Page 23 of Unholy Confessions (The Paper Rings Trilogy #1)

RJ

I t's been a few days since Montgomery and I went out to the zoo, and we ended things on such a weird note.

Her not wanting me to come inside, and then the hot makeout session which ended with me leaving, with my boxers sticky.

She hasn't called me, and I haven't called her.

We've texted here and there, but things just feel off. Who am I kidding, everything feels off.

And I'm counting pills again. It's been less than a week since I got the extra prescription filled, and they're almost gone. But what I really want more than anything is the feeling I got from the bump of cocaine that Evan gave to me.

Trailing my hands over my face, I inhale deeply and then exhale. I'm in fucking deep shit. But I still grab my phone and scroll through until I see Evan's name. Before I can talk myself out of it, I text him.

R: You think I could get more of what you gave me the other day?

The response comes back almost immediately.

E: You at home?

R: Yeah, just let me know how much.

E: $100 I'll be there soon.

The sinking pit in my stomach is only stopped by the knowledge that I'll have what I want so much in a short amount of time. I've gone from just wanting to calm my nerves, to craving. That's a problem, but it's not one I want to acknowledge. At least not yet.

I pace around my apartment, checking the time every few minutes. Thirty minutes feels like hours. When I finally hear the knock on my door, my heart rate spikes.

"Hey man," Evan says when I open the door, looking around casually like he's just stopping by to hang out. "How you been?"

"Good, yeah, good," I lie, stepping aside to let him in.

He pulls a small baggie from his pocket, holding it up between us. "Same as last time. This should last you a while if you're smart about it."

I hand him the cash, my hands steadier than I expected. "Thanks."

"Just be careful, yeah?" Evan says, pocketing the money. "This stuff can sneak up on you." Sounds like he's speaking from experience.

After he leaves, I sit on my couch staring at the baggie.

It's smaller than I remember, just a few grams of white powder that could either make everything better or make everything so much worse.

It's a toss up, depending on how all this ends.

But the thing is. I don't have a crystal ball, I don't know how my life is going to end up.

What I do know is that I hate the way Montgomery and I left things. I don't know how to fix what's broken, because I haven't been honest with her. She knows that something is wrong, but I can't tell her, because then I have to admit what I've been doing. Not only to myself, but everyone else.

It's a no-win situation for me.

I should tell her what's wrong with me. I should apologize. I should be honest. I should do a lot of things.

Instead, I put it in my bedroom drawer and try to pretend it's not there.

But as the night rolls on, it might as well be screaming at me. I try to write, but all I can think about is that drawer. I try to watch TV, but my leg won't stop bouncing. I take two pills, then two more, but they're not helping anymore. All I can think about is the power in that goddamn baggie.

Until I can't take it anymore.

I retrieve the baggie and sit on my bed, staring at it. My hands are shaking now, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I want this so badly. I hate that I'm even considering it.

But I hate feeling like this anxiety of nothingness even more.

Those shaking hands open the baggie, thoughts screaming through my head about what this means for me. This moves me over from a recreational user to an addict. Or was I there before? Who knows at this point. All I know is I want to feel different than what I do right now.

I want to feel something, even if it's the pounding in my chest or the crushing blow of disappointment that'll wash over me as soon as I give into the urge.

I prepare a line on my nightstand, smaller than what Evan gave me that first night, because I'm scared to do this here, by myself. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

"Just this once," I tell myself, even though I know it's a lie.

The burn hits immediately, followed by that drip down the back of my throat. Then the rush starts – that incredible feeling of everything clicking into place, of not feeling like I'm an outcast with my own family and friends.

Within minutes, I feel invincible. Clear-headed and ten feet tall. It's as if I can solve all the world's problems with my guitar and the pen I use to write my songs.

And suddenly, I know exactly what I need to do.

I'm in my truck before I can second-guess myself, the engine roaring to life as I back out of my driveway. The drive to Montgomery's feels like it takes seconds, adrenaline and fake confidence from the drugs makes me feel as if I'm flying.

I should probably call first, but I don't want to give her a chance to tell me not to come. I need to see her. I need to fix this distance between us. It's now my fixation. Parking with a slight squeal, I turn the truck off and then take the steps two at a time, heart pounding as I stand there.

When I knock on her door, it takes her a minute to answer. She throws the door open, and there she stands;. wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, surprise on her face to see me.

"RJ? What are you doing here?"

"I don't like this," I say, pushing past her into the apartment.

"This distance between us. This weird energy.

It doesn't feel good, and we've never had this problem before.

I don't understand why it's here now, and what we're going to do to fix it.

" I say this in almost one breath. Inhaling deeply, and hoping that this isn't as bad as I think it is.

She closes the door and turns to face me, studying my expression. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me with raised eyebrows. "Are you okay? You seem... wired."

She's said this before, and it didn't end well. Whatever I do, I need to convince her that I'm not on something.

"I'm fine. Better than fine, actually." I reach for her hands, pulling her closer, hoping she doesn't see the way my heart is pounding. "I couldn't stay away from you anymore. I hate the way we left things, hate the way things feel so off between us."

"I know," she says softly. "I don't like it either."

"Then let's fix it." I cup her face in my hands, searching her eyes. "I love you, Montgomery. More than anything. And I know I've been different lately, I know things have been weird, but I want to make it right."

She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to read my expression. Whatever she sees there seems to convince her, or she gives in, because she nods.

"I want to fix it too," she whispers.

That's all the invitation I need. I kiss her, pouring everything I'm feeling into it – the desperation, the love, the need to connect with her again. She kisses me back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in my shirt.

"I missed you," she breathes against my lips.

"I missed you too," I say, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom.

When I lay her down on her bed, she pulls me down with her, and our tongues move against each other, or hands fight, each one trying to get to bare skin.

I pull her shirt over her head, and she works at the buttons of my jeans, both of us urgent and needy.

This is out of control as either of us have ever been.

Neither one of us ever had much experience, considering we've only been with each other, and I've gotten her to let her guard down just a couple of times and show me exactly what she wants. The way she's acting like she can't get enough is all I've ever wanted.

"Are you sure?" I ask, even though I'm already kissing down her neck, already reaching for the waistband of her shorts.

"Yes," she gasps, arching into me. "I'm sure. I want this more than I've ever wanted it. I just want to feel close to you," she moans. "It doesn't have to be gentle this time."

And there's nothing gentle about it. Not about the way I scrape my teeth down her neck, the way she runs her nails down my back, or the way I grip my cock and shove it deep into her core. It's raw and desperate and intense, both of us trying to close the distance that's been growing between us.

I set a rough and fast rhythm, not expecting her to follow, but she does.

Her mouth is open against my shoulder as I press in and pull out of her.

The heels of her feet are hooked around my waist, holding on tight as I fuck her hard into the mattress, grunting with satisfaction as the headboard hits the wall.

When it's over, we're both breathing hard, tangled up in her sheets and each other. I pull her against my chest, burying my face in her hair.

"Better?" I ask, and I can hear the smile in my own voice.

"Much better," she says, tracing patterns on my chest with her finger.

We don't talk about what's been wrong between us. We don't talk about my mood swings or her distance or any of the things we probably should. Instead, we just hold each other until we both drift off to sleep, and for the first time in weeks, everything feels right again.

At least for now.