Chanthony - Losing You

Part Eleven

MONDAY, 10:31 AM

"Can we talk?"

Jake looked wan, tired. His face had grown pale. His aggressive energy had been replaced with a general dreariness, a face of anxiety, as if every conscientious emotion he'd crushed through his life had suddenly come back to haunt him. Chance still jumped upon seeing him as he was generally incapacitated, his feet elevated on a pillow, opening Snapchats, alone in the room. There had been no Monday morning meeting for once, much to Chance's delight, but that meant he had no idea what he expected from Jake today. He didn't expect there to be any talk of statistics or views.

"Yeah," he said cautiously. "What's up?"

Jake walked uncomfortably into his room, looking unsure what to do with his arms, unsure whether he should sit or stand. All that bravado had been zapped from him after his violent breakdown. He wrung his hands anxiously, and then slowly sat on the floor next to Chance. "I promise I don't have a gun," he said nervously.

"Okay," Chance replied.

Jake looked at Chance carefully, making Chance extraordinarily uncomfortable as he examined his face seriously and desperately, as if trying to find some sort of weakness in it that would make it easier to speak. "Dude," Chance finally said, "Say what you have to say or leave."

"I'm so sorry, man," Jake said. "I'm so sorry."

Chance didn't reply, he didn't forgive him, pushing away all his natural instincts. It was always about forgiving Jake Paul, making Jake Paul's life easy. He hadn't come to L.A. to suck up to Jake Paul, and yet that's what he'd been doing for months. His kindness had nearly killed him.

"I should have never tried to fuck with Satan," Jake said. "I'm so-" he shook his head. "I mean, that wasn't all the reason why, either. My head got too big."

"Tony said your head wasn't on right," Chance said.

"I was sick," Jake said. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Chance said. He still kind of felt like it was Jake's fault, but he couldn't help but forgive him. That was just how he was. He was too nice. "And you're getting help, now, right?"

"They put me on some stuff. Makes me feel like I'm asleep."

"Sorry, dude," Chance replied, unable to really sympathize as the painkiller also made him sleepy and he was the one who'd gotten shot.

Jake buried his head in his hands. "Dude," he said in a muffled tone. "It's like, killing me."

"What's killing you?" Chance said, itching to talk about something else.

"I could have killed you," Jake said, looking up, tears brimming in his eyes, growing choked up. "You're my best friend."

"Okay, dude, relax," Chance said, panicked by this display of emotion, wanting it to end.

"I don't understand how that doesn't scare you?" Jake exclaimed. "You could have died."

"It does scare me, but nothing we can do now," Chance replied warily. "Let's just move-"

"You could have died," Jake replied. "I shot you. You could have died."

"Yeah."

Hesitation hung in the air, and then Jake said, "I'm going to Ohio."

"For how long?"