JACK
As much as both of us wanted to leave, neither one of us does. It’s almost as if it’s a challenge now, the last man standing. Who can take the most pain without crumbling? I nodded off for a bit, and when I opened my eyes, Cash was holding the pen between his teeth and had a guitar on his lap. I wrote a couple of verses, but they were nowhere near done. Cash was struggling, having never written a song before. Peering over at him, unaware, I can see the focus in his eyes as he stares at the words in the notebook, almost manic, and I wonder if he slept at all.
“Hey, check this out.” He motions to me, not breaking eye contact with the notebook, his fingers on the strings, playing around with the melody.
I can see my handwriting on the paper and then below it, Cash’s. It looks as thoug
