’s a dishwasher, y’know?”
Jean just nods. “I like to wash them.”
Accepting that answer, Jeremy just skirts around him to reach the bin next to the fridge. It’s a tight squeeze but neither of them mind, they’ve gotten used to being in each other’s space for the most part.
Jeremy comes up to Laila’s side as she’s hugging Cody goodbye. They squeeze her and twist her side to side. She doesn’t look bothered at being trapped. “Get home safe,” she says.
“Of course,” they reply as they let go of her. Cody turns to Jeremy and opens their arms. “Not too good for a cuddle, are you?”
“Never,” Jeremy says as they wrap him up and he returns the embrace. Cody doesn’t rock him but squeezes him too.
They release him and get a mischievous smile on their face. “Jean, want a hug?”
Jean’s “no” is immediate. It stirs up a round of laughter.
“I’ll get you one day,” Cody says as they bend down to put their shoes on.
As they jog to catch up with Pat and Ananya, they leave Jeremy as the last guest to leave. Laila seems to appear out of nowhere, Jeremy jumps a little when she taps him on the shoulder.
“Jeez, we need to get you a bell,” he says.
“Maybe you should just be more aware of your surroundings,” she replies, a smile tugging at her lips.
He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. “Nah, that’s not it.”
“Can you stay?” she asks in a soft voice.
Jeremy shakes his head. He wishes more than anything. “You know I can’t.”
“I hate her,” Laila mumbles. “She keeps you locked up in that big house.”
“She’s not all bad.”
“She is worse than that. When’s the last time she said something nice to you?”
With a shrug, Jeremy lies, “she told me I did a good job by booking the LSAT.”
Laila hums. “How much longer do we have you for?”
Checking his watch, Jeremy’s blood runs cold. He’d underestimated how much time he’s been here. He was due home half an hour ago, and it’s a twenty minute drive from the lofts to the Wilshire house. “Fuck, I should’ve been gone an hour ago.”
He doesn’t even hear what Laila says next as he flings into motion, he rustles around for his bag and his phone and he can’t find his keys. “Where the fuck–”
“Jeremy,” Jean says behind him.
Jeremy turns and he’s dangling the keys in Jeremy’s face. The little exy racquet charm sways. “You left them on the counter.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy says and almost goes in to kiss his temple like he does with the girls. But he’s not sure he’s there with Jean yet, so he just freezes, apologises, and hastily tugs his sneakers on without tying the laces.
“Drive safe!” Laila calls out from the doorway as Jeremy is already booking it towards the elevator.
Jeremy turns to walk backwards for a few steps, waving at Laila. “I always do!”
She doesn’t seem entirely convinced but Jeremy is at the elevator now and he punches the downward arrow and taps his foot to hopefully dispel his nerves.
As much as Jeremy hopes on the ride home, his mother is not asleep by the time he gets there, five minutes short of being a whole hour later than her deadline. Jeremy cuts the engine and races inside so fast that he almost trips himself on his undone laces that drag in the gravel. William holds the door open for him.
“Your mother is in the study,” he says, eyeing Jeremy’s frazzled state.
“Thanks, William. You’re a lifesaver.” Jeremy pressed his palms together as if he’s praying, William must be some sort of guardian angel sent to keep Jeremy alive because no one else is doing it.
“Tie your shoes,” he says as Jeremy is already climbing the stairs. Jeremy waves him off but stops at the top to tie them. His mother doesn’t need any new things to rake Jeremy over hot coals for. He’s failed her enough times to give her material for a lifetime.
He holds his breath as he knocks on the study door.
“Come in,” his mother’s voice is as cold as ever. Jeremy’s surprised he has yet to get frostbite.
Tentatively, he opens the door and slips inside, apology on the tip of his tongue. His mother is sitting at his step-father’s desk with her arms folded. She doesn’t give him enough time to even utter the word ‘sorry’ before she rips into him.
“You think everything is a joke, don’t you?”
That catches Jeremy off-guard. Which it shouldn’t, he has had enough practice to be prepared for any blow his mother sends in his direction. “What? No–I’m sorry I’m late but time got away from me.”
“I don’t want you going around to that girl’s house again. It’s not safe.”
Jeremy gets a little defensive at that, he can feel the adrenaline still burning in his muscles. “Laila’s is perfectly safe. The fire was not her fault.”
“I want you to come back here as soon as you finish with your classes,” she says, unperturbed by Jeremy’s argument.
Jeremy bristles but takes a deep breath, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves. He always feels five years old again when his mother is like this. Red-faced and teary-eyed while she accuses him of ruining everything. “I have practice.”
“Right,” his mother muses. “That wretched sport. Nothing I say will ever stop you from wasting your time on it, but you will come home straight after practice. No dropping your friends home, or getting dinner with anyone. It ends and you come home, I will know if you try to slip past me.”
“Okay,” Jeremy submits. He always will. He’s a lot like Jean in that way. Jean’s past might be chasing after him but Jeremy always finds himself going home to sleep in a mouse trap. One wrong move and snap.
Maybe he ought to hope for a broken neck.
“Have you booked a date for your LSAT exam?” she asks, as indifferent as ever. This is the only time she ever cares about what he has to say.
“November 19th.”
“Good, good. You’ll do right by this family for once.”
Something in him burns, harboured resentment, or a weak point giving in from being pushed on too hard, and he’s still talking. “Don’t act like you are a saint.”
“I never said I was.”
Jeremy grinds his teeth until his jaw hurts, trying to keep his tongue in check, but he’s been taking unknowing lessons from Jean’s school of hard truths so it all comes spilling out.
“Maybe if you stepped off your high horse, you could have saved Noah.” He regrets it as soon as it’s past his lips but he can’t pull them back inside, can’t put the paint back in the tube once you’ve squeezed it all out. Some mistakes can’t be rectified.
“Oh, grow up, Jeremy,” she sighs.
Jeremy tosses up his hands in frustration and turns for the door. “I’m going the fuck to bed.”
“Do not swear at me, Jeremy Wilshire.”
“Knox,” he corrects, hand on the knob.
