Jesse wiped the wetness from his eyes on the back of his sleeve and huffed, trying to keep his runny nose in check, his toes tapping crazy rhythms against the floor mat of his Tercel. He picked at the frayed seam of his jeans, forcing himself to look downward.
He wasn't going to look at the slinger on the corner, holed up under the streetlamp. Nope. He wasn't going to leave his car or give that dude any money for a teenth. He could have pocketed some free blue any time he wanted, but he was totally over it now.
Never again.
He had promised himself, never again!
"He was just a kid. An innocent kid! Mr. White…this is my fault. How am I supposed to…ungh! Oh, Christ. His family…"
"Shhh. Calm down. Calm down. Everything is going to be okay. You don't have to come inside with us, Jesse. Let us handle the bike and the…and well, the rest of it."
The goddamned train job. He tried to shake off the memories and stay chill. Another tear pushed through his lashes, and Jesse wished for the millionth time he could stop screwing up.
It seemed like no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to be smart like Mr. White, he still couldn't keep bad shit from happening. And how exactly was he supposed to get through all the bad shit without a little help from the blue? He couldn't go to Andrea anymore.
The blue. I wish it wasn't the only thing I'm good at. What if it is the only thing I will ever have?
The headlights of a passing car made him squint. Stupid asshole, using his high beams in the city. The rusty old Camaro with a collision rippled door stopped in front of the street light, and the dealer tossed aside his smoke and scuttled over to the rolled down window.
Damn it. He still could not stop fucking twitching.
Jesse clenched his jaw and burrowed deeper into his car seat, eyes skirting towards the neon sign on top of the pawn shop, at the dog eating garbage in the alley, anything but the scene on the corner, please. He felt his cell phone jut against his side from inside his jacket pocket.
He inhaled, trying to keep his breathing slow and steady. He rubbed his face on his sleeve again and willed himself to stop spazzing out. His fingers shook as he reached into his pocket and slid out his cell phone. He turned it over in his hands a few times. Almost put it back in his pocket. With a sigh, he finally flipped it open to check the time.
1:37 AM.
"Listen up, Pinkman. I am not your sponsor. I don't do interventions or pay any mind to that serenity prayer crap. But if you ever feel like you need a cup of joe or a slice of pie, you call me. Day or night."
He closed the phone, scrunched his eyes shut and leaned his face against it, feeling the cool metal casing against his brow.
Jesse looked back when the music from the Camaro started up again, the loud bass thumping as it moved down the block. The dealer waited there under the streetlamp in his bright yellow hoodie, watching Jesse with a forced nonchalance.
Jesse ignored the dealer's gaze and flipped open his phone, dialing the number from memory.
After four rings that felt like four years, a grizzled voice finally answered. "Yeah?"
"Yo…Mike? Y'think you could, uh, meet me at Loyola's? I mean…if you're like, not doing anything else." Jesse grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth and he rapped his wrist lightly against his temple. "Sorry. I know it's late and today was a majorly shitty day. I just could really, and I mean really use a cup of coffee right now."
On the corner, the dealer stepped away from the streetlamp, an all too familiar swagger in his gait.
Never again never again never never never…
"All right," Mike said, letting out that deflated sound old dudes make when they gotta move their ass. "I'll be there in 20 minutes, kid." Click.
Jesse revved up the Tercel and made his way to the diner in five.
