✢ for a good memory that makes them smile:
A phone call wakes her up. Jessica reaches for it blindly, presses the phone against her ear. “Yeah” she snaps harshly.
And just like that, Jessica’s awake. “Trish,” she breathes, sitting upright. “Trish, are you okay?”
Laughter on the other end, weak and breathless, but -- it sounds like her sister’s again.
Trish had been off the radar for weeks. Jessica had looked for her, even when it was clear that Trish didn’t want to be found. When it was clear she’d rather disappear down a pill bottle or into a syringe than talk to her sister.
“Trish, talk to me,” Jessica demands. Anyone else would think she was angry, but Trish knows her, knows that this is her way of being concerned.
“I’m okay,” Trish says softly. “I’m... safe.”
“Where are you?” Jessica is already pulling on her jeans, searching for her boots.
There’s a heavy silence. “No shit,” Jessica breathes. She sets her boots down, sits back down on the edge of the bed. “You... you’re...” But she can’t find the words, can’t form the right questions. She’s never been good at this.
“I’m getting clean, Jess.” Trish says her name like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping her together, but she cracks anyway. Jess can hear her muffle the phone, but the strangled sob comes through anyway.
“That’s good,” she whispers desperately into the phone. “What -- where are you, I can visit, I can bring you --”
“I’m sorry,” Trish cuts off her rambling. “Jessie, I’m so sorry.”
Jessica shakes her head, even though Trish can’t see her. “Don’t be,” she says, sincerely. Her heart is swelling, aching for her sister, but a joy tears through her. This is a good kind of heartbreak. “I’m just -- I’m glad you’re okay,” she says lamely. “Thanks, Trish.”
She doesn’t give Trish time to linger on that, to ask what she’s thankful for. She just rubs her eyes and continues. “Give me the address. I’ll bring you clothes and shit tomorrow. I’ll be there, okay? I promise.”
“I know you will.” Trish’s voice is so small on the other end of the line. But it sounds like her again, not like the husk, the zombie the drugs had made her into. “I love you, Jessie, I do, I’m sorry, I -”
“Shut up,” Jessica says, but she’s smiling and she knows Trish will hear it. “I love you, too.”
Then she snaps the phone shut. She falls back into bed with a smile, because finally, she has Trish back. And she doesn’t need anything else in this world.