“You’re so insistent on denying everything I’ve done for you,” Mathilda sneers, standing up now, hands flat on the desk. “You kept his name when I’m the one who stayed and he left!”
“Your presence isn’t worth what you’ve done to your family,” Jeremy says, his voice softening. He doesn’t like to be angry, he doesn’t want to make his mother more angry than she already gets on her own but he’s been stepped on a few too many times.
Maybe this is his breaking point.
“Then do better,” she says. “Stop wasting your life, your brother could have used those years.” Jeremy tries not to recoil and fails, Noah will always be an open wound to him, there’s not enough sutures in the world to close it up, the guilt he has for his part in his brother’s suicide runs too deep. It’ll bleed forever. “You’re so obsessed with the sport that ruined this family. You’re my biggest regret.”
“Don’t—” he steps closer to her and jerks an accusatory finger towards her as he boils over. He has the sting of tears in his eyes, he’s given up being sad over the things his mother says, he’s heard it all before. This is fury, another thing he’s learnt from Jean. He grew a backbone and if he doesn’t use it now, he never will. “Don’t you dare try to blame anyone but yourself for this. You made your choice.”
“How dare you say that to me?” Mathilda seethes, her voice stretching in pitch.
The fight has gone out of Jeremy, he has used up all he can, but he tries not to shrink. “I’m going the fuck to bed,” he repeats and he storms out as his mother calls after him.
He holds it together as he heads for his room and as soon as he slams the door, he prepares for his mother to come chasing him, to have the last say so she can say she was the winner of this argument, to scold Jeremy like he’s a child and not a grown man.
Lying on his bed, tears burn but never fall, his mother doesn’t chase after him. No one comes by until half an hour later when William brings him a sandwich and a sympathetic presence.
How did he go from being so happy at the lofts, to being screamed at by his mother and finally screaming back? He doesn’t know what version of himself he’s seen tonight, doesn’t know if he’s proud of it or scared for what it means for his future. Is he going to become a monster like his mother, or cruel like Bryson, uncaring like Annaliese, a ghost like Joshua, or a headstone like Noah?
There’s an ache in his chest that’s been there for four years, he doesn’t think it’s going to go away until he dies and he finally owns up to his fault in what happened with Noah.
Maybe he’s caught up in the moment, the adrenaline still pumping, or he’s for once thinking clearly. He cannot pretend in here, in a small bedroom with a desk and a twin bed. Beige sheets and LSAT prep books.
This is his hell and he’s going to die here.
In a week.
He’ll give himself a week to tie up all the loose ends he can, and then he won’t have to bear this weight anymore.
Saturday.
Jeremy comes to terms with his imminent death with remarkable ease. It’s like a weight that has lifted. He just has to make it through this week and then no more. He’ll never have to tear himself apart again. No more sleepless nights, no more LSAT study, no more Bryson, no more scathing remarks from his mother, he’ll disappoint her one last time and never again.
Today is the day of Jean’s proper party. Just the floozies again, but they’re all heading to the beach to play volleyball and try to urge Jean to get a tan—even though Jeremy thinks he needs SPF 500 to ensure that he doesn’t catch alight like a piece of very tall kindling.
He barely slept but he slips out the back door before anyone but William has the chance to see him. He holds up a finger to his lips as he creeps past and William mimes zipping his mouth and throwing away the key.
He’s really gonna miss him.
The only one in this house who has ever been on his side. William practically raised him and his siblings, Jeremy feels sorry that he’ll have to watch another of them die.
But this is Jeremy’s penance. He owes the world his death, because without him Noah would have lived. He wouldn’t have been getting high while his baby brother went over the railing.
He broke this family in a way his mother never could. Joshua will never forgive him for Noah but Jeremy hopes that losing the culprit makes it hurt a little less.
He dumps his bag into the passenger seat of his car and cranks on the engine before peeling out of the driveway, stirring the gravel beneath his tires. Today is for Jean, he wants to make his first birthday something special.
As he pulls up to the lofts, he pushes his bag from the seat to the footwell and texts Laila that he’s here. He checks his reflection in the mirror and even he can’t see the crack in his façade. The sunglasses help.
Jean slips into the passenger seat without a word.
“Are you excited?” Jeremy asks him.
Jean just looks at him with vague interest. “I do not understand the point of this.”
“We’re celebrating you,” Jeremy says and nudges his shoulder.
“Pointless,” Jean muses. “I am here every day.”
“But it’s your birthday, another trip around the sun, it’s special.”
Jean looks displeased with that argument. “That makes no sense. Also it was yesterday.”
“We didn’t have enough time after the game, everyone was too tired. We have the whole day today and you’re going to have fun.”
Jean looks at him blankly and lets out a little scoff as he turns his face to the window. All he gets to see is the side of a red Honda Civic, and the crack in Jeremy’s side mirror.
Cat and Laila bring chatter into the backseat, both climbing in with an already ongoing conversation. Cat is wearing pink leopard print sunglasses. Jeremy can’t decide if they’re gauche or the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Is he still denying the importance of his birthday?” Cat guesses.
“Yes,” Jeremy answers, at the same time Jean says “no.”
“We couldn’t get him to stop,” Laila says. “He doesn’t like the idea of having a day all about him.”
“I am not remarkable,” Jean says.
“Yes, you are,” Jeremy replies as he throws the car in reverse, sticking his arm behind Jean’s headrest to get a better view. “You have never been unremarkable. You couldn’t if you tried.”
He tries to ignore the way Jean’s ears turn red.
The ride to the beach doesn’t take very long, finding a park takes at least twice that. Jeremy has to parallel park but he does it bravely and only gets a little bit snippy when his passengers interrupt his focus. The flow state of parallel parking, maybe this is Jeremy’s superpower.
He lets out a heavy breath when he can finally put the car in park and pull up the handbrake.
“You did great,” Cat says.
“Thank you.” He’ll take all the praise he can get.
Cat is in charge of the group chat and somehow linking up with the rest of the floozies. They find Xavier and Min easily. There’s a lot more back and forth and unclear directions until they locate Pat, Ananya, and Cody.
