Page 107

But, as it turns out, they care enough to come see me.
“Rhya called me the night she killed herself,” I tell Shade, making eye contact with him.
He stares at me, blank-faced, his hidden behind shades. Though I know it bothers him, her death doesn’t affect him as much as it used to. “Why?”
“She asked me to look out for you. She knew you’d blame yourself.”
Shade shrugs. “You’re doing a pretty shitty job looking out for me.”
There’s truth to his words. I’m not surprised by them either.
They leave, and I’m left alone. In thought. Prisoner to my own mind.
In those group sessions, one word comes up more than the rest. Addict.
An addict doesn’t have to be addicted to drugs. It can be alcohol, adrenaline, crimes, sex, shopping, food, gambling, there’s so many different forms of it you can’t just assume being addicted only means you’re into drugs. The life of an addict is always the same though.
There’s no excitement. There’s no happiness or a future to escape to. It’s only obsession. It’s forever there, fully controlling. This completely overwhelming obsession. And until you learn to control it, to say to yourself, I don’t need that, it’s never going to change.
When I look at the book on my nightstand that night, I don’t have any desire for the addiction. What I want is a little girl with my eyes to see there’s more to me than being someone who’s completely overwhelmingly obsessed.
I have more than one bad habit and more paralyzing fears than most realize. There’s the glaringly obvious habit you notice when you look at me. They see that I’m suffering. They suspect addiction, but what they don’t see is what drives me to that high.
They don’t see the one who controls me far more than anything I use to numb the pain.
It’s in the early morning hours when I think of Amberly. I don’t even recognize the man in the mirror. Dark, tired eyes stare back at me. I’ve spent the entire night on the bathroom floor vomiting, shaking, and willing myself to sleep. I want a drink, or more.
I don’t sleep. I can’t. I stay up all night and stare at the wall in the bathroom. If I do sleep, the nightmares I have keep me awake the rest of the night. I don’t even know what they’re about, just that they’re so terrifying that my mind won’t stop. I wake up drenched in sweat and confused, afraid to open my eyes and see that those nightmares might be real.
It’s been three weeks since my last high.
Three weeks.
Though I’ve gone weeks before, even months, this time is different. It’s different because I went from using a gram a week to nothing. The crash is unbelievable.
I’ve tried to quit more times than I can count. Maybe every day. I once went three months.
Drawing in a deep breath, I’m not sure I can do this.
And if I think this is the worst of the withdrawals, I’m wrong. The times I’ve tried to quit, I know it’s weeks after you stop that’s the worst. That’s when most relapse. I’ve never admitted to anyone all the drugs I’ve done. Not even to myself. To think I put myself through this, a little bump for a thirty-minute high that leaves me feeling like shit.
Stumbling back to the bed, theBeauty and the Beastbook is on my nightstand, and I think of her.
“What happened to you?” I ask myself.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I stumble my way outside, and flop down into one of the wooden lounge chairs. Fires still rage nearby. The sky’s painted a smudgy black orange, the distant glow from the hills eerily close. It’s not easy to breathe out here, with dense thick smog that never seems to lift. Funny how that’s strangely similar to the crazy inside my head.
There’s a knot in my throat I can’t seem to swallow, but I keep trying. I’m sweating, perspiration forming at my temples, prickling and pulsing through me like a fever does, but I’m not sick. Maybe mentally.
I reach for the book Scarlet gave me. I flip it open, read it, then write a note in the inside.
I mail it to Amberly, for River.
“Why can’t I see him?”
Hand in hand, I look down at River, her hair blowing in the wind, her feet dragging against the pavement toward the mailboxes. “See who?”
“Tiller. I miss him.”