Echo's POV
I turn the water on, panting and puffing, gripping the side of the porcelain sink so tightly that my fingers begin to hurt.
How could he be so cruel?
I stare at the woman I despise so much in the mirror, the skin around her eyes puffy and red once again. This time the tears can't stop dripping into the sink, slowly trickling down the drain. I press a hand into my chest, firmly gripping my shirt. I'm used to it. I'm used to the betrayal, the fakeness people over the years have shown me. This shouldn't have been a surprise that the people who seem to want to help truly don't give a shit about me. They don't care that I cry myself to sleep every night. They don't care how hard it is to get out of bed or wash.
And Brandon. He sounded so sincere. What a fucking joke he is. Before today, I had felt upset at how I ended our call. I even debated calling back a few times just in case I got to speak to him again, so I could say sorry.
Fuck that and fuck him and—
The door of the large single-stall bathroom flies open. "Echo?"
I back up and stare at Brandon in the doorway. He's sounding more and more like how he was on the call every time he speaks; the familiarity makes sense now.
"It's you, right?" I spit the words to him. "How could you sit there on the p-phone and pretend?" My voice cracks, the tears making it hard to talk, but I continue as I pace the bathroom in a circle, anger boiling my blood. "You made me think you actually might've cared—"
"Hey, you need to calm down, you're getting too overstim—"
"I don't want to calm down!" I land a stomp so hard a slight sting shoots up my leg. The music just behind the bathroom door is so loud I can't even think. My mind is running rapidly at a speed that makes me want to rip my brains out and the person I'd like to see the very least is standing in front of me, telling me to calm down.
I close my eyes, tears pooling down my face and connecting at the tip of my nose and chin, dripping off. I try to catch my breath with quicker breaths but it only makes it worst. And here I am, on the floor against a bathroom door, nothing different than me at home in my own bathroom. Only this time, someone's here to witness it.
I put my hands over my ears and bring my knees up to my mouth, cocooning myself into a ball, and covering my crying face. I hate it when people see me cry, but I can't stop this.
"How c-could you," I sob. "How could you t-tell them? You're just like everyone else, you don't care. Nobody cares."
I feel him begin to walk toward me, but I don't raise my head from behind my knees. He sits down right beside me, keeping just enough space between us so that he's not touching me. I expect him to speak, but he doesn't. He keeps silent.
"Fuck you," I mutter, sniffling. "I hate you." The tears don't stop. I raise my head and stare at his side profile, half covered by brown strands of hair.
Expressionless, I whisper. "You're worthless, Brandon. You know that?" He only stares forward, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "You think you're cool, hm, making fun of those people that call? Was it funny when I told you I wanted to talk to someone? When I said that I was in... in an empty tub with pills? Was my attempt a joke to you and your friends?"
He stays quiet.
"Answer me!" I almost beg, itching for the answer I already know is true.
"No," he says, turning to look at me for the first time since he sat down. It's now that I realize he's been crying as well. "No, of course not, Echo. What you heard was not from me. Those people aren't my friends and that is why."
"You told them about me."
He nods. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, but it was on my mind, and they noticed something was wrong, so I told them what I was worried about."
I sigh, shaking my head. "A load of bullshit," I mutter, pressing my head into the wall. "I hope you fucking die."
He shakes his head. "You don't mean that."
"You don't know me," I say bitterly.
"You're hurt." He concludes with a sniffle. "You're hurt and you're recovering from a panic attack. Your dad just passed away, and that friend. Hailey? That was her name, right?" I'm quiet, closing my eyes, letting tears pour at the sound of Hailey's name rolling off this stranger's tongue. "You're mourning. There're so many emotions and you're taking it out on me—"
I kneel as he speaks ready to force him to shut the hell up. He gets to his knees, too.
"Shut up," I cry.
"You're taking it out on me and that's okay."
I send my hands into his chest repetitively and he grabs my wrist. I struggle to get out of his hold, weeping as my wrist begins to burn from the traction. I stop.
