Chapter 6 - JayceNamid

Chapter 6

Jayce

I have Namid's phone number; I've had it since the first day he came to help me in the shop. I haven't used it. I want to use it today. I've wanted to use it for a while now. I enjoy having him at the shop. My soul feels just a bit less empty when he's around. I enjoy the way we get coffee and sit quietly in the park together. I don't talk much, and it's still hard to find words when what I want to do most of the time is close my eyes and hide in some secret little corner of my mind where Jordyn is still here and everything is normal. Namid doesn't seem to mind my silence, and when we spend time together, I don't feel pressured to constantly speak.

I find myself noticing small things even though we don't say much, little details about his life and his personality. He's letting me see who he is, letting me learn about him in a way I don't think he's ever let anyone aside from Mr. Johnson. That's a responsibility and a gift. Even someone as heartbroken and miserable as me can recognize that. He's putting himself out on a limb, and I don't want to disappoint him. He's offering me more than help with my books a couple of hours a month. He's offering me friendship, and I don't want to mess that up. I can't mess that up. He's starting to feel important to me, and I can't lose this tiny little thread that's anchoring me in the darkness. I can't be the person who hurts a soul as pure as his when he's finally decided to let someone in.

The idea of my phone pinging with texts that don't come from Jordyn feels foreign and horrifying and heartbreaking, but I feel like I owe Namid something. I want to be able to offer him something…anything. He's already offered me so much.

I'm clutching my phone so hard that my hand has started to shake. I've been staring at it for almost an hour before my fingers twitch as I force them across the smooth glass, tapping a few letters.

Me: Hey.

I stare at the screen and will something to happen. Years pass. Probably only minutes. Then I realize…

Me: This is Jayce, by the way…sorry.

I put my phone down and force myself into the shower. I'm being stupid; he has a job and a life. He's not sitting around staring at his phone, hoping to get a text from some guy he only met a few months ago. Especially not one who can barely manage to pull himself together long enough to ramble a few semi-coherent sentences in his direction every other week .

I force myself to heat up some soup. I've been trying to eat actual meals again. I don't really see much point, but I'm still here and Jordyn still isn't and that's not going to change anytime soon, so I might as well learn how to pretend to be normal again.

The chime startles me badly enough that I drop my spoon, beads of tomato splattering across the table and the front of my old T-shirt.

Namid: Hi Jayce. Nothing to be sorry about. I have your number, remember. What's up?

My heart is racing, and I don't really understand why. It's just a text from someone I hope is becoming my friend. Hope. That's what's getting to me. The idea that some part of me is still capable of hope, still capable of believing that even just one thing that isn't darkness still exists, is foreign and uncomfortable. It's terrifying to recognize that if light still exists, then it's possible for me to lose even more somehow. Namid's friendship feels like hope.

Me: I was wondering if you maybe wanted to get breakfast like we do this Saturday even though you won't be at the shop.

Me: No worries if you're busy or aren't into it or anything. Just thought I'd ask.

I sound like a moron. I sound like a teenager asking his crush out on a date. This isn't a date, and I don't have a crush on Namid. He just makes me feel less alone. Like maybe my continued existence isn't a completely terrible thing.

Namid: I'd love to .

He'd love to. The breath rushes out of my lungs in relief. I don't know why I was so worried. Of course he'll meet me if I ask him. He's thoughtful that way, kind, always trying to help me.

How am I supposed to respond to that? Thank you. You're saving my life somehow. I'm grateful for your friendship. Please keep saying yes. Probably not.

Me: I'll get breakfast and meet you at the park at noon?

I'm on edge as I stare at the three little dots that appear.

Namid: Sounds great.

I stare at my phone, struggling to remember how to breathe properly. It's been so long since I've sent a text, so long since there's been someone on the other side to respond. It's the beginning of June now, and Jordyn has been gone for four months. It feels like a lifetime.

My soup has gotten cold, and I want to dump it out and crawl into bed. This has been overwhelming. It's so stupid. It's such a small thing. I sent a text to a friend. Still, the few minutes of feeling almost normal again have drained me. I get a rag and clean up the mess from my fallen spoon, reheat my soup, and force myself to eat before I crawl under the covers with the smallest spark of accomplishment settling in my chest.