The moment I returned home, my mother started drilling me with questions about what happened, but I wasn't in the mood to talk. All the excitement I felt at the prospect of the library had drained away after Jax confronted me. Why did he even want that library? He hated books. I loved them. Mrs. Maxwell probably left them to me because - unlike her son - I'd actually read them. Why couldn't he understand that? Wasn't it enough that he had her mansion and her garden and everything else about her? Why couldn't he give me this one piece of who she was?
Perhaps I was being selfish, but I loved Chloe Maxwell with so much of my heart that it ached when I thought of her. I wanted a part of her, too.
Practically slamming down onto my bed, I let my eyes wander throughout the bare room. My anger was gradually dissipating and being replaced with the usual feeling of hurt and self-hatred. Why did talking to Jax, my best friend since preschool, have to be so hard?
My thoughts traveled back to the night after he found out his mother was going to die, the memories flooding my consciousness with unforgiving pain. Usually, I was the one who called him up in the middle of the night, but this time, I was awoken by a hard rap on my glass window. I had pulled back the curtains and peered into the darkness, the blazing city lights illuminating Jax's face as he stared at me from the other side. As he stood on my fire escape, his shirt clothes askew and his eyes wild with hurt, I knew that this was going to be harder than anything we had ever faced.
Because unlike the rest of our troubles, we wouldn't face this together.
That night, I had been lying on my bed, wide awake before he interrupted my thoughts, sort of like how I am now. And I felt horrible.
Sort of like how I feel now.
I knew Mrs. Maxwell's cancer was most likely terminal, but hearing the doctor give her a month to live...
...It was like someone buried a stone in my chest that blocked anything from going in or out. Pain tore through me harder than it had in a long time, and I felt every tear I had ever shed crawl back to the surface. I knew I had to be strong, though. Jax was my best friend. He was my hero and my healer, my protector and comforter. But with the death of his mom drawing closer, I knew I'd have to be all those things for him.
"Jax," I had gasped, taking his hand and drawing him through my bedroom window. The moment he was inside, he grasped me in a rib-crushing embrace, smashing me against his steely chest and burying his nose in my hair. He was breathing heavily as he hugged me, squeezing me tightly in his muscled arms.
"What am I gonna do, Lis?" he had asked. It was a rare occasion to see my best friend like that. He was always calm, cool and collected. But that night, he was torn and frantic.
"Hey, hey, it's alright," I assured him softly, my voice no more than a whisper as I spoke. I placed my hands on his shoulders and rested my head against his chest, my fingers running in a circular motion at the base of his neck so he would relax.
"She's really gonna die, Lissy. She...she's gonna die," he choked out in a panicked voice, tightening his hold on my body.
"I know. But you'll get through this. We'll get through this. I'll be here for you, the whole time," I reminded him, listening to his harsh breathing. I felt his lips on my forehead, and I had been reminded of the kiss we shared just before I found out about the cancer. Neither of us had acted on that kiss since, and of course, with his mom being so sick I doubted we would do anything for a long time. But I wasn't worried about the romantic aspect of our relationship at that point, even though I still liked him in every way possible. Jax and I were always best friends, and no matter what, we'd always be best friends.
At least, that's what I thought at the time.
"I won't lose you too." I was startled to hear him whisper those words, and even though I desired to be trapped in his arms forever, I pulled back just enough to look at the deep, ocean blue eyes that were swirling with pain.
"You won't lose me. I'm okay, Jax. I'm safe," I assured him, resting my head on his shoulder again. I knew where this was stemming from. He lost his dad. He would soon lose his mom. He feared loss at a whole new level. He was terrified.
"You have to promise me you'll stay safe, okay, Lis? You have to promise me you won't do anything that could ever put you in harm's way," he said desperately, his voice strained and earnest. I couldn't exactly make that promise and mean it. I still couldn't. For the most part, I was safe. But there was still a secret lying inside me, a secret that would reveal the many dangers lurking in my past.
Of course, I didn't reveal that secret to Jax. I couldn't, especially when he was already panicking. If I had told him, he'd only do something rash.
So I promised.
"Okay, I won't," I had said. "But I know you'll protect me. You always have." Jax just shook his head.
"You don't want me protecting you," he told me, his embrace suddenly loosening.
"Hey, don't say that," I told him, lifting his chin. "None of this is your fault, so don't you dare blame yourself. You're a strong guy, Jax. You're tough." But my words only caused him to shake his head again.
"You don't get it," he said. "You're stronger than me. When my mom...when she told us about the cancer...I almost broke down right there, but you stayed strong. I might be able to throw a good punch and beat some guys up, but Lissy, you're resilient. You don't let anything hurt you." My stomach churned when he spoke those words. To a degree, he was right. I had learned to maintain emotional control over the years, with my father dying when I was five years old and...well...other things.
But the only reason I was able to compose myself when Jax's mother told us about the cancer was because I already knew. Guilt clawed its way up my throat as I remembered the day I overheard her in the library. I had been carrying that secret for almost a month, and it was killing me slowly.
It hurt me to see him think that I was stronger than him, when - in reality - I just managed to break down in private.
