A/N: Hi, there! I sure like writing these oneshots, I guess. Plot bunnies are vicious little critters.
This story has been bugging me off and on for a few weeks now, but it finally got to the point where I had to either write it or go crazy. It's based heavily on the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray, hence the title. Other music involved in its creation are "Exit Wounds" by The Script, "Hidden Away" by Josh Groban, and "Precious" by Depeche Mode. I don't own any of the songs or the characters.
This story is rated M for drug use and mild language. I have never done drugs nor do I personally know anyone who has. I've done a lot of research on it, and I really hope I represented the illness of addiction well. Please forgive any errors, discrepancies, or things that would never happen in real life. Hopefully they are minimal.
Enjoy!
How to Save a Life
Two-thirty a.m. Who in their right mind would call anyone at that hour?
Jacob Black grunted and rolled over in bed, letting out a sigh as he tried to ignore the phone. He felt an exhausted sort of triumph as the answering machine picked up. No message was left. The silence felt good, and he started to drift off to sleep again. Five minutes later, the ringing brought him back to consciousness.
"What the hell?" he grumbled to himself. He pulled the covers over his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. It was cold outside, and he wasn't getting out from under the warmth of his blankets unless it was an emergency.
When the phone began to ring after the machine's third attempt at recording a message, he gave in. Anyone with that much determination was probably in trouble. Either that, or it was his mother. He pushed the covers off of him and got up with a yawn. Stumbling toward the phone, he scratched his chest and mumbled a curse at the caller.
"Hello?" His voice was grainy and tired.
There was no response. Not for a moment, anyway. He furrowed his brow and was about to hang up and unplug the damn thing when he heard a sniffle.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
"Jake?" the voice was tiny as if unsure they had reached the right number. He hadn't heard that voice in years, but he recognized it immediately.
"Yeah, this is Jake." The first question he wanted to ask was where she was, followed closely by why the hell she was calling him.
She sniffled again. "How are you?" Her voice shook as she spoke.
He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "I'm tired. Is there any reason you're calling me at two-thirty in the morning?"
"I'm sorry . . . I just needed to talk to someone. I didn't realize it was so late."
He scoffed. It didn't surprise him. "Well, it is. Look, I'm really tired and I have to be up at six. Can I call you later?"
She didn't answer for a few moments. When she did, he could hear the fresh tears in her voice. "Yeah. Do you have caller I.D.?"
"No; what's your number?" He took the phone to his desk and got a piece of paper and a pen. She gave him the number and her room number. "Where are you, anyway?"
"The Motel 6 on Second Street."
That didn't surprise him either. "Are you going to be there long?"
"Yeah. I, um . . . I live here."
"Okay. I'll call you about four-thirty this afternoon when I get off work."
"Thank you."
"Yeah. Uh . . . so goodbye."
She sniffled again, and the line went dead.
He sighed and put the phone back in its cradle, then went to bed. Instead of falling back to sleep, though, he stared at the ceiling and remembered the girl on the other end of the phone. He'd met her seven years ago at the airport. She'd lost her bags, but no one would help her. He stepped in and got the baggage clerks to find them for her. She had been cute back then with her long, curly red hair and sparkly brown eyes. She didn't have the spatter of freckles that redheads were usually known for, but her smooth, pale skin was beautiful. They ended up exchanging phone numbers and saw each other at least once a week for the first few months.
Jacob had thought about asking her out on a date, but she was only seventeen years old. He had been twenty-one at the time, and figured he could wait another year. He regretted that decision almost every day.
A week before her eighteenth birthday, they'd known each other eight months, she began acting weird. She was abnormally happy and excited. She had more energy than he could ever remember her having. Her house was spotless, and she admitted to staying up all night to clean it. At first, he thought maybe she was just eager to turn eighteen, but even that didn't make much sense to him. During the week before her birthday, he noticed her shaking more than once, and she started to get jumpy. The smallest thing would startle her. He tried to ask her what was wrong, but she insisted it was nothing. When he pushed it, she got angry.
He couldn't remember exactly how he found out, but when he discovered that she'd been using Meth a couple months later, he tried to convince her to get off it. She insisted that she was fine, but he didn't give up. He tried telling her that she looked awful. Stringy red curls, dark rings under her eyes, paler than usual skin, and she'd lost too much weight. She didn't care. She felt great, and she wasn't giving it up.
He tried to turn her in to the police to get her the help she needed. She did her required two months in rehab, then all but attacked him when she was released. She yelled and screamed and blamed him for everything she had suffered. She went right back on the drug, angry and refusing to listen to anything he said.