Jean has the wind knocked from him when Cody jogs over to him and gives him a tight hug. He looks like a cat being held against its will but Jeremy won’t step in. Jean has claws, he will use them, and he needs softening up.
Instead of trying to wriggle free, Jean wraps his arms around Cody. He looks positively out of his depth, wide-eyed and stiff.
Eventually Cody lets him go and pats him on the arm. “How’s it feel, birthday boy?”
“Same as yesterday,” Jean replies. “And the day before that.”
“Boo,” they say. “You’re no fun.”
Jean only answers that with a look, not even a scathing one, he’s becoming more and more Trojan-like by the day. Jeremy only kind of regrets that he will not be able to see the Trojan they make of him. He’s only been in California for a few months, who will he become after two years here?
The group set up for volleyball but they only play a few rounds before getting bored because Pat is too good at his spikes and almost takes Laila’s head smooth off of her shoulders. So instead he apologises to her profusely, as a red patch wells up on her dark skin, and they decide to swim instead. Hopefully less casualties with that option.
It’s autumn, the water is probably not yet warm enough at this time of day. Oh well, Jeremy is sitting with Jean on separate beach towels under an umbrella, guarding the picnic basket from overly ambitious seagulls. He’s not sure if the beach was a good idea for Jean’s birthday celebration but he vetoed every other idea. No movies, no rollerskating, definitely no bowling. Jean is squatting on the edge of his towel and tracing shapes in the sand with his pointer finger. Jeremy can’t see them very well from his angle but he sees at least one sun, and a smiley face.
Min is the first to retreat back to home base. She grabs a water bottle from the picnic basket and opens one of the camping chairs to sit on.
“How’s the water?” Jeremy asks.
“Cold,” she says. Sand clings to her wet legs but her hair is still dry. “The sun is nice though.”
The three of them sit there in silence. Jeremy tries to befriend a seagull by tossing bits of mayo-covered ham from his sandwich at it. The seagull eats some of the offerings but it gets spooked and flies away before Jeremy can swear fealty to it.
He’s pouting when Jean gets up and asks, “walk with me?”
“Sure. Min, you’re all good here by yourself?”
She waves him off. “Go, have fun.”
“I’m going to catch a seagull,” he declares as he stands up.
“You will not,” Jean says, appalled.
When they get further away, Jeremy builds the confidence to talk. “Is there a reason you wanted to be alone with me, or are we really just walking?”
“Just walking,” Jean hums.
They walk in complete silence. The warm sun beats down on them and is only semi-blinding when he looks out at the ocean. The blue waves are rolling and cresting before melting away to nothingness. The constant push and pull of nature.
Jeremy makes good on trying to catch a seagull but Jean yanks him back by his arm as the bird takes off.
“You are not taking a seagull home,” Jean chides. “Your mother will never let you keep it.”
“I know,” Jeremy says. “That’s why it would live at your house.”
“Laila would never let you keep it.”
“She doesn’t have to know about it,” Jeremy says. “I would keep it in your room.”
“I am not sharing my room with a bird.”
Jeremy laughs so hard at Jean’s vehemency he has to clutch at his stomach. It was just a preposterous joke to ruffle his feathers and Jean always takes him so seriously. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says.
Jean just stares at him. “Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?”
“You’re so mean,” Jeremy laughs. “I won’t keep my pet seagull in your room.”
After a beat of silence, Jean asks, “do you promise?”
That makes Jeremy laugh again. “Of course,” he says. “I promise I will not keep a seagull in your bedroom.”
“Good.”
The way Jean’s mind works is a puzzle Jeremy is running out of time to solve. Maybe it will be one of those mysteries, cases gone cold that sit in dusty boxes on dusty shelves, waiting for a conclusion that never comes.
They walk a bit further, they’re in a calmer spot on the beach, way less populated. Jeremy can turn and only just make out the shapes of Xavier and Ananya in the water. He wonders if they’re the only ones still in the ocean or if he needs his eyes checked.
“Can we,” Jean starts before he flounders. He stands still, head bowed, there’s a tremble in him, or maybe it’s just the wind.
“Are you okay, Jean?” he asks.
“Can we go to the water?”
That question catches Jeremy so far off guard that his feet catch and he nearly trips. Jean holds out a hand to stop his fall. Once Jeremy has gotten over his surprise he says, “of course. Do you think you’re up for it?”
Jean nods. “My therapist says I need to try water. He says it’s exposure therapy.”
“How deep are we gonna go?” Jeremy asks, ducking his head a little to look at Jean’s face. His eyes are screwed shut and he’s breathing a little shakily.
“Just to the edge, maybe my feet.”
“We can do that,” Jeremy says as he takes Jean’s hand and starts easing him towards the waves. Jean follows easily, and they stop where the sand is just barely wet, more cold than anything.
Jeremy gently eases Jean just a few steps further. They stand there for a while, Jeremy’s hand on Jean’s back. It doesn’t take long for the tiniest dregs left of the waves lap over Jean’s toes. His body goes stiff for about thirty seconds, but then relaxes.
He will never get to see Jean conquer this fear, but he knows he will. He doesn’t need Jeremy, he is strong enough to stand on his own.
“Again?” Jeremy asks.
Jean shakes his head, breathing heavy.
“Okay. Do you wanna go back to the group?”
Jean shakes his head again. “Can it be just us for a little longer?”
“Of course.”
Sunday.
The next day, Jeremy meets Jean bright and early at the lofts. He lets himself in with the spare key and loiters in the hallway while Jean shaves. He likes watching him do stuff like this, focused completely on something so small, his proficiency on the court translates to all parts of his life.
No wonder Riko had picked him for his Perfect Court.
Jeremy tilts his head so that the idea drains out through his ear. Riko’s death is still such a sensitive topic for Jean, he won’t entertain anyone even mentioning his name. Jeremy wants to see him open up and let it all out, all the pain he’s holding.
He doesn’t have enough time.
When Jean finishes shaving, he wipes stray foam off of his face and turns to find Jeremy leaning on the doorframe. “How long have you been there?” he asks.
“Not long,” Jeremy says with a simple smile. “Are you ready?”