"Jax...I'm not that tough," I told him hesitantly, looking up again and searching his eyes.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"How can you even say that? Lissy, you're the toughest person I know," Jax insisted. This time, I was the one to shake my head.
"I already knew," I managed to bite out quickly, forcing myself to say the dreaded words. Jax's eyebrows furrowed together as confusion captured his features.
"What do you mean?" He asked. I sucked in a deep, tremulous breath, closing my eyes.
"I already knew about the...the cancer," I finally rasped. "I heard your mom when I was in the library...on your birthday. She told me not to tell you because she wanted you to be able to enjoy the time you had left-"
"What?" Jax interrupted through gritted teeth, his tone laced with a fury I had never heard him direct at me. I cracked my eyes open and was terrified to see his eyes blazing with heated anger. My heart plummeted.
"I'm sorry-"
"No, no," he said, backing away and shaking his head. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were even more wild than before as they tumbled with emotion. "W-why wouldn't tell me? Why, Lissy? Why?"
"We didn't want you to suffer with it before you had to, and your mom-" I began, but Jax cut me off again.
"You found out on my birthday? I deserved to know! I would've spent more time with her, Alyssa. I would've taken better care of her if I had known!" Jax was practically yelling at me now, anger dripping off each word and twisting in my gut like a knife. I didn't care that it was the middle of the night, or that my mom would probably wake up from all the noise. I didn't care about anything other than the fact that Jax was hurting, and I hurt him more. I showed him that he couldn't trust me at a time in his life when he needed to trust me.
And it killed me.
The look of betrayal that flashed in his eyes dug into my heart and wrenched it to pieces. He had never looked at me like that before, like he wanted to run away and never look at me again. I suppose that's kind of what he did.
The memories of that night sliced through me, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I thought about it. He was so angry, he was so hurt. I hurt him more. I did this to us. He needed me. I let him down.
Those were the same thoughts that replayed in my head like a miserable mantra, over and over and over again. My anxiety spiked when I remembered the way he shook and trembled, tearing out of my room and leaving a broken friendship in his wake.
Suddenly, my breathing became too labored and I struggled to get air into my tightening chest. I clutched at my throat as it threatened to close up, just like it always did when I had an anxiety attack. Just the feeling of utter guilt and sorrow after that catastrophe left me in a heap of nerves.
I was pathetic in every sense of the word.
Gasping heavily, I clawed my way through my nightstand until I came across my back-up inhaler, bringing it to my mouth and administering the medication. Drawing in a deep breath, I let it ease my clenching lungs.
Most people thought I needed my inhaler for my asthma, but few were aware of my panic attacks. No one was quite sure where they came from or why they occurred.
No one except me.
Everyone assumed it was because of my father's death when I was five years old, and that's what I wanted them to believe. Of course, that wasn't really the reason. I hardly remembered my dad, other than a few scraps of memory that came to me every once in a while. He died of a fatal heart attack when I was just a little girl.
The thing is, it was just me and my dad there that day, so no one really knew what happened.
No one except me.
I was in the living room, doodling in my coloring book while watching a lively kids show that I don't even remember. My dad was in his bedroom, working on something silently. I was just a kid, completely oblivious to everything. I hadn't realized that my father was in there, fighting for his life while I colored in a picture of Scooby Doo.
I was so stupid.
When I finally went to show him my drawing, I found him collapsed on the floor. I thought he was sleeping at first, so I tried to wake him up. It made me nauseous to remember the way I giggled, thinking that he was just playing some silly trick on me.
So, so stupid.
After a few failed attempts to awaken him, something in my five-year-old mind clicked and I started screaming for help. Eventually, Mrs. Finch in the neighboring apartment heard me and rushed in. Everything after that is a bit of a blur, but the day was traumatizing nonetheless.
I shuddered and squeezed my eyes closed.
"Daddy, daddy wake up!"
I swallowed.
"Daddy?"
It might not be the entire reason for my panic attacks, but some nights I thought I saw the scene in my nightmares, somewhere in the background of my fears. I told everyone that my father's death had suddenly started affecting me and that's why I struggled with anxiety. But it wasn't until a few years back that a new trauma set in, one that I couldn't bear to relive.
I shuddered again and forced the memories away. Looking back at all the horrible things that happened in my life, I felt the lingering guilt and regret that always followed me around like my own personal storm cloud. All the things I should've done differently haunted me to this day.
Should've got to my dad sooner.
Should've told Jax about his mom.
Should've spoke up.
Those things would hurt me for the rest of my life, killing me slowly day by day until I had nothing left. Stinging pain followed me every time I reminisced on the tragedies that crafted me into the beat-up, broken girl I was today. I doubted that I'd ever truly recover. It didn't seem like anything in my life would go quite right, and that I was just destined to be a traumatized child for the rest of my life.
Should've been someone different.
Should've been someone better.
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Hey guys! Thanks for reading this far. Sorry if this chapter was too short for your liking, but I put it in so y'all could see a bit of Lissy's background. Everyone knows that stories are only as good as their characters (unless, of course, you didn't know that), so I tried to help you get to see Alyssa Herron as I see her. Thanks for reading!
Yours Very Truly,