It was February four years ago that he'd finally had enough. He had tried hard to be there for her and help her, but she had made it clear time and again that she didn't want his help. After the final attempt at getting her to listen, he told her that he was done. He didn't want to hear from her again, and he'd stop meddling in her life. She spat at him in response. He raised his hands and left. That was the last time he'd had any contact with her.
He had thought about her off and on throughout the years. He wondered if she was still alive or still using. He couldn't help but wonder if things would have turned out any differently if he'd asked her out before she changed. He'd gotten over the guilt a while ago, but the questions remained.
He sighed and closed his eyes. He had to try to get some sleep before his alarm went off.
Nessie Cullen stared at the phone with tears streaming down her face. She had expected so much worse, and yet what she got hurt more than she thought it should. Jacob had been the one who tried to help her, and she had been the one to turn him away. It only made sense that when she tried to reach out, he'd turn her away. She didn't expect him to call later like he said he would. She was dead to him; she knew it.
She brought her knees to her chest and leaned back against the side of the uncomfortable motel bed. The room was clean thanks only to the cleaning lady, but it still smelled of alcohol and vomit.
She remembered all those years ago. She started using meth when she was fifteen years old. Her family put her in countless rehab centers and programs for troubled teens, but none of it seemed to work well. After a close friend died of an overdose, she sobered up long enough to realize that she had to get away from everything that reminded her of the drug. She moved out of state and met Jacob Black. She couldn't deny that she'd fallen in love with him only months after arriving at her new home. He was older than her, though, and she knew he wouldn't ask her out until she was legally an adult.
She began to wonder, though, would he really ask her out? Was he even interested at all? She'd stood naked in front of her mirror countless times picking out all her flaws. It didn't seem possible for a man as good as Jacob to want a defective girl like her. Self-consciousness and anxiety won, and she sought out a local pusher to get high again. At first it was bliss. She didn't care who thought what about her. All that mattered was that high.
Nessie sniffled and put her face down on her arms. She'd had her chance to get out of this life, and she pushed him away.
She had moved back to this area without thinking about who lived there. She just wanted to get away. The drug had claimed two more of her friends, and she was scared. She'd watched both of them die. Even held Megan's overheated hand. The moment it stopped shaking would forever be ingrained in her mind. She knew the same would happen to her if she didn't escape.
She'd gone to rehab again—willingly this time—with a strong desire to beat the addiction. She hadn't used in three months, but the craving was still there. Unlike when she was younger, it wasn't as easy to get away from it. The center had given her a list of things to do when she felt the urge to use, and one of them was to reach out for help from friends or family. She didn't know if she could call her family. She hadn't spoken to any of them in so long she wasn't even sure if they'd remember who she was. Her friends were all dead or so far down their own rabbit hole they'd only tell her to give in. So instead she searched the phone book for any familiar names. When she found Jacob's name, it felt like a sign.
It was a sign all right. A sign that she was doomed.
Jacob walked in the door of his house, set his book bag down on the floor, and all but collapsed on the couch. Work had been hell, and all he wanted to do was go back to bed. He forced himself to get up, loosening his tie as he did. He kicked his shoes off in the hallway and started to take his shirt off. He looked over at his desk and remembered the call he'd gotten the night before.
He sighed and went to pick up the piece of paper he'd written her information on. The part of him that was still a little bitter about what happened said that it was just a trap. The other part of him said she wouldn't call him unless she had no other option. Maybe she was trying to get better.
It wasn't any of his business. He'd tried to help her, and she refused to let him. Why should he step in now?
It was his business. If she was reaching out to him, and he let her fall, whatever happened would be on his hands.
With another deep sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed the number. It rang four times before it was picked up.
"Hello?" Her voice was frail.
"Nessie?"
There was a loud noise, as though the phone was dropped. After a moment, she laughed nervously. "Jacob . . . I didn't think you'd call."
He felt bad for his deliberation. "I said I would."
She sniffled. "I know, but . . . oh, well. Thank you for calling. How are you?"
He leaned against the wall and cleared his throat. "Not bad, I guess. You?"
"I'm, um . . . well, I guess I'm kind of okay. Not the best."
He hadn't expected anything different. "So why did you call me last night?"
"I found your number in the phone book. And I was up anyway . . . I really didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Anything new?"
She knew what he was asking. Her fingers shook as she ran them through her dirty, stringy hair. She hadn't washed it in a while. "I'm trying to get clean."
Jacob closed his eyes. "And you need my help?" He didn't mean for it to sound so condescending.