“I need my bag,” Jean says and he passes Jeremy, so careful that they do not touch but Jeremy can smell his shampoo. Eucalyptus and mint.
Jean doesn’t take long to round up all the stuff he needs for his appointment. It warms something in Jeremy to know that he will be able to report back to his doctor that he has made some progress.
As they climb into Jeremy’s car, there’s a painful pang behind his breastbone. He knows Jean will be okay without him, but he’s not sure if Jean knows that too.
Jeremy pushes it out of his head as he twists the key and the car comes to life with a gentle rumble. They’re on the highway in a matter of minutes. This doctor Jean is seeing is a very long way to drive but at least he seems to be helping. That makes all the gas mileage worth it.
He takes the stairs with Jean like they do every time. Jeremy hopes he can find someone else to keep him company. Cat or Laila would make the climb with him, but Jeremy isn’t so sure he would tell them the truth.
“I don’t like being in boxes,” Jean had said.
Jeremy knows that learning more about Jean’s time in the Nest will just make him feel sick. Jean didn’t deserve all he went through here, he’s one of the kindest people Jeremy has ever met and the Ravens tried to scrape it out of him like he was gum on the bottom of a shoe.
Another thing he knows, as Jean walks into his doctor’s office and Jeremy finds a few empty seats to nap across, is that Jean is so much more than what anyone from his past has to say about him.
They call him cruel, they call him violent, they call him monstrous, they call him a whore. He’s none of that. Jeremy has watched each and every one of those claims turn to dust as Jean proved them wrong.
There was a light in Jean that wasn’t completely burnt out by the time he came to California, and through genuine friendship, Jeremy has seen it blossom to something even bigger.
It will grow until it’s all anyone can see when they look at him—black feathers turned gold.
Jeremy feels guilty for having this countdown, for telling no one, he worries about how Jean will do once he is gone. He wonders if the light in him will withstand this final act of selfishness.
He’s spent so much time helping Jean in the past few months, and he’s loved doing it. He has loved to see Jean come out of his shell, but he needs to put himself first, just this once.
So Jeremy stretches himself across a row of chairs and puts the LSAT guide he’ll never have to read again over his face to block out the light, and he sleeps until Jean comes back out and shakes him by the shoulder.
“Did you not sleep last night?” he asks as the guide falls off of Jeremy’s face and strikes the floor with a very loud thud.
“I slept,” Jeremy says, unable to suppress his yawn.
“Do you want me to drive us back?”
Jeremy sits up now, shaking his head. “No. I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m good to drive.”
Jean looks utterly unconvinced, but doesn’t fight him.
It takes until they are almost back at the lofts for Jeremy to pitch the question he’s been gnawing on for almost two days now. “Would you be okay getting someone else to drive you to your appointment next week?”
He feels bad, he feels like he’s being mean, he just hopes Jean can forgive him.
“You cannot?” Jean asks plainly.
“No, sorry,” Jeremy says. “I’ve got a dumb family thing next Sunday that I can’t wriggle out of. Sorry, it’s kinda abrupt.”
“It’s okay, I will find someone else. You can do the week after, right?”
Jeremy nods, “of course I can.”
Monday.
Jean corrects Jeremy’s posture no less than twelve times at practice that afternoon. “Stand up straight,” he says. “Bend your knees,” he says. “Don’t trip over your own feet,” he says as Jeremy narrowly avoids smashing his face on the court floor.
Jeremy feels Jean lightly tap his ankle with his racquet. “Are you alright?” he asks, and the edge to his voice is gone. He’s not coaching Jeremy now, at this moment they are just friends and Jean worries about him.
“I’m okay.”
Pushing himself up and so that he is sitting, Jeremy just looks up at Jean. He doesn’t understand how anyone could fear him, he holds out a hand and gently pulls Jeremy to his feet, steadying him with another hand on his chest.
Jean grips his chin and meets Jeremy’s eyes through the grating of both their helmets. This close Jeremy can see the smoke in his grey eyes, and the way one of his bottom teeth overlaps the other.
He wants to drown in all of the details of Jean Moreau. But he has only four days left to do it.
Maybe some god out there is merciful and Jeremy can think only of these things as he drifts off one last time.
“Are you okay?” Jean asks again, his eyes intense.
Jeremy nods and swallows the knot in his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Jean lets go of his chin and takes a few steps back. “Run it again,” he says, making a swooping motion with his racquet, like a scythe mowing down straw.
So Jeremy runs it again.
And again.
And again.
Jean looks two seconds away from yelling as Jeremy keeps falling short of his expectations. He lets his racquet drop to his side and says to Jean, “maybe it’s time for a break.”
Surprisingly, Jean doesn’t argue. “We will pick this up again tomorrow.”
Jeremy pats him on the shoulder and seeks out his eyes again. He wonders if Jean can see through his smokescreen, see the rotted away part of himself that he tries so hard to keep covered.
“Good plan,” he says. Rhemann blows his whistle and sets everyone off for a scrimmage. Jeremy finds himself half a court away from Jean, the distance stings.
If there is something after this, he worries he will miss Jean for the rest of time.
Tuesday.
Cat has a brave face for the entire march off-court with an arm slung around Jeremy’s shoulder. She hobbles trying to match his stride and attempts not to put too much weight on the ankle that made a huge popping noise as she went down.
“I can walk,” she protests.
“Wanna test that theory?” Jeremy asks.
Cat just grips him a little tighter. “Not really.”
It is a slow mission but they make it to the nurse’s office where Young is rotating back and forth on the stool at the desk, tapping out a rhythm on the wood. She jolts a little when Jeremy knocks on the door’s frame.
“Come in, come in,” she says.
Jeremy hoists Cat up onto the cot despite her surprised yelp as he does so.
“Jeremy Knox, I am not an invalid!”
He just gives her one of his winning smiles. “Just taking care of my team.”
“I’d like to see you pick Shane up like that,” Cat grumbles.
“When Shane sprains his ankle I will scoop him up into my arms and carry him off the court,” he replies. Cat does not look impressed as she crosses her arms.
