Caleb’s POV
The first thing I noticed when I stepped outside was the blinding sunlight.
The second was the sharp pain in my ribs.
I groaned, pressing a hand to my side as I stumbled into the street, my body screaming in protest. The hangover was bad. The regret was worse.
I didn’t remember her name.
Didn’t remember how I got to her place.
Didn’t remember how I let myself sink this damn low.
The alley was empty as I made my way toward Ryan’s apartment, but I knew the streets weren’t. I had spent the last few weeks drowning myself in every vice I could find, and now people were starting to notice.
It wasn’t just about the drinking anymore.
It was the drugs.
The fights.
The reckless bullshit that made me feel alive for five damn seconds before dragging me back into the darkness.
And then, like fate had a sick sense of humor, I saw her.
Jiji.
She was leaning against the door of a small bookstore, smoking a cigarette and scrolling through her phone, completely unaware that she was about to witness the moment I officially hit rock bottom.
Because the second I made eye contact with her, my legs gave out.
I collapsed right there on the damn sidewalk.
"Shit!" I heard her voice before I could even register what was happening.
Then hands—small but firm—gripped my arms, trying to pull me upright. "Jesus, Caleb. What the hell did you do to yourself?"
I barely managed to blink up at her. Dark eyes. Messy bun. Leather jacket two sizes too big.
Jiji.
She was the only person who hadn’t bought into my bullshit back in high school. The only one who had looked at me and seen exactly what I was—and still stuck around anyway.
"I came back in town for some inner peace. You're a goddamn disaster." she muttered, shaking her head as she slung one of my arms over her shoulder.
"You’re… stronger than you look," I slurred.
"And you’re heavier than you look, asshole," she shot back.
I huffed a laugh—a real one, for the first time in weeks.
But it faded the second I realized where she was dragging me.
Not back to Ryan’s place.
Not to some party.
To a clinic.
I started pulling away, but Jiji tightened her grip, her nails digging into my arm. "Don’t even try it," she warned. "You’re going in there, even if I have to knock your ass out first."
My stomach turned. "I don’t need a damn doctor."
"You don’t need a lot of things," she snapped. "But you’re getting them anyway."
I could have fought harder.
Could have run.
But I was too tired.
Too fucking tired of feeling like this.
So, for the first time in months, I let someone help me.
And it scared the hell out of me.