Nessie hesitated. She should have known Jacob would immediately assume she only wanted money. She wiped her face and took a deep breath. "I just needed someone to talk to."
"Why me?"
It was hopeless. She was hopeless. "I don't know." She didn't even know why she tried. She knew, in the end, she'd only go back. Meth was like those scary stories she heard as a child of the never-ending house. Once you think you're finally out, you see the next door. You're never out. You're never free. It would eventually pull her back under, and she would one day succumb to it. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I won't bug you again."
"Wait, Nessie . . . How long?"
"Three months."
"Completely clean?"
She sniffled. "Yes. But, God, Jake . . . I need it. I don't. I think I want it, but I don't want to die." Not like that.
"You're serious this time?" He had tried so hard in those years.
"Yes."
He looked down at the paper in his hand. "Can I come over tonight?"
She hesitated. This couldn't be happening. It was too good. Too hopeful. She forced herself to forget the possibility of ever getting out. "Yeah." He'd take one look at her and assume she was lying. When she was younger, getting clean meant getting pretty. That didn't work as well now.
"I'll be there in an hour. Have you eaten?" He found himself getting excited to see her. It had been so long, but still he remembered how he felt about her in the beginning. If she really was sure that this was it, maybe . . . just maybe . . .
"Yeah, kind of." She hadn't been able to keep much of anything down thanks to the stress of her cravings. Shaking so much would only cause her to expel anything she ate. She'd only been able to keep down small sips of health drinks at spaced intervals.
"Are you hungry? I could bring something for dinner if you want." He was setting himself up for heartache again, and he knew it. And yet, he didn't care. He wanted Nessie back in his life, the way she had been before all the bad things happened.
"That's really nice of you to offer, Jake, but I . . . um, I can't really eat a lot."
He frowned, but he didn't push it. "All right. I'll see you in an hour, okay?"
She almost mustered a smile. "Okay."
Jacob pulled up to the motel and took a deep breath. Despite knowing she had changed, he couldn't help but hope he'd see that seventeen-year-old girl again when he knocked on the door. He remembered how she had looked when he gave up on her and tried to convince himself that she would be somewhere in between.
He finally got out of the car and walked to her room. He took a moment to breathe before he knocked.
Nessie straightened her shirt and looked in the mirror of the small bathroom. She had finally stopped crying, but her eyes were still bloodshot. She had tried to put on some makeup; she only looked worse. After a few minutes, she made herself turn around and answer the door. Her stomach was threatening to heave again when she saw him standing there. He was tall and beautiful like she remembered, but he looked older. It was in his eyes and the faint trace of lines around them.
"Hi," she whispered. She stepped back to let him in. He hesitated a moment before he finally stepped forward.
Whatever Jacob had been expecting, it wasn't what he saw. She looked older than he was, even though she was four years younger. Her brown eyes were hollow and a little sunken along with her cheeks. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her hair . . . he remembered once upon a time when he ran his fingers through those healthy red curls. Now what he saw was wiry, oily, and had thinned considerably.
He cleared his throat as she shut the door behind him. "Hi." The room was dark, the lamb by the bed hardly did anything. He took a deep breath and noticed the scent of alcohol and vomit.
Nessie wrung her hands together in front of her, nervous. "Thank you for coming."
Jacob looked down at her. "Are you really clean, Ness?"
She sighed and glanced up at him when he crossed his arms over his chest. God, he looked so good. There had once been a time when a hug from him was better than any high she could imagine. Her eyes watered; that time was long gone. "Yes."
"Three months? I'm sorry if I find that hard to believe. Look at you." He gestured to her. If she'd lied to him . . . he couldn't do this if she wasn't sure she wanted to stop. He watched her as she walked over to the bed and sat down. Her whole body was shaking the way it had before. She stared at her hands, and he stared with her. Her fingernails had been bitten down so far they'd bled, and still she managed to pick at them.
Nessie knew she should have listened to her demons. They'd never been wrong before. "I know. I look terrible. I guess I don't clean up as good as I used to."
He ran his fingers through his hair and went to sit next to her. "Have you used anything at all in three months, Ness?"
She sniffled and pointed to the table beside the bed. "I have a bottle of Jack Daniels in the drawer. Other than that, no."
"So you're giving up meth to be an alcoholic? That's a really great trade."
The sarcasm in his voice was palpable. She couldn't stand it, even though she knew she deserved it from him. She leaned over and opened the drawer to pull the bottle out and handed it to him. It was nearly full.
"I've had that for two months. The last drink I had was two nights ago, and I spilled most of it."
"And?"
