Page 44 of Up In Smoke

Why am I even trying?

My feet are moving without me truly registering it. I stumble back to Rico’s car and start it up, only just remembering to buckle up before pulling off. It’s kind of a miracle I don’t get into an accident because the whole drive is a blur until I see what I’m looking for.

The strip mall back in town isn’t nearly as nice as the fancy parade of stores and businesses I just left by Ross & Associates, but that’s kind of the point. There’s a parking slot waiting for me, so I don’t pause to think as I stop the car and hop out. I’m not even certain I lock it. I’m so determined to get through the door in front of me, storming into the cool air and heading straight for the section I want, like I’m being drawn by a homing beacon.

It’s not until the bottle of vodka’s in my hands do I take a breath, the oxygen hitting my brain as if it’s pulling me out of a trance.

What am I doing?

I’d love to say that I put the bottle straight back down, but I keep staring at it, the weight of it comforting in my hands. It would be so easy. I could just forget everything. Put on some loud music and get fucked up. Or maybe go down to the beach and watch the sun set as my cares slowly fade away.

Or not so slowly depending on how quickly I get this down my throat.

And then what? Wake up tomorrow and…?

Hate myself. Be back at square one. All that time and trust and money Rico put into me would be for nothing. All thatprogress I’ve made would go down the drain. Everything we risked by getting married to put me in rehab would be gone.

Rico would be so incredibly disappointed. But so wouldI.And for the first time in my life, that actually seems to matter.

I don’t care what that douchebag Winston thinks of me. I’m just a joke to him? Well, he’s nothing to me. Not like Rico. If I do this, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look him in the eye again, and that would kill me.

I wouldn’t be able to look at myself, either.

No. Enough. I can’t let one bad moment unravel it all. Even if I still feel like I want to crawl out of my skin after the way that asshole treated me. Tomorrow will be a fresh start.

I just have to make it until then.

“One day at a time,” I mutter, my throat and eyes still burning. It feels like I’m moving in slow motion, but I gradually, ever so slowly, put the vodka bottle back on the shelf. My hands are trembling and the part of me that wants to take it and run hasn’t actually gone away.

I reach out again.

Then it hits me. If I get fucked up, who will pick Rico up from work in the morning? Because if I buy this liquor now (with the money he and my brother have so very kindly given me) will I stop there? Will I be on the hunt for a second bottle and a hit of coke before I even realize what’s happening?

I know the answer to that.

“You okay there, son?” the elderly man behind the register calls out to me.

I drop my arm again and take a shaky step backward. “I think Iamokay,” I say, my eyes still on the bottle.

But I’m moving away.

“Th-thank you, though,” I stutter.

It’s like a jolt of electricity shoots through me. I spin on my heels and rush to the door, not looking back.

From now on, the only direction I’m heading is forward.

My hands might still be trembling as I sit in the car and use my phone for an internet search, my thumbs moving clumsily. But I still find what I’m looking for.

What I need.

This drive is still kind of a blur. I just go slowly until I make it to the church parking lot. I take my time parking because I’m probably at a high risk of getting into a fender bender in this state. But eventually, I manage. Another few minutes go by where I simply sit there, ignition off, hands gripping the wheel.

“Just breathe,” I soothe myself. “You’re okay. You didn’t do something dumb.Reallydumb. You haven’t done anything you can’t walk back from.”

I check the time on my watch, knowing that if I’m going to do this, I need to get out of this car. I’m worried if I don’t do it now, I never will.

“Go,”I urge myself.