Jeremy lurks as Young gently removes Cat’s shoe and sock, to reveal her ankle that is turning a sickening shade of purple. Definitely not an injury she could just walk off. She presses on the joint, all the way down to her foot, bending it slightly to see when it hurts.
Cat is breathing heavy once she finishes poking and prodding. She scrunches her face up and refuses to open her eyes until Young says “I don’t think it’s broken. Just a soft tissue injury. It might have dislocated when you fell but everything looks to be where it should be.”
“What can you do for her?” Jeremy asks, worried.
“I can wrap it for now,” she says. “And some ice. Come back to see me or one of the other nurses if the pain gets worse.”
“So no crutches?” Cat asks.
As Young is shaking her head, Jeremy butts in with a hurried, “don’t listen to her, she just wants to smack me with them.”
Cat mock gasps, placing a hand over her heart. “I would never.”
“You would. Laila can testify.”
“Laila is the love of my life, she would commit perjury for me.”
“Then you’d both go to prison,” Jeremy notes.
“Ooh, look at me, Mr Fancy-Law-School.” Cat throws up jazz hands to illustrate her point. It makes Jeremy laugh a little. “Asshole.”
“I’m not in law school yet,” he says. He won’t ever have to submit to his mother’s expectations again.
As his deadline draws nearer, he feels relief at that, even a little excitement. He goes through the minutiae of life—brushing his teeth, getting up in the night to pee, tying his shoes—and he is happy that soon he will never have to do any of it again.
Cat takes a shaky breath as the nurse starts wrapping her ankle. She grips the faux leather over the cushioning of the cot.
“Do you wanna hold my hand?” Jeremy asks.
She shakes her head firmly but still grabs onto his offered hand and squeezes. It doesn’t take long but she keeps her grip long after the bandage and ice pack are in place. She’d never admit it to his face, but he knows she’s not angry he’s here.
“Rest up in here,” Young says. “I’ve got some restocking to do so the room is yours.”
Hesitating, Jeremy waits until she’s a fair distance down the hall, so much that Jeremy can’t hear the squeak of her sneakers on the linoleum, and then he steals her stool. It looked awfully lonely, just abandoned in the middle of the room like that.
“Are you coming for dinner?” Cat asks once he’s seated.
Jeremy sighs. “You know I can’t.”
Still under his mother’s thumb, not for much longer. Maybe he’ll have a late night with them after the game on Friday. Dinner wouldn’t be a huge ordeal but it would be nice. But if his mother isn’t asleep when he gets back the last thing he will ever do is argue with her. He doesn’t want that. He wants to think of his friends, and pretend that his friends will think of him.
“I hate her,” Cat says.
“I know.”
Cat doesn’t have a rebuttal for that, so she sits in silence.
There’s a pinch in her expression. She constantly flutters her hands from being at her side to in her lap, and back again. She can't get comfortable, Jeremy considers chasing down Young to see if there’s anything she can give Cat.
But Cat would never admit to this pain, she’s too proud.
“You’re good at hiding it,” Jeremy starts, leaning forward and bracing his arms on his thighs. “But I can tell you’re in pain.”
Cat zeroes in on him with a fire in her eyes. A loose curl hangs in her face, but it doesn’t soften her. “And I can see it on your face too. You think I can’t but I know you,” she hisses. “What are you hiding that’s eating you alive?”
Jeremy gives her a wan smile. “I’ll tell you later. I just have to get through this week.”
Noah got by for so long when everyone knew it was an inevitability, he can make it through three more days. He deserves this, he should have taken better care of his baby brother. He just hopes Noah doesn’t resent him like the rest of the family does.
Cat does not look happy with that answer, but she does not lash out again.
“I love you,” he says.
With the slightest bit of surprise, Cat responds easily, “I love you too.”
Three days. Three more days and he can rest.
Wednesday.
“I don’t need your charity, I have my own money,” Laila says, hands on her hips as Jeremy swipes his card for both of their orders. Jeremy doesn’t even like boba, it’s overly sweet and the pearls have a slimy goopy texture, he’s just here to make sure his best friend is happy. He can’t leave her if he knows she’s hurting.
She gets two holes punched on her card for their two drinks. Next time she gets a free one. A parting gift.
“Let me treat you.”
With a huff, Laila’s expression goes from annoyed to fond. “You always treat me, Jer. Can’t I ever do something for you?”
“Never,” Jeremy promises.
She’s already done so much for him, she’s been the best thing in Jeremy’s life for years now. She gave him a home when the one he grew up in shattered around him. Something about stones thrown in glass houses. She dusted the shards off of him and brewed him a coffee.
He’ll never forget that.
The drinks get made and Laila walks over to the table by the window, there’s two seats and an empty pitcher of water on top. They sit and Jeremy stares down at the straw in his hand like he’s waiting for it to bite him.
It’s a flavour he hasn’t tried before, Thai Milk Tea, it’s disconcertingly orange but Laila thinks he will enjoy it.
“Try it,” Laila says. She tips her drink upside down and the ice rattles before she turns it upright again. Jeremy isn’t so convinced by the security of the plastic seal on the top, what if it spills? She stabs her straw through the plastic and swirls it around. Her drink is a pale shade of purple but he can’t remember what flavour it is.
She gets a new thing almost every time, Jeremy can never figure out what is her favourite, and she always tells him to surprise her. Which she immediately revoked when Jeremy showed up at practice with a green apple flavour, which apparently tasted like soap.
Cody drank that one. Much to Laila’s horror.
“So,” Laila starts after she takes a long sip, “what’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. Just wanted to take you to get something nice.” Laila’s afternoon lecture was cancelled and Jeremy swooped in with his seemingly endless free time in his schedule, so he convinced her to come out for boba. It didn’t take much persuasion.
“Are you going to try your drink or are you going to keep staring at it like it’s a rattlesnake?”
Jeremy gulps and tries his best to mimic what Laila had done. His straw bounces off the plastic three times, blunting the tip, before he finally gets it through and the film rips, orange milk spilling out. A little gets on the table.
“I don’t know how you do this,” Jeremy bemoans.
