Jax POV

I heard a sniffle and then saw the flame come out again. She brought the uneven burn to her lips – a joint.

"Jesus, you guys scared the shit out of me," she scolded. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

I raised my eyebrows. "We could ask you the same."

She laughed a shaky laugh. She reached next to her and brought a bottle to her lips. I couldn't make out what it was, but I was pretty sure it wasn't soda.

"You alright?" I asked, though the fact that she was sitting in the ditch at 11 at night getting blitzed out of her gourd was answer enough.

She laughed again, steadier but fake. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just needed a little air."

"Rocky," Ryan reprimanded her. "What are you doing out here? Why didn't you call me?"

She waved her hand through the air. "I knew you were going to Chelsea's. I didn't want to bother you."

"You still should've called," he told her, his voice more stern than I was used to hearing from him.

"Or you could've called me," I added.

Her head snapped back in forth in a schizophrenic-like spasm. "What? You were with him! What good would that have done? Plus, it's not like we've exactly been hanging out lately." There was a pitiful sharpness to her words, like a wounded bobcat lashing out.

I held up my hands in surrender. "Easy there, killer. It's your douchebag of a boyfriend I've been avoiding, nothing to do with you."

I couldn't see it, but I was certain she was rolling her eyes.

"He's not a douchebag. I don't date douches…" as she said the last word, I could tell it hit her that that would also include me, but she didn't correct herself.

"Come on, Rocky," Ryan interjected. "We'll walk you home."

She took another hit off her joint. "Naw, I'm good. I'm gonna finish this bottle and then I'll head home."

Ryan looked from her to me then down at his cell phone. "Fuck, I gotta get home," he lamented. "Jax, you got this?" he asked uncertainly.

I kept starting at Tara but answered. "Yeah, man. I got her."

Ryan walked up and put his arms around Tara. I knew it was innocent but some animal instinct made me want to rip his arms off and beat him with them.

"You two promise not to kill each other?" he asked her.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not making any promises," she said begrudgingly.

He shook my hand and then kept walking through the ditch.

I eyeballed Tara for a minute and when she didn't move, I took a seat next to her against the concrete wall.

"You gonna share that or keep bogarting?" I asked.

She looked up at me. "Bottle or joint?"

I shrugged. "Bottle, joint, both. Whatever you're sharing, Knowles. Beggars can't be choosers."

She let out a small laugh, just one note, but it set me a little more at ease.

"It's just a roach now," she informed me holding it between pinched fingers.

"Ah, that's alright. I got more at the house. I'll take that bottle off your hands though. What do you have in there anyway?"

"Vodka," she replied, handing it to me.

I held it up, trying to see what was left with what little light filtered in from the back porch on the other side of the fence.

"You drink all this by yourself?" I asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

I felt her shrug again but she didn't answer.

I unscrewed the cap and brought it to my lips. The smell burned, making my rum filled stomach turn. I took a swig anyway.

We sat there silently for a few minutes. I wordlessly offered her a cigarette but she produced a pack of menthols and waved them in the air. "I'm good thanks."

I noticed her scratching at her arms, like she always did when she felt anxious but something seemed off.

Without saying anything, I grabbed her arm and pushed up her sleeve, running my fingers over the soft flesh underneath. She slapped my hand away, rubbed at her arm and pulled her sleeve down.

"Tara?" I asked flatly, trying to reign in the tsunami of emotions threatening to drown me.

"Don't," she whispered. "Not right now." She sounded so lost, I found it hard to press her but I had to know.

I swallowed the lump that had grown in my throat. "Adam?" I asked reluctantly.

She shook her head and took a drag. "Everything."

"Is it getting that bad again?" I questioned. I know she dealt with anxiety, bouts of debilitating numbness. I knew, too, that it came in unpredictable cycles but I cursed myself for not noticing sooner. I blinked back the moisture that had suddenly fogged my eyes.

"I'm not trying to kill myself, Jax. Sometimes it's the only thing that makes it better."

I shook my head. We'd been through this before. I didn't pretend to understand but she'd explained before how she felt. The anxiety was too much sometimes and the cutting was a release. She had explained about endorphins and adrenaline and some other shit I didn't really get, but I imagined it like those people who scratch themselves because they feel like they're covered in bugs.

"You need to talk to somebody, Tara. Or at least get some Xanax or something. This can't be the answer," I told her as I gently grasped her hand, lifting her arm up for inspection, running my fingers down her forearm again.

She scoffed. "I'm gonna do drugs because I want to, Jax. Not because I'm crazy." She didn't even acknowledge the idea of talking to someone; it wasn't even an option to her.

I squeezed her fingers between mine. It had been so long since I'd held her hand. I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.

"Tara," I whispered, "you're not crazy. You're just stressed. You don't have to fix everything. You can't solve the world's problems. And isn't it better to take some meds to help instead of this? You just need to take the edge off… whatever you're doing to self-medicate clearly isn't working."

She looked at me for a long time. "I wish it didn't have to be this way," she whispered.

"It doesn't. You make your own destiny. Isn't that what you always told me? Fuck Adam; fuck your dad. I'm guessing that's why you're here, right?"

She nodded, taking her hand from mine to take another swig from her bottle.

"You got somewhere to stay tonight?"

