||Jamilla Tate|| First Person ||

         I can faintly hear a generic indie song playing over the loudspeakers, the mellow core of the song further lulling me into my nap. I faintly hear the jingle of the front door in the main shop, and then Wendy's soft voice repeating her automatic greeting to the customer. The timer on my cell phone tells me that I have another ten minutes left to my break, which started about ten minutes ago. With a tired sigh, I further bury myself into the spare blanket that Wendy always made sure was clean and in the break room.

Nina, who actually has no right, isn't quite on speaking terms with me. She claims that Josh Dun and I are inconceivably dramatic and that we wasted her efforts by only arguing upon seeing each other again. I don't disagree with her— in fact, I actually agree with her. She put in so much effort, her and Tyler, to bring the two of us together and we only disappointed the both of them. I can still feel the lingering remains of embarrassment from the night before. I wasn't supposed to be working today, but I picked up a shift so I wouldn't allow myself the privilege to wallow for no good reason around the house.

According to my mother, I'm supposed to behave like a 'grown up'— whatever she means by that. Nina left the house before I could even wake up, which is something that she tends to do when we're in our little fits. She'd only made enough breakfast for herself and finished the almond milk in the refrigerator, forcing me to have to pick up a drink from the Starbucks across from my workplace. I would have felt worse about my stubbornness if she hadn't left me with the end slice of bread as well— that was the absolute worst. We were like bickering children.

I'm half asleep when I hear Wendy calling my name. I push the blanket off and stumble to my feet, quickly shutting off my phone's alarm. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I find that my break lasts for only about two more minutes. I let out a tired groan and go to leave the break room, all the while closing the apps I left open on my phone. "What's up?" I say in a groggy voice, coming to a stop next to her. Whatever she says next doesn't register to me. If I didn't have such a death grip on my phone, it would have landed on the floor by now.

"...You know him, then?" Wendy is saying. I don't move, only staring at the blue haired boy who stands on the opposite side of the cash counter. He's loosely carrying a bag from the store, two books visible through the plastic.

"Can we go outside for a second?" He asks me, his eyes sort of bloodshot. He's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt, a grey beanie covering his colourful hair. His eyebrows are furrowing in a way that gives off the illusion of hopefulness. I look over at Wendy, who seems very serious all of a sudden.

"Do you know him, Jamilla?" Wendy repeats, a little more assertiveness in her voice. I know that she's asking this in an objective fashion— she only wants to make sure that I'm safe—, but I can't help but want to answer subjectively with a harsh 'no.' Josh looks like he can tell what I'm thinking in that second, like he can see the gears working in my head as I attempt to formulate a response.

I feel guilty for wanting to say no. It feels wrong of me to even think of putting him through that sort of childishness. I let out a tired sigh and look back over at her. "Yeah, I'll just be a minute." I step around the side of the counter and walk past Josh, heading for the door. I hear him following after me, and then he's pushing the door open before I can do it myself.

It's a little bit windy today, the gusts of cold air whipping our clothes about. I don't mean to cross my arms, but I do it instinctively without thinking about how he might interpret it. He doesn't waste time though, speaking quickly.

"We're leaving tonight." He tells me, a slight sadness in his voice. Before I can react to his statement, he continues. "But I don't want to leave."

"Oh," I say, a slight sadness in my voice. "I almost forgot." Josh looks at me for a moment, the wind filling in the silence of the conversation. I ask him where they're going next— he tells me that it's out of state.

"I, uh, I got two books from the staff picks section." He reaches into his bag to pull out the two novels, as if he suddenly felt the need to prove it to me. Both of them have the Staff Picks stickers on them, both with my name in my messy scrawl on them. I want to smile at that— I find it sweet that he bought the books that I thoroughly enjoyed before him. But something about the entire situation seems off— it feels like there are more pressing matters to get to. It feels wrong to pretend to be old friends catching up.

"Josh," I say carefully. He looks at me, a fleeting light of childish hopefulness shining in is eyes. "Josh, we're not going anywhere with this."

"I know that we messed up a lot of things." Josh says, his voice shaking slightly. "But no matter how much I try to convince myself that I don't need you... the more I realize that I do."

I don't respond— I mean, what are you supposed to say in response to that? How do you reply to that sort of thing?

"We're different people now." I finally manage to tell him. "We're not who we were before." Whatever version of me that he's managed to delude himself into believing he needs, she didn't exist anymore. He was better off with a groupie than he was with me.