She looked at him, and her heart broke. He would never believe her, no matter what she said. "And I guess it doesn't matter." She took the bottle back and stood up. "I'm sorry I called you. Feel free to leave whenever you want." With alcohol in hand, she walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
She'd never been drunk before. She'd been tipsy and even slightly hungover once. She opened the bottle and took a long drink. It burned her throat and made her cough. She wondered what it would be like to be drunk and high at the same time. If only she'd kept the number of her last pusher. It shouldn't be too hard to find a new one, though. If she looked in the right places, sometimes they'd come to her.
She took another drink and made it her mission to finish that bottle before the night was over. Jacob's accusation circled around in her head. As time passed and warmth spread throughout her whole body, the words became fuzzy. She couldn't even be sure when she realized she didn't care anymore. It felt good.
Nessie squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a moment. The first thing she noticed was light. Even without opening her eyes, she knew she was somewhere bright. After a few moments to let herself get used to the glowing red of the insides of her eyelids, she finally parted them. She blinked a few times and tried to sit up. Her brow furrowed. She was still in her motel room. The shades over the window had been drawn and what looked like mid-day sun came pouring in. She licked her lips and frowned; she felt like her mouth was full of cotton.
She was on the bed and in a nightgown. She couldn't remember leaving the bathroom, let alone changing her clothes. The night before was mostly a blur. She did recall seeing Jacob. He must have said something she didn't like. Whatever it was, it hadn't turned out the way she had hoped it would. She should have already learned her lesson: hope had no place in her life.
She rolled to her side and grunted when the small movement hurt everywhere. Her head was surprisingly clear, though. It didn't pound and ache the way she would have thought a hangover should. There did seem to be too much pressure, though, like she had something wrapped tightly around the back of her head. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she stared blankly in the direction of the door.
After a moment, she furrowed her brow. Something else was off. She wasn't sure what it was, but somehow she felt like things were different. Her eyes darted to the table beside the bed. Her bottle of Jack Daniels sat on top, half empty. She hadn't finished it the night before. It didn't really surprise her. She honestly couldn't believe she'd downed that much before passing out.
As she laid there coming back to herself, she remembered her decision. Her stomach twisted at the thought of giving in again, but her body already sang with anticipation. Her fingers itched to light the match, and her lungs tingled to breathe in the drug. It was the addiction, not her own will, that made her sit up and search out a decent pair of pants and a shirt. She stopped by the table and picked up the bottle. With a shrug, she opened it and took a drink. Why stop now if it only helped make the bad memories go away?
Her heart jumped at the sound of someone at the door. They didn't knock, but she could hear them on the side. Panicked, she quickly thrust the bottle into the drawer and ran around the bed to duck behind it. The person must have had a key, because the handle turned and the door swung open. She hid and closed her eyes tightly, praying it wasn't the manager to kick her out. The motel might not be the greatest place on earth, but it was better than the street. Then again, with any luck, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference in a few hours anyway . . .
"Nessie?"
Her heart stuttered. Slowly, she peeked over the side of the bed, unable to believe her ears. Jacob stood next to the makeshift kitchen table by the window in front of a bunch of plastic bags. He turned toward her.
"There you are. Why are you hiding?" He sat on the edge of the bed and took his shoes off. "How's your head? I got you some Tylenol."
Nessie licked her lips again and took a deep breath. Whatever was in those bags smelled like food. Her stomach gurgled, but she wasn't sure if it was from nausea or hunger. Jacob looked back at her and smiled. She hadn't seen that smile in so long. She couldn't return it. She slowly got up to sit beside him.
"You didn't leave?"
He clenched his jaw a few times as he hesitated on his answer. He met her eyes and shook his head. "I couldn't. I'm . . . I'm really sorry. You came to me for help, and I did nothing but condemn you. I hope you can forgive me."
She reached out and touched the back of his hand on his lap. He moved to hold her fingers. His hand was so warm. She'd been so cold ever since she stopped using. His warmth was nice. "I forgive you. You might not want to stay, though."
He furrowed his brow. "Why not?"
Her eyes watered, and she reached up to wipe them. "Because I gave in."
Jacob touched her cheek and made her look at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I'm going to find a pusher."
She saw the surprise and disappointment plain on his face. It broke her again.
"No, you're not. You promised me, Nessie. You said you were done."
Each word was like a needle in her heart. She stood up and tried to walk away from him. "I want to be," she cried. "God, I . . . Megan . . . I watched her die, Jacob. I watched her eyes and held her hand. And Michael. He shook like he was having a seizure. And the vomit. I can still smell everything. They died, right there in front of me. I don't want to die, Jacob!" She grabbed her hair in her fists and sank to the ground. "I don't want to die like them."