Laila laughs, her eyes crinkling. “If you are pure of heart, you’ll get it the first time.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Can you prove me wrong?” Laila asks, before tapping on her straw with her index finger. “What weighs on your heart?”
Jeremy shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. It’s still way too sweet but this is probably the best flavour he’s tried so far. Thumbs up for that. The tapioca pearls give him an icky feeling as he bites down on them. Like jelly but slimy and thick.
“This one is good,” he says, effectively dodging Laila’s question.
“See? I told you you would like it!” She takes another mouthful of her drink and chews on the pearls.
“You know me better than anyone,” Jeremy says.
“Damn right.” Laila pushes her drink towards Jeremy. “Wanna try mine?”
Jeremy wants to say no, but he’s on his apology-for-killing-himself-in-the-near-future tour. And he wants this to be a good memory, not just him sulking because he doesn’t like boba.
So he takes a sip and immediately it’s way too sweet. The aftertaste is much better but he pushes it back to Laila.
“Didn’t like that one?”
“Yuck,” Jeremy says. “No.”
Laila smiles at him. “I respect your opinion, even if it is wrong. But hey, we finally got a win with Thai milk tea! That’s something to celebrate.”
“Is it really?” Jeremy asks.
She nods. “Now we have potential for so many boba dates. You’ll be my arm candy.”
“Do we have to get married for tax benefits? Does that cover boba fees?”
The laughter that erupts from Laila is brighter than the sun. “I’m sure it does,” she hums. “Your mother would like that.”
Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “It might be the only thing I can do to get on her good side.”
“I don’t think she has a good side,” Laila says.
“That is always a possibility,” Jeremy says.
They return to amicable chatter as Laila drains through her boba and starts making big eyes at Jeremy’s. His is still over halfway full and he happily slides it over to her—she’s like a vampire who can only be satiated by bubble tea.
“You seem happier lately,” she says, mouth full of pearls.
Jeremy can’t tell her why so he just says, “I guess things are getting better.”
“Good.” Laila takes another sip of Jeremy’s drink. “I’m glad.”
The guilt weighs heavily in Jeremy’s chest for the entirety of practice, he doesn’t want to lie to Laila, he doesn’t want her to think he was concealing parts of him for their entire friendship. She knows him so well, but this is one secret he has to keep.
He’s so sick with his betrayal that he parks his car a little way up the road from the Wilshire house and pulls the clove cigarettes out of his glovebox and lights one up, breathing the smoke out his open window.
He knows Laila hates it, but he also knows she’s going to hate him forever.
Thursday.
Tomorrow they will outline his body in chalk. They don’t tend to do that for suicides but Jeremy likes the idea of marking his place, leaving one last piece of him in the world.
Cat and Laila have gone out for dinner, their first date night in a long time. They were long overdue for treating themselves. So, directly against his mother’s wishes, Jeremy is camping out in the lofts with Jean until they come back.
They’ve been watching old Trojan games for so long that the guilt stirs up his insides again. Jeremy cannot focus on the screen, or Jean’s commentary, he’s just so fixated with tomorrow.
He wants to savour every moment of this, but at the same time he wants to jump ahead of his deadline and do it tonight. Peace is just a day away, Jeremy will never have to hurt again.
It’s been so long since he could take in a breath without the thorn of grief poking through his ribs. Penance. Punishment. His recompense. He needs to atone for what happened with Noah. Maybe with his death he can finally wash the blood off of his hands, maybe his palms will still be stained when they put him in the ground.
“Jeremy.”
He perks up at the mention of his name, pulled from the swirling storm in his brain. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been staring at the tissue box for the last ten minutes. Does it owe you money?”
Jeremy laughs at that, it’s not often that Jean tries to be funny. He’s gonna miss this. “No one owes me anything,” he says once he catches his breath. “I just got a little bit too into my head.”
Jean turns to him and folds his arms across the knees pulled to his chest. “What are you thinking about?”
Taking a deep inhale, Jeremy holds his breath until his lungs ache. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Everything.”
“Can I help?” Jean asks.
“You already do, just by being here.”
Jean doesn’t look convinced but he lets the conversation lapse as he gets pulled back into the game that is playing. Exy would always occupy more of Jean’s brain than Jeremy ever could. It’s the sport he hates but he still lives for it. Jeremy wants to commend him on his strength, Jeremy has so many good things going on and yet he is crumbling under the pressure of every ghost that hides in the cold house his mother forces him to call home. All the missing pictures of Noah, his passport held hostage, his mother’s cruelty.
Jeremy’s shoulders were never strong enough to carry all of this. It’s no surprise when he collapses.
Jeremy loops his plan in his head, again and again. Play the game. Thank Rhemann. Tell his friends he loves them. Withdraw whatever he can from an ATM. Find pills on the way home. Take as many as he can. Finally sleep.
After the sixth loop of the plan, he gives voice to a tiny niggle in his brain.
“Would you miss me?” he asks, not looking in Jean direction, if he does that he will surely crumble.
Jean hums. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” Jeremy admits. He’s so scared that there is something after this, that he won’t have rectified anything with his death. That if there’s an afterlife, Noah will hate him for what he’s done. “Somewhere,” he says eventually.
“I am your partner,” Jean says. “Take me with you.”
Jeremy feels like bursting into tears in the presence of Jean’s unwavering loyalty. He hopes this hurts Jean least of all. Jean who has only known the sun for a few months deserves to stand in it a little longer. Jeremy’s full of the sun, he’s all burnt and blistered, he wants to snub it out.
“I can’t.”
Jeremy can hear Jean shifting the way he is sitting. He looks over for the briefest flicker, a crack in his armour, Jean is looking at him intensely. “Do not hide things from me,” he says.
“I’m not,” Jeremy lies. “I think I’m just getting too caught up in my thoughts.”
Jean doesn’t reply but he backs down just the slightest. After a few minutes he says in a weird tone, “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”
“Anything works,” Jeremy replies.
He stares unblinking at the game on the TV, all the Trojans blur together, red and gold, and small like ants. Jeremy feels like even an ant would stand tall next to him, he has shrunk so much under the weight of everything, maybe Jean can crush him underfoot and never know it happened.
