Always Not Enough

The bass was gone. The relentless thrum that had pulsed through my penthouse like a second heartbeat had vanished, leaving behind an eerie, suffocating silence. The wreckage of the party was everywhere—empty bottles sprawled across the coffee table, red plastic cups scattered like discarded promises, the faint scent of smoke clinging to the air. The leather of the couch felt cold against my bare back, a stark contrast to the heat still lingering under my skin.

I swallowed, the whiskey's bitter taste still burning in my throat. My knuckles throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed in time with the chaos in my head. The weight of what had just happened pressed on me like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until I thought I'd shatter.

Zayan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. His eyes were stormy, a perfect match for the tempest raging inside me.

He shook his head slowly, disgust curling his lip. "What the hell are you doing, Malyen?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and unanswerable. I couldn't look at him. Couldn't face the disappointment etched into his features.

"You think you're gonna drink and fuck your way out of this?" His voice cut through me, each word a blade carving into my flesh. "You think you can just drown it all in booze and Marisol's bullshit?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers digging into my thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers digging into my thighs. Marisol's touch still lingered, an unwelcome ghost on my skin. The weight of every mistake, every broken promise, threatened to crush me.

"Zay, I—"

"No," he snapped, his tone cold and final. "Don't. Don't give me whatever excuse you're trying to scrape together. You're pathetic, man. Do you even see yourself?"

I flinched. His words were brutal, but they were nothing compared to the hollow emptiness inside me. The same emptiness I'd been trying to fill for five goddamn years. The emptiness that whispered that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing left to salvage. My hands shook, my breath shallow. The image of Jupiter's face—her wide, devastated eyes, the tremble in her lips—burned into my mind. I wanted to rip it out, to tear it away, but it was there, seared into my brain.

"You had one person who saw past all this," Zayan continued, his voice cracking with fury. "One person who gave a shit about you—not Malyen Raynes, not the rockstar, not the disaster. And you threw her away like she was nothing."

His words slammed into me, each one a nail in the coffin I'd built for myself. Jupiter's face flashed in my mind—the devastation in her eyes, the way her shoulders crumpled under the weight of what she'd seen. Her pain was a living thing, coiling around my heart and squeezing until I couldn't breathe.

"I know," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I know I fucked up."

Zayan's laugh was bitter and hollow. "You don't even know the half of it."

The silence between us crackled with the weight of everything unsaid. I stared at the floor, the patterns in the hardwood blurring as my vision swam. I wanted to claw my way out of my own skin, to escape the reality I'd built with my own goddamn hands.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice raw. "But I have to try."

"I have to fix this," I choked out, the words scraping against the raw edges of my throat. "I can't let it end like this."

Zayan's eyes narrowed, his gaze drilling into me like he was searching for any trace of the person he used to know. "And how do you plan on doing that? You think an apology is gonna erase what she saw?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice cracking. "But I have to try."

The desperation in my voice hung between us, heavy and unrelenting. I couldn't lose her. Not again. The thought of never seeing her smile, of never hearing her laugh—that sharp, beautiful laugh that cut through my darkness—made the emptiness expand into something unbearable.

Silence stretched between us, weighted with regret and the fragile threads of hope. Finally, Zayan let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping.

"You really think you can make this right?" he asked quietly, his voice edged with doubt and reluctant belief.

I nodded, my throat tight. "I have to."

He studied me for a long moment, the anger in his eyes softening into something that looked like reluctant hope. With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, then scrawled something on a crumpled receipt.

He held it out, his eyes locking onto mine. "This is her address."

I took it, my fingers trembling. The small scrap of paper felt like a lifeline—and a noose.

"Don't screw this up," Zayan warned, his voice low. "If you hurt her again, you're done. With her, with me. With everything."

I swallowed hard, nodding. "I won't."

He stepped back, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer before he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence rushed back in, deafening and relentless. I looked down at the receipt, Jupiter's address scribbled in black ink, the letters smudged slightly. It felt unreal, like the universe was handing me one last chance to get it right.

I stood up, the floor tilting under my feet. I caught myself on the edge of the couch, breathing hard. My eyes burned, my head a mess of regret and desperation. I couldn't show up like this—not when I needed her to believe I could be better.

I needed to be better.

The bathroom mirror didn't pull any punches. My reflection was a wreck—bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair a tangled mess. The bruises under my eyes told the story of too many nights spent drowning in whiskey and too many mornings spent pretending it didn't matter.

I turned on the tap, splashing cold water on my face. The shock jolted through me, biting into my skin, a punishment I deserved. I grabbed the razor from the shelf, my fingers steadying as I pressed the blade to my skin. Each stroke scraped away the scruff, the rough edges I'd let grow unchecked. It felt like I was peeling back layers, stripping away the chaos to find something cleaner underneath.

When I finished, I ran my hand over my jaw, the skin smooth and unfamiliar. I looked... better. Not fixed, not whole, but better.

The shower's scalding water burn away the residue of the night—the sweat, the smoke, Marisol's touch. I watched it swirl down the drain, a liquid representation of my sins, my failures. The heat seared my skin, grounding me in the pain, the reality I couldn't escape.

I pulled on a fresh shirt, the black fabric clinging to my damp skin. Dark jeans, clean boots. I caught my reflection again, and for a moment, I almost recognized myself.

