Chapter 5:Three weeks gone
783 Words
Three weeks.
Three weeks since _He stays_ blew up my house and Xavier walked out anyway.
Three weeks since David came home from work, saw Xavier’s empty room, and started sleeping on the couch.
Three weeks since I heard David’s voice.
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*School.*
Spanish is a crater in my grades. _Señora_ Martinez asked me to stay after class today.
“Stacy, you speak Spanish at home, yes? This isn’t like you.”
I nodded. Didn’t say my brother won’t speak to me in _any_ language right now. Didn’t say the only person I want to talk to cut me out of his life to save it.
Liv slides a note onto my desk during fifth period. _You look like death. Diner after school? My treat._
I text back: _Can’t. Work._
Lie. I quit my job at the bookstore. Couldn’t focus. Kept thinking I’d see him. Xavier used to pick up oil filters two blocks over.
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*Home.*
David’s truck isn’t in the driveway. Again. He’s been pulling doubles at the plant. Says it’s overtime. I know it’s avoidance.
The house smells like nothing now. No grease, no cigarettes from Xavier’s jacket, no PB&J. I made one yesterday. Cut it diagonal. Stared at it until it got stale.
My phone still says Xavier at the top of my texts. Last message: _Bus._ Three weeks ago.
I typed _Where are you_ six times today. Deleted it six times.
David made me choose.Xavier chose for me anyway.
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*9PM.*
Liv shows up with Bacons and no permission.
“You’re haunting your own house,” she says, dropping the bag on the counter. “We’re going for a drive.”
“I don’t—”
“David texted me. Said to get you out of here or he’d have to come home early. Neither of us wants that.”
I grab my jacket. Because she’s right. The silence is louder when David’s here.
---
*Midnight.*
We end up at Frank’s Diner off Route 9. The one that’s open 24/7. The one with the big windows facing the parking lot.
Liv’s mid-sentence about her chem lab when I see him.
Xavier.
Inside. Blue mechanic’s shirt from the shop, but it’s darker. New name patch: _Smith’s Auto_. Not the place he worked with David . Different one. Across town.
He’s alone in a booth. Head down. Picking at a plate of fries. Looks thinner. Hair’s longer, curling at the nape. Dark circles under his eyes match mine.
A busboy drops off a coffee. Xavier doesn’t look up. Just wraps both hands around the mug like he’s freezing.
My chest cracks open.
“Stacy?” Liv follows my gaze. “Oh. Oh shit.”
I’m already out of the car before she can stop me.
Gravel crunches under my sneakers. My hand is on the diner door.
Then I see the second patch on his shirt. Small. Under smith’s Auto_.
_Midnight Shift Lead._
He’s working .That’s why Xavier looks like a ghost. He took a second job. A worse job. To afford a room somewhere I don’t know about. To stay away from me.
He left so I wouldn’t lose David. Now he’s killing himself to make sure he keeps his word.
My hand drops from the door.
Because what do I say? _Thanks for ruining your life for me?_
_He stays_ was supposed to mean he stays in my life. Not that he stays away, starving and sleepless, because of me.
Xavier looks up. Not at me. At the clock over the counter. 12:17AM. He downs the rest of his coffee, stands, leaves cash on the table.
He walks out the back. Toward the bays. Toward more work.
Never sees me standing ten feet away, shaking.
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*1AM. My room.*
I open my window. Like he did. Like we used to.
Set the stale PB&J on the sill. From yesterday.
He’s not coming. He hasn’t for three weeks.
David’s truck pulls in. He sits in it for twenty minutes before he comes inside. I hear the couch groan when he lies down.
Two men. One house. Both gone.
I pick up my phone.
Delete _Where are you_.
Type: _I saw you. At Frank’s. You look tired._
Stare at it.
Delete it.
Type: _Please eat something that isn’t fries._
Delete it.
Finally send: _I didn’t mean for you to disappear._
Three dots. Immediately.
Then nothing. They vanish.
An hour later, my phone buzzes.
Not Xavier’s .
Unknown number.
_He got your message. Don’t text this number again. It’s not safe for him._
I don’t recognize the area code.
So that’s why he’s ghosting. Why he took a night job. Why he won’t even let me apologize.
And I’m the reason.
- Writer
