The water tastes like dust, but I drink anyway. My throat needs it. My brain needs it. My heart… well, that's another story.
"So," I ask after contemplating for a while, "how have you been all this time? You said you left home after arguing with Mom's fiancé."
He looks like he'd rather eat a cactus than talk about this.
Josh rubs the back of his neck, frustrated at himself. "Yeah. Mom's fiancé. That guy. Richard-whatever. I hate him."
I blink. "Why?"
"He talks to me like I'm some… rescue mission." Josh's voice sharpens. "Like I'm this damaged kid he gets to fix. The charity case he can flaunt. Every time he opens his mouth, it's 'Josh, let me guide you' or 'Josh, you're safe now,' or worse: that pity smile."
I can picture it too clearly. My chest twists. "He sounds awful."
"He is." Josh snorts. "And Mom keeps saying I should be grateful. Grateful that she finally found someone who 'provides.'"
He makes air quotes so aggressively his fingers practically snap.
"I don't need a provider," he mutters. "I needed a mom. And now she's too busy playing happy family with Mr. Corporate Wallet. So I guess I don't need her anymore either."
He stops, not because he's done, but because the next part requires courage he hasn't grown into yet.
"I feel… replaced," he finally says, voice lower. "Like they built this nice new life, and I'm just…" He gestures vaguely. "Until they figure out where to store me."
My throat tightens. "Josh…"
"And then there's you." He exhales sharply. "You left. I know why. I know Dad couldn't handle both of us. I get the logic. But it still felt like you chose him over me."
He looks at me now, finally, eyes bright with anger he's swallowed for years.
"You were my best friend, Ash. And you just…" His hand cuts through the air. "Gone."
My throat burns. "I'm sorry."
He flinches like the words offend him.
"I said I'm not ready," he mutters, softer. "But last night…"
He leans back against the wall, staring at the stained ceiling like it might save him.
"I saw you on the pavement. You weren't moving. And I…" He swallows. "I didn't think. I didn't care who was right or wrong or who left who. I just… couldn't lose you."
The air feels heavy. Too full.
He laughs suddenly. Bitter, humorless. "Stupid, right? I can't even stay mad properly."
I shake my head. "It's not stupid."
He shrugs, small and tired. "I don't know where I fit anymore. Not in Mom's new world. Not fully with you. Not anywhere, really."
That hits harder than anything else.
"But," he adds, forcing a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, "apparently I still fit enough to drag your unconscious corpse into a hotel, so… congrats."
I huff a weak laugh, but the ache in my chest is massive. Just now I was thinking of offering emotional support to my brother. Now I'm not sure what I should say to make him feel better.
Josh looks away again, voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.
"I just… don't want to lose the only part of my old life that felt real."
He doesn't say you.
But he doesn't have to.
Josh blows out a breath and stretches his legs, trying to shake off the heaviness. He taps his foot against the floor, pretending he's not curious. Classic Josh move.
"So…" he says, eyes flicking toward me then away again. "You and Lena. What's the deal now?"
My chest tightens immediately.
"I don't want to talk about it," I mutter. Even though I wanted him to open up to me, I wasn't ready to do the same.
Josh raises a brow. "Too bad. I dragged your half-dead body here and also shared my pathetic life story when you asked. I earn one question."
I sigh. "We broke up."
He nods like he expected that, but his expression softens anyway. " That explains why a good two-shoes like you is now drinking himself to death. What did you do to make her leave?"
"I don't know," I say quietly. "A lot of things got… tangled. The long-distance. The pressure. The prophecy thing. Everything just spiraled out of control."
Josh pauses mid-blink. "Prophecy? Dude, what—"
"It's complicated," I cut in. If I tried to explain him about the prophecy that suggest that somehow I'll be the reason of her death, he will definitely think I've gone crazy. "I broke up with her first. I thought being with me would hurt her, and I panicked. But we patched things up later. Then she came to New York."
A pause.
"And now she's dating Samuel. Someone I can't even compete with."
Josh drags a hand down his face. "Man… you two always had this catastrophic, Romeo-and-Juliet-with-wifi vibe. Like if someone breathed too loudly near you, one of you would emotionally combust."
Despite myself, I huff a dry laugh.
He softens a little more. "You still love her?"
My stomach twists. "Yeah. And she still… I don't know what she feels now. Yesterday she accused me of sleeping with my play director and with Alice. So I'm guessing it's mostly disappointment and confusion."
Josh's eyes widened. "She said that?"
"Samuel told her. He twisted everything. She believed him."
Josh scoffs, annoyed on instinct. "That guy seems like he microwaves puppies for fun."
"He got in her head," I say. "He always does."
Josh looks at me for a long moment. Not pitying, just understanding. In that blunt little-brother way only he does.
"You know," he says finally, "you don't have to keep letting people break you because you love them."
I swallow. Hard.
Josh shrugs lightly. "Just saying."
⟡ ✧ ⟡
He kept talking, fiddling with the hotel room key card between his fingers, when I finally pick up my phone from the nightstand.
It's dead.
Perfect.
I plug it in, wait for the screen to flicker back to life, and the moment it does…
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Notifications explode across the screen like fireworks.
Missed calls. Messages. More notifications.
And all of them… her.
30 missed calls.
18 unread messages.
All from Alice.