Jean comes back with a glass of water and a can of sprite. He sets the can on a coaster on the coffee table next to Jeremy’s elbow, and holds onto his drink. He fishes something out of his pocket and hands it to Jeremy. “A penny for your thoughts?” he asks.
Jeremy pulls at the crumpled piece of paper until it unfolds enough to read it. A Monopoly bill. $500.
“That’s a little bit more than a penny,” Jeremy says.
“How much will it get me?”
“Whatever you want.”
Jean hesitates for a second, thinking. “Can you hug me?”
Jeremy stands up and gives him a hug and holds it like the last breath of air and he’s underwater. He doesn’t know how long they stand there, wrapped up in each other and a hundred things left unsaid. Jeremy checks his watch, the girls aren’t back but it’s too late to stay here. “I didn’t realize how late it is.”
Jean doesn’t loosen his grip. “Please, stay?”
He doesn’t think Jean is just meaning at the lofts. Maybe Jeremy’s mask is slipping, but maybe not as Jean doesn’t try to stop him as he loosens his hold on the backliner. Jeremy pats him on the arm as he pulls back.
“Maybe another day,” he promises. He’s a filthy liar and if Jean sees right through him, he doesn’t say anything.
He’s so rattled by the close call with Jean, that on his drive home that he pulls over at the first ATM he sees. He can’t afford to hesitate. He withdraws what he can, enough to get what he needs, and low enough to keep Leslie off his back, at least for a couple of days.
He can’t afford to not take enough to kill him. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
It’s easy enough to find drug dealers, like laughably so. Jeremy trades his cash for a bag of pills. The man giving them to him says “it’s gonna be one hell of a party,” and Jeremy just says “yeah, it will be.”
He climbs back into his car and puts the pills in his glovebox. Safe for tomorrow.
Hopefully they’re cut with something strong and he goes quickly.
As Jeremy drives home with the window down and the chill of fall air whipping at his face, he wonders how long it will take his father to pick up a call to tell him his son died. They often go months without speaking. Jeremy doesn't have high hopes.
Friday.
The Trojans win their game—Jeremy is going to go out on a high.
He’s so proud of his team, and the work they’ve put in. He’ll be sorry to not see them through to the end of his five years at USC. They’ll make it though, he has no doubts, they’ll beat the Foxes when it comes down to it, and the Trojans will take home the trophy.
It’s enough hope that he almost thinks he’ll stay.
Xavier shakes him from his dumbfounded stupor, staring at the scoreboard and when Jeremy looks down at him he pulls him in hard. “Are you good?” he whispers into Jeremy’s ear.
Jeremy just smiles and pats him on the back. “Yeah.”
It’s getting both easier and harder to lie. Mistruths have never fallen off of his tongue more seamlessly, but they come with a guilt he can feel penetrating him right down to the marrow.
As Xavier pulls back, Jeremy finds himself in Jean’s personal space. He wraps him up in a final hug, holds him as tightly as it can, hard enough to shatter his own bones. He looks up at Jean’s face and there’s something unreadable there, Jean’s own secret. The impulse to rip off Jean’s helmet and grab him by the face and kiss him washes over Jeremy. It’s a nice thought, but a selfish one. He can’t do that, another wound to heal is too cruel. Maybe in another life.
So he lets go and watches as Jean is swallowed up by the rest of the team. Jeremy is a sailboat in the ocean and he’s about to capsize.
Jeremy stops at Coach Rhemann’s office before he hits the showers. “Can I talk to you?” he asks in a voice much smaller than the confidence he was hoping to convey.
Rhemann stops shuffling around papers on his desk and gestures for Jeremy to sit. “Of course.”
His eyes catch on Rhemann’s crow’s feet, his smile lines, and the wisps of silver hair at his temples. Things Jeremy is never going to have, though he wonders if he did, would he look just like his father?
He will never get to know.
Jeremy fiddles with his fingers a few times, trying to find the right words.
“Jeremy,” Rhemann says. “Your fidgeting is making me nervous. Are you okay?”
“Sorry, I just–” He takes a quick breath and forces himself to exhale slowly. Like his therapist taught him all those years ago, and he’s spent years doing everything but listening to her on this. Maybe it’s finally time to give it a try. “I wanted to thank you.”
Rhemman’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not following. What for?”
Jeremy’s next breath shudders. “Just for everything. All the support you’ve given me, the faith you had in me when no one else agreed with you, the home I have found here with the Trojans, you have never left me where I have fallen without a hand to pull me up.” He needs to get over this quickly before the water in his eyes spills everywhere.
“Well, thank you for your kind words,” Rhemann says, clearly flustered by the attention. “But can I ask what spurred this on?”
“Just—” His chest hitches on a sob he’s trying to choke off. “I’ve been thinking that this is my last year as a Trojan. You’ll always be here, even years down the line when you’ve forgotten about me, but I will always remember what you’ve done for me here.”
Rhemann stands up and gestures for Jeremy. “Come here.”
Jeremy stands up and lets Rhemann pull him into a tight hug, thumping him on the back a few times.
“I will never forget you, no matter what,” he says. “And I will always be here. You can ring me in ten years when you’re playing in the Olympics and I’ll still pick up the call.”
That’s enough for the dam to break and Jeremy to start crying. Bawling his eyes out while his coach holds him, if he closes his eyes he can pretend that Rhemann is his father, but then he realises that Rhemann is a better father than Trent Knox could ever be. This is what he needed all his life, just one person who was in his corner no matter what.
Rhemann holds him for a bit longer before leaning back only partially. Enough to hand Jeremy some tissues, and look him in his splotchy red face.
“Are you alright?” he asks, clearly worried that Jeremy is crying about graduating when he’s got like six months until then.
“I’m good,” Jeremy says, wiping his eyes.
Rhemann pulls him back into a hug. “If things get dark, do you promise you’ll call?”
“I promise.” The lie stings like bile in his throat.
“You’ve got my number, don’t lose it,” he says. And Jeremy knows that he means it. He feels bad for wasting all the time and effort Rhemann has put into him, to get him where he is despite everything. And he’s still here holding onto Jeremy’s fractured self and not even caring that he is getting snot on his game day polo.