He keeps holding, keeping this same calm yet firm tone. "What's not okay is when you try to do that. You can tell me I'm a piece of shit, worthless, and useless, and that I don't belong here. Call me every name under the fucking book, I can take it. Trust me. But your hands stay at your side."
I look through my lashes at the green eyes seeing me, wondering if I'll attempt to strike again. He raises his thick brows up and loosens his grip slightly. "Got that... Echo?"
I dart my eyes from his and nod once. He lets go of my hands slowly and my tears silently return now with anger subsiding. A horrible feeling washes over me instead. It fills me from head to toe like darkness, sucking in all my organs, filling my lungs and throat, and burning my eyes. Guilt.
I lean my head—which feels like it's become a thousand pounds heavier—against his shoulder. My eyes cloud.
"I'm s-so s-orry," I whisper, barely capable of getting the words out of my scratchy throat. Brandon shakes his head and wraps his arm around my neck so that I fit perfectly at his side, in his armpit. "I'm a h-horrible per-person." It comes out in a whisper.
"It's alright," he whispers back. "You're not horrible, you just need to realize how great you can be."
I sniffle, staring at the tiled floor. "You don't even know me."
He nods against the top of my head. "I know."
"I told you to kill yourself." I ball my hand into a fist, fitting my nails into those crescent-shaped wounds. How could I say something like that after what happened to Hailey? What sort of friend am I to wish the way she died upon other people? God, I never deserved her. I realize that the longer and longer she's gone. Before I could press them down, Brandon slides his thumb into my grip. I tightly squeeze his thumb instead.
"I know." Silence follows for a short moment. "How about we get you up and get home? We've been in here for thirty minutes and this place is almost closing—"
My face widens. "It's almost twelve?!" I pull out my phone from the apron and see that it is an hour to midnight. I shuffle to my feet. "Shit! Greg is going to kill me."
"Who's Greg?" Brandon asks. I turn to the sink and splash some cold water on my face, wiping the dripping drops with the sleeve of my shirt.
"My boss. He's going to freak if I ditch him any longer and I need this job more than anything."
"Oh," Brandon scratches his wild hair, big eyes holding confusion. I pause to inspect him for the first time not blindsided by anger or guilt. He's tall, six feet tall at least, built lanky, but from the grip he had on me moments ago, he's not weak. His face is the part that my eyes can't seem to understand.
He's pretty. Not girl-pretty, but masculinely pretty. Is that a word? It is now.
It's hard to explain, but the softness, yet sharpness of his jawline fits so perfectly with his slightly asymmetrical nose and big eyes. His brows are just as brown and full as his hair and he has stubbles so light scattered across his chin and above his full lips, you can just barely see them. To make it come all together perfectly, his green eyes dart around my body.
"Is everything okay?"
I nod, snapping out of my haze, and clear my throat, "Um, thanks for the offer, but I have to go back to work."
"You sure that's a good idea?"
I nod and smile a fake smile. "Yeah, a great one. I'd rather be working than with my own thoughts."
He stuffs his hands in his sweater pockets and watches me as I re-tie my loosening apron behind my back and rush to the door.
I pause and turn to look at him. God, I wish he didn't have to witness what he saw today. "I'm not... always like that, you know?"
One side of his lips pulls up into a smirk and he shrugs. "I don't know that, actually, but I'd like to find out someday."
The smile trying to force its way through my lips is hard to stop. I don't speak back; I leave because I know a response to that will lead to something neither of us deserves. I'm sure of it.
If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that friends of Echo Johnson suffer.
*****
[Authors Notes]
Double update guys how'd you like these two chapters? Sad I know. I feel for Echo, so many ppl around her have left and she's wondering if she's the reason why.
We got a hint of who Hailey was as a friend in the flash back last chapter, there will be more of those and more of a LOT. Just you wait.
I linked the Spotify playlist, you guys should be able to listen by pressing the Spotify icon at the bottom.
Don't forget to vote to let me know you enjoyed reading!
Kayla