Jacob got on his knees next to her and pulled her close. She was shaking and cold. He wrapped his arms around her and put his forehead against her hair. "You're not going to die, Nessie. Stay right here with me and we'll get through this."
She told herself to get away from him, but she couldn't. She was too weak, both in physical strength and willpower. She turned her face into his shoulder and cried.
He held her as tightly as he dared; she seemed so fragile. He let her cry and just hoped it was helping somehow. When she calmed down, she sat back and wiped her face. "I'm such a damn failure, Jake. I said I was done, but I can't do it."
He made her look at him again and stared into her eyes. "Yes you can. You're so much stronger than you think you are. Don't give in, Nessie. Stay with me and let me help you this time."
She sighed and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. His shirt was soaked and felt weird against her face, but she didn't move. It felt too good to be close to him again. "I haven't used anything at all in three months. I know I look terrible, but that's the truth."
He nodded. "I think it might help if you took a shower and washed your hair." He fingered a few strands but didn't try to run his fingers through it. He wasn't sure they'd come back out. "I want you to know, Nessie, that I am proud of you. Three months is a long time."
She scoffed and sat up. "Not long enough, apparently."
Jacob shrugged. "Do you really think any amount of time is going to be long enough?"
She paused for a moment before slowly shaking her head. "No."
"I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about what you're going through. My uncle was an alcoholic, but obviously that's not the same. He struggled with it even years after he got sober. It wouldn't really surprise me if you have to fight to stay clean. But I'm here, Ness. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You can call me at any hour of day or night, and I'll come keep you grounded." He tightened his arms around her. "I mean that."
Her heart fluttered with something akin to hope. "Thank you."
"Do you have anyone else you can call? It would have to be easier with a larger support group, right?" He rubbed her back gently.
She nodded and wiped her cheeks. "It would be, yes, but I don't know anyone else here. All my rehab friends are in other states, and I don't have their phone numbers. Everyone else is either dead or high."
He nodded and wiped away a tear she'd missed. "What about your family?"
She met his eyes for a moment before she shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't talked to any of them since I first moved out here. How long has that been? I can't even remember."
"Seven years."
She shook her head. "Seven. God . . . they probably think I'm dead."
"I'm sure they'd be happy to learn that's not true."
Nessie closed her eyes tightly. "I don't know, Jake. What would I even say? How could I tell them everything that's happened and still ask them to forgive me?"
"I'm not saying you need to do it now, Ness. Someday, though, you need to call them. One step at a time." His voice was soothing, and she let herself trust him. "One step at a time."
Epilogue
Two Years Later
"Jacob," Nessie hollered as she stirred the potato salad in the large bowl in front of her.
Jacob came around the corner and kissed her lips. "Yeah, I know, we're going to be late. I'm sorry."
She smiled. "It's okay. It's only Thanksgiving dinner at my mother's. No big deal." She winked at him to let him know she was joking.
He chuckled and grabbed the Saran wrap from the cupboard and pulled some out to cover the salad. "You don't look nervous."
She raised her eyebrows and let out a deep breath. "Should I be?"
He shrugged and took the bowl for her and set it on the small table. "I don't think so. Like you said, it's only Thanksgiving dinner at your mother's." Nessie had talked on the phone with her parents for several months, but this would be the first time she got to see them since she left home. They'd arrived in Arizona the day before and rented a hotel room for their stay. He kissed her again and went to get his shoes on.
Nessie followed him to the bed. "So . . . you didn't comment. How do I look?" She struck a pose in front of him.
He looked up at her and whistled. "You know you look good, Ness. I like that green on you." It was the color of pine, and was the perfect thing to set off her creamy skin and healthy, red curls. Once he was finished, he got up and hugged her tightly. "You know I see right through you, don't you? I know you're nervous. Just stay calm and remember that if they didn't want to see you, they wouldn't have invited you."
She smiled and stretched up to kiss him. "Thank you. For everything, Jake. Without you, I wouldn't even be standing here right now."
"You're not the only one who got what they wanted, you know. I finally got you." He dipped his head and kissed her neck. "And we need to leave before you seduce me."
She scoffed and stepped away from him. "Whatever, Jake."
He chuckled and held her jacket for her, then slipped into his own. With the potato salad in hand, they walked out the door.
A/N: Thank you for reading! *hugs and kisses*
I'm on Twitter - SheeWolf85 and WBPrompts for my prompt website, writersblockprompts . weebly . com (the link is on my profile)