“I won’t.”
Jeremy leaves Rhemann’s office a liar and goes through the motions of showering and getting changed like there’s a fire under his feet. He’s buzzing with something, adrenaline or excitement?
“Are you okay?” is the first thing Jean says when Jeremy catches up with their little squad. He’s driving them home but they’ve probably all been changed out and waiting for him for at least ten minutes—likely more.
Jeremy hums. “I’m good.”
He hopes the shower has washed away the redness of his eyes. Jean still studies him intently with narrowed eyes.
Jeremy mimes an x over his chest. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”
“Not funny,” Jean bites back.
“Sorry,” Jeremy says, and he really does mean it. But he will not feel remorse for what will take place tonight. He needs this like he needs air to breathe. There’s no oxygen left in the Wilshire house for him.
“Alright,” Laila starts. “Jean doesn’t like waiting in the cold for so long with wet hair. And Jeremy has probably individually bid every single audience member goodbye. So let’s just go home, okay?”
“I want to sleep,” Cat groans from where her head is planted in Laila’s shoulder as her girlfriend rubs her back.
They pile into the car and no one says anything as Jeremy drives them back to the lofts. Everyone is too tired, or harbouring resentment in Jean’s case, Jeremy is just ecstatic. He’s got energy levels he hasn’t seen in months.
As they pull in, Jeremy cuts his lights and follows them up to their floor. He takes the stairs with Jean who doesn’t say a word. Jeremy doesn’t know what to prepare to answer. Is Jean going to tell everyone what he’s going to do? It certainly seems like he knows, maybe he doesn’t know that Jeremy’s plan takes place tonight. Maybe he sees how much Jeremy needs this.
Jeremy makes it to the door a few steps behind Jean. He stands just in the entryway for a little bit. He doesn’t even take off his shoes. “You did good today,” he says as a blanket statement for the room.
Jean looks at him like he has x-ray eyes and can see all of the loose ends that make up Jeremy Knox. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks.
Plain and simple.
“Of course.”
The drive home is nice. Jeremy has the window down again and he’s tapping on the steering wheel along with the radio. He’s not much of a drummer but he’s having fun.
He’s not much of a singer either but he screams his heart out until his throat aches.
All but one of the lights in the house are all out by the time he pulls up home. William has left the porch light on for him. Jeremy fishes the bag of pills out of his glovebox and tucks them deep into the pocket of his hoodie.
He’s smuggled drugs into this house enough times to not get caught now.
He steps carefully as he passes the study, and Bryson’s room even though he didn’t see his car outside.
Successfully avoiding all of the inhabitants of the Wilshire house, Jeremy shuts himself in his room. The door makes a soft click as it latches.
He moves all his discarded notebooks and study guides from his desk and pulls his bottle of water out of his backpack, along with the pills in his hoodie. He lays everything out on the desktop, sits in the chair that he’s spent so much of his life sitting in and swivelling in circles until he gets dizzy. He stays still this time, focused on the task ahead.
Taking a small handful of pills, he fills his mouth with water and tips them in. He swallows them down before they can leave a bitter taste on his tongue. He should have gotten something more pleasant to wash them down with. Water is a very boring last drink.
Jean had said "don't backslide. I will not forgive you."
All Jeremy can hope is that he’s changed his mind, that one day Jean can forgive him for what he’s doing. He didn’t relapse, he’s not trying to get high, this isn’t a drug addicts scramble for more, this is his suicide. His final act, he better remember to bow before the curtain closes.
A bigger handful of pills. He doesn’t get them all down in one attempt this time. He chokes a bit on the water and accidentally crushes a few pills with his molars as he’s trying to swallow them.
They taste vile, bitter and condescending, and Jeremy has to chase them with even more water.
There’s so many pills, he definitely didn’t need to buy this many. But he always overestimates everything. At least he knows it will work.
More pills. More water. More bitter sting.
He coughs as the last mouthful goes down strong.
All he has left is an empty bag, white residue on the desk and his hands, and a half-drained water bottle.
This is it.
No more pressure. No more suffering. No more studying for a life he doesn’t want. No more venomous words. No more vitriol. Just a matter of time and blank nothingness.
I’m coming home, he thinks.
He packs everything up, shoves the empty bag into his rubbish bin, puts his water bottle back into his bag and shoves it under the desk like he does every night, and sits on his bed. Needing something to do until the pills kick in, he pulls out his laptop and plugs it in.
So he spends his last time alive scrolling through the pictures of the Trojans from their game tonight. He wants to commit all their faces to memory, his team that he loves so much. He couldn’t be happier.
The only thing left is the sting of knowing that he lied to them all to get here. He’s spun his web of lies to get to this point, everyone he loves is going to remember him as a liar and a coward.
His hands start to tremble after a little over half an hour. He thinks he should have left a note, but he doesn’t know what he would say, and the tremor in his fingers will not let him pick up a pen. Noah didn’t leave a note either so he guesses it’s okay.
When the floaty feeling hits, Jeremy’s stomach bottoms out. Now that he’s really in it, he’s not sure if this is what he really wants. He spent an entire week preparing to die and now that the time has come and it’s too late to back out, he wants a do-over.
He wonders if Noah regretted going over the railing halfway down.
He staggers to his feet and stumbles the short way down the hall to the bathroom. On his knees and shaking all over he sticks his fingers down his throat until he heaves. He brings up nothing but the water he took to swallow the pills. They’re all fucking dissolved. It’s too late.
“I don’t want this,” he pleads as he cries. “I don’t want this, take it back.”
He finds his phone in his pocket and is dialling out the only number he can find as he tries to get back to his room, everything is blurry but the call connects. “Jeremy?” comes Rhemann’s voice through the tinny speaker.
The world tilts and Jeremy hits his knees on the hardwood floor, he can’t get his legs to work. “Help me,” he says. Or at least he thinks he says, everything is a haze and he can’t be sure of anything except that he can’t move.
A sense of calm washes over him like he’s never felt before.
And nothing.