He laughs in a way that breaks my heart. "God, I sure hope we are." I don't realize that I've uncrossed my arms because I'm too busy studying Josh. Something about him seems a little bit off. Immediately, I'm worried.

"Look at me." I say suddenly, grabbing his face in my hands. I can hear his breath hitch in his throat from my sharp movements. I try to ignore it— I was too busy taking note of the puffiness and tint of red to his eyes. He looked a little flushed as well, with his skin warm. "Are you on something?" I demand of him.

"I'm fine," he tries to say, but he doesn't try to pull away. "I just took some Xanax." He tells me. "I'm fine, I swear."

"How much is a few? Did you drink anything?" I ask him, finally letting go of his face. He shamelessly grabs my retreating hand, holding it tightly in his warm ones.

"A couple." He says vaguely. "And no, I didn't. I just feel a little dizzy, I'm fine."

"You're not leaving like this," I say decidedly, pulling him along after me. Josh follows me back into the store without any problems. After receiving a questioning look from Wendy, I pass my cellphone over to her. "Passcode is 0141. Can you look for Tyler in my contacts and call him?" I ask her. "Tell him that I have Josh— ask him to check his Xanax." Wendy looks like she has a billion questions on the tip of her tongue that I simply do not have the time to answer, so I quickly pass by her and pull him into our break room.

I make him sit down on the couch. He gives me his phone after a moment, asking me to hold onto it for him. I drape the blanket that I had been using earlier over him
before I sit down next to him. Without thinking about it, he lets out a drowsy sigh and leans on me. I let him.

"I don't feel good." Josh finally mumbles.

"You're okay," I tell him in a soothing voice.

"I only took a few, I swear." He tries to reassure me, but his speech is a bit slurred. I know from basic research that it's nearly impossible to overdose on Xanax unless he was taking more bars than he'd even have in the single pack. I let out a tired sigh and start running my hands through his hair, trying to calm him down.

"I'm worried about you, Josh." I say quietly after a moment, knowing that he was barely conscious by now.

"Don't be," he mumbles into my shirt. "I don't... want you to be." I don't reply, tugging the blanket around his shoulders a bit more. I rest my chin atop his head, staring at the floor thoughtfully. My mind was racing— I knew that Josh had bad anxiety. He would regularly confide in me about it, and when he'd become overwhelmed with it, I would try to calm him down. I never thought that with my leaving, Josh had lost not only his girlfriend, but an integral part of his support system. He'd never been on medication before, which leads me to believe that he'd only gotten prescribed anxiety medication after I left. Was anyone watching him? Did anyone pay attention to how many bars were in the packet? Did anyone keep tabs on how much he used it and when he did?

I couldn't help but hold onto him a little tighter. I feel guilty. Someone should have been looking after him. I should have been looking after him. I could feel a lump forming in my throat.

I'm not sure how much time passes by, but Tyler, his girlfriend Jenna, and Mark from college are bursting into the back room. Tyler opens his mouth to speak, but Jenna cuts him off. She throws the package of Xanax down onto the table, the aluminum packaging making a 'thwack' noise.

"Are you serious, Josh?" He stirs with a start, lifting his head off of my shoulder slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn't form words. "You were supposed to only take one. Why are there five missing?"

"Jenna, stop." Tyler tells her. She looks over at her boyfriend, her bottom lip quivering. I could see how concerned she was for Josh, but I could also see how her anger wasn't going to help.

         "What's happening?" Josh says, confusion written across his face.

         "Just lie back down," I gently push him to lean on the armrest of the sofa. He curls up into the blanket and closes his eyes, knocking out within seconds. I look directly at Tyler, a sort of anger welling up within me. He was supposed to be there for him. He was supposed to be keeping an eye out for him, watching over him. I used to get so happy seeing them together— they were the definition of friendship goals. Tyler and Josh both had their fair share of struggles, but I always expected that they'd be able to count on each other if they needed to. But here Josh laid, sleeping off more Xanax than he was supposed to take.

         They should have monitored the pack closer and paid attention to how much he was supposed to be taking daily, if he even needed it that often. Tyler should have known something was up when Josh was leaving this morning before he came to my workplace— what if the medication had kicked in when he was all alone? What if he had gotten hurt? Tyler was supposed to be looking out for him the same way Josh always looked out for him. He should have been there

       Just like I was supposed to be.