"You're looking at it," she slurred drunkenly. She must've sensed my disapproval because she added, "I'm gonna crash in the gazebo once the bottle's gone."

"Like hell you are," I told her as I stood up. I grabbed her free hand and tried to pull her to her feet. She resisted.

"You're staying at my house, end of story."

"Jax," she cringed. "I'm trying to save my relationship, not toss it in an incinerator."

I rolled my eyes and then looked around the alley. "Yeah, well where is that douchebag now? Because his chick is getting shit faced in a ditch somewhere and plans on sleeping on a fucking park bench. I don't know why you want to salvage something like that, but right now I don't care. That's not my concern. You're not sleeping in the park, Tara. Come on, we have a guest room. And if Adam bitches, tell him Gemma made you. She saw you walking down the street or something."

This time I succeeded in pulling her to her feet, though she stumbled.

"Come on, killer. Let's go."

I thought I was going to have to carry her about half way to my house. She ping ponged back and forth across the sidewalk and took a nasty spill that she was definitely going to feel in the morning. I had a feeling there was more than just booze and weed flowing through her system.

I hooked my arm around her waist and draped her arm around my neck, half dragging her.

"So I guess the answer to my question is you drank that whole damn bottle by yourself?"

She feebly swatted at my chest and sighed. "You know me too well."

"You know, sometimes I believe that but most of the time… not so much."

"Oh, Jackson. You've been to the edge of darkness, you know."

I wasn't really sure what that was supposed to mean but for some reason, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

We finally made it to my house and I leaned her against the brick while I unlocked the door. It was mostly dark and I figured either no one was home or my parents had already gone to bed when I noticed my dad sitting at the dining room table staring at a glass of what I guessed was bourbon on the rocks. He only drank that when something was bothering him. I briefly wondered what was going on but the drunk brunette on my front porch needed my attention. I helped her in the house and sat her on the couch. Dad's eyes flickered to mine then down to Tara in surprise.

He took a long pull from his drink before standing.

"She alright?" he asked quietly.

"Define 'alright'," I replied under my breath.

"Your old man giving you a hard time, Tara?" dad asked her, concern riddling his features.

Her eyes, which she had briefly closed, popped open.

"Oh, no, Mr. Teller. Everything's fine. I just needed a little fresh air," the positivity in her voice juxtaposed with her current state of disarray was unsettling. How could someone go through their life wearing a mask so opposite of what they actually felt?

Dad shook his head.

"Okay, honey. You kids don't stay up too late," he told her before turning to me.

"Make sure she gets some food in her, looks like she's gonna feel like shit in the morning."

I nodded in agreement.

Dad turned toward his room but turned back. "She's sleeping in the guest room, right?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah. I might have to carry her, but yeah."

He patted me on the shoulder. "You're a good kid, Jackson. Take care of her." With that, he headed to his room.

I turned back to Tara who was fumbling to light a cigarette. I flicked my Zippo and held it out.

"You need some help there, darlin'?"

She rolled her eyes but held the cigarette out so I could light it for her. She went to reach for her bottle again.

"You think you might want to switch to water?" I asked. She shot me a dirty look. "I'm just saying, you're gonna be hungover as shit tomorrow."

Her cellphone lit up beside her and she immediately silenced it. A few seconds later the notification message sounded. I looked and saw "Adam – 6 missed calls"

"You want me to leave you alone so you can get that?" I asked.

She shook her head vigorously. "No. I'm not ready to talk to him. Tomorrow."

I handed her a bottle of water and then sat down. "You want something to eat?"

She looked down at her hands. "No, I'm ok. Thanks though."

We sat for another minute.

"He say something to you?"

She looked up, confused. "Who?"

"Adam."

She looked away, fidgeting like a madwoman.

"No. He's just going through some shit. He's not himself."

"And you're putting up with his bullshit because?" I questioned.

She shook her head again. "I can't just give up on him, Jax. He'll come around. She just needs someone to fight for her," she answered with a yawn.

I heard the drunken Freudian slip but didn't comment on it.

"That's noble of you," I replied instead, trying hard to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "But does he want you to fight for him?

She glowered at me before taking a deep breath.

"Where's that joint you were talking about?" she inquired, avoiding the question.

I rolled my eyes with a laugh. The last thing she needed was something else to inebriate her, but maybe it would help her sleep.

"I'll get it."

I came back a minute later and she was curled up on the couch, staring at the fish tank.

I rolled it, pretty sure that there was no way she could roll something smokable right now. I handed it to her to light but she waved me off.

"You roll it, you light it," she told me sleepily.

We weren't even half way through the joint when I realized she'd fallen asleep. I finished it in silence, watching her smooth skin glowing in the blue light from the tank. I wish I could say that she looked peaceful but she honestly look tortured; like some nightmare was ravaging through her every thought, her every muscle. Even in her sleep she clawed at her forearms. It crushed my heart like a vice. Even in her dreams she couldn't escape her demons.

Eventually, I stood up. There was no sense in trying to wake her and carry her to the guest room. Instead I grabbed the softest, warmest blanket I could find and tucked it around her. She didn't even flinch. I brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and tucked them behind her ear before lightly kissing her on the top of her head.

"Good night, Tara."