God, he hated being in the hospital. Shitty food and pain aside, it brought back memories of that particular incident when he was sixteen. The fact that his parents were back to arguing outside the door didn't help. While he'd been in surgery or getting tests or at some point when he'd been out, the doctors had discovered the scarring on his arms and legs. When that had been combined with the apparent liver damage, they'd sat down and told his parents about it. The only good thing that had come from it was that his dad was sober pretty much all the time.
His dad blamed his mom, his mom blamed his dad, and Jamie just hated himself. He'd been lucky- he'd gotten away with a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, a number of cuts on his body, and only a little internal bleeding. But being unable to drink, unable to play music, unable to do anything except count the number of tiles on the ceiling didn't help. Even the psychiatrist who appeared every so often didn't help much. Apparently it was Jamie's problem, but he didn't want to spill his guts with his parents constantly just outside the door and visitors walking in. He just wanted to go home and deal with this all in peace.
When Ellie opened her eyes, it took her a minute to get her bearings. She was in some stranger's apartment. She'd met him at a club the night before. She sat up, but her head spun precariously. She felt lightheaded and weak- and not in a hangover kinda way. She managed to climb out of bed and reclaim her clothes, finding her purse and her phone. It was four days since the accident- four days since she'd last had any methadone. Shit.
She pulled her clothes back on, not caring that she was making it obvious that she hadn't been home the night before. And as she shoved her phone back into her bag, a mark on her arm caught her attention. Tiny- like a needle. There was a few of them, and they looked hauntingly familiar. No. No.
She suddenly felt sick as everything fell into place. It explained why the last few days had been a blur- why she hadn't been aware of her withdrawal until now. She'd fucked everything up again. She'd nearly killed Jamie and now she'd fucking relapsed. As she left the apartment, she realised that she didn't have a clue where she was. She just started walking, praying that she'd come to a bus stop. Fortunately for her, there was one barely two hundred metres down the street.
She sat down on the bench, pulling her phone out of her bag and trying to wake it. The screen stayed black- and it was at that point that Ellie completely lost it, bursting into tears. She'd fucked up, she'd ruined everything.
"Hey, are you okay?" A female voice asked. Ellie looked up, wiping her eyes. It was a girl, maybe a year or two younger than her. "Not really- my phone's dead and everything's gone wrong and..." she stopped herself. The girl sat down beside her. "Do you want to call somebody?" She asked gently. Bella probably wanted Ellie's bones to grind her bread right now, Jamie couldn't drive anyway, Alex probably didn't want anything to do with her... But did Nate hate her? If he did, it was probably the least out of the group.
"Yeah, can I use your phone?" Ellie asked. The girl nodded, unlocking it then handing it over. Ellie didn't know why or how she knew Nate's number off by heart, but she did. She dialled out the number, praying that he'd answer.