I ran a hand through my hair, taking a deep breath. This was it. No more excuses. No more running.

I grabbed my keys and stepped into the night.

The cold night air slapped me in the face as I stepped out of the building, the chill biting through my clothes. The city lights blurred, streaking across the rain-slicked pavement like neon ghosts. My breath came out in shaky clouds, every exhale a reminder that I was still here, still fighting.

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, the receipt with Jupiter's address crumpled tightly in my fist. It felt like a talisman, fragile and weighty all at once. A promise I wasn't sure I deserved to keep.

The street was quiet except for the occasional hiss of passing cars. Seattle's usual bustle felt muffled, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if I'd screw this up.

You can't screw this up, Malyen.

I repeated it like a mantra as I climbed into my car, gripping the wheel until my knuckles turned white. The engine hummed to life, a low vibration that steadied me. Rain pattered against the windshield, each drop a tiny reminder of how fragile everything was. How easily it could all slip through my fingers.

The drive was a blur of traffic lights and unspoken prayers. I couldn't stop my mind from spiraling, memories of Jupiter flashing through the rain-streaked windows. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. The determined set of her jaw when she was focused. The warmth of her hand in mine, back when things were simpler, when we were just kids dreaming about the future.

A future I'd shattered with my own two hands.

I parked outside her building, the engine idling as I stared up at the window where a soft light glowed. My chest tightened. She was up there, probably curled up in her oversized hoodie, her sketchbook in her lap. The thought made my throat ache.

I killed the engine, the silence rushing in to fill the void. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that screamed at me to turn back. To leave her in peace, to let her forget I ever existed.

But I couldn't. Not now.

I stepped out of the car, the rain soaking through my clothes instantly. It didn't matter. The chill, the wet—it was nothing compared to the storm inside me. I walked up the steps, each footfall heavier than the last, until I was standing in front of her door.

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the wood. The memory of her eyes—wide, wounded, filled with a disappointment that felt like a knife to the gut—flashed in my mind.

My hands were shaking so badly I thought I'd drop the keys. My mind kept replaying her face—her wide eyes filled with hurt, the way she looked at me like I was a stranger. The way she turned and walked away, like she was giving up on me. God, how many times had I forced her to do that?

What if she slams the door in my face?

I pushed the thought aside, forced my knuckles to connect with the door. The knock echoed down the hallway, loud in the quiet, each beat a hammer striking my fragile resolve.

Please, Jupe. Just open the door.

Footsteps. The sound was soft, hesitant. My heart clenched tighter with each step she took.

The door creaked open.

She stood there, framed in the soft glow of her apartment, her eyes wide and wary. Her curls were damp, clinging to her cheeks, and the hoodie she wore swallowed her up, making her look impossibly small. Fragile.

And still, she was the strongest person I knew.

Her gaze flickered over me, confusion and suspicion warring in her expression. "Malyen?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cracked something inside me.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Jupe... please."

I could see the walls she'd built, the ones I'd forced her to construct, brick by painful brick. For a moment, she didn't move. The silence stretched between us, brittle and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.

Her fingers tapped against the edge of the door, her gaze flickering between me and the hallway. Her jaw clenched, her lips parting as if to say something, only to snap shut again. For a second, I thought she'd tell me to leave. That she'd slam the door and lock me out forever.

Then, she stepped back, just enough for me to see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Her voice was barely audible. "Come in."

The air smelled like vanilla and something faintly floral—like peace bottled into a room. Her sketches were everywhere, delicate and defiant, a silent testament to the parts of her she'd poured onto paper. It felt like stepping into another world. A world I'd left behind.

She closed the door quietly, her movements careful and controlled, as if one wrong step might cause everything to collapse.

I turned to face her, my heart pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, the words breaking apart in my throat.

Her eyes glistened, but she didn't look away. "You have no reason to apologize." Her voice was steady, but I could hear the strain beneath it, the exhaustion of holding everything together.

I shook my head, my eyes burning. "But I do, Jupiter. You should never have had to see that."

She wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I don't even know why I came. I just... I didn't know where else to go."

The pain in her voice cut through me, deeper than any blade ever could. I took a shaky step toward her, desperate to close the distance that felt like an ocean between us.

"You felt something, right?" My voice was raw, pleading. "After we talked?"

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, I saw it—the hurt, the confusion, the love buried beneath five years of distance and mistakes. She didn't answer right away, but when she did, her voice was a whisper, fragile and trembling.

"Of course I did."

Relief and despair crashed over me in equal measure. I wanted to reach for her, to pull her into my arms and promise her that I'd never let her go again. But I didn't deserve that. Not yet.

"I'm lost without you, Jupe." The words spilled out before I could stop them, the truth I'd been drowning in for years. "I don't want this life. The parties, the booze, the numbness. None of it means anything without you."

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You can't say that, Malyen. Not now."

"I have to," I said, my voice shaking. "Because it's the only truth I have left."

Her shoulders trembled, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I wanted to reach out, to wipe away her tears, but I was afraid she'd shatter beneath my touch.

"I don't know if I can trust you," she whispered. "Not after everything."

The pain of her words was a physical thing, sharp and brutal. But I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I know. And I don't expect you to. But I'm going to prove it to you, Jupe. I swear, I'm going to fix this."

She didn't say anything, didn't move. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncertain. But for the first time in years, there was a flicker of hope in the darkness.

And I held onto it with everything I had.