Текст книги "The Temptation of Lila and Ethan"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Alone.
And I desperately want to find someone to fill the void.
I’m way too out of it to be out here, but I can’t find my way back to my apartment. So I keep wandering aimlessly around the parking lot with no real destination, and I can’t even remember why I came outside in the first place. I think it might have been the fear of being compressed between the shrinking walls in my house that made me go outside, but I’m not sure.
This older guy comes up to me as I make my way over to a carport and he tells me about this party up the street. I mutter something about not really wanting to go with him, but then he takes ahold of my arm and kind of guides me along, or forces me (I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing between the two) toward the street.
He keeps talking about swimming or hitting or something, but the grogginess in my head barely allows me to decipher half of the words he’s saying. His lips keep moving and he has nice, soft, full-looking lips, and there’s this scar on the bottom one. I thought his eyes were green, but when we step into the house, underneath the light, I realize they’re blue. His hair is way too long for my taste and he’s wearing this ratty-looking T-shirt that makes me crinkle my nose with distaste.
“I think I have to…” I try to say go, but my lips have gotten really numb. I stumble over my shoes, which aren’t fastened.
“You look really beautiful tonight,” the guy whispers in my ear and I’m relieved I caught the whole sentence.
“Thanks…” I trail off as the stereo is cranked up and the floor starts to vibrate beneath us. Everyone starts dancing and shouting as they drink beers and grind against each other.
There are people crammed into a small living room and the furniture has been pushed out of the way. The kitchen to my right is lined with empty beer bottles and there’s a large bucket filled with ice and drinks on the table. The loudness and chaos kind of reminds me of being at Ella’s, where everyone could just roam free and do whatever they wanted. The first time I witnessed it I thought it was insane, but now it kind of feels like maybe this is the kind of place I belonged the whole time.
“Do you want a drink?” the guy shouts over the music as he holds on to my arm.
I nod, relaxing. He doesn’t seem that bad. “Yes, please!”
Then he smiles and it’s a dark smile, one masked with an alternate meaning. I’ve seen this smile before right before he tied me to the bed. I’m not sure what the alternate meaning is but I can’t seem to concentrate on it for long enough to care. He releases my arm and I brace my hand against the wall nearby so I don’t fall down. I want to dance, because I love to dance. But I’m dizzy and vomit burns at the back of my throat. I try to recall how many pills I’d taken. Two… No, I took more, didn’t I? After the landlord knocked on my door? Yes, but how many did I take. Four… five… eight. God, I’ve completely lost track and things are starting to get dark and chilly, not just around me but in my head. The song switches and I try to focus on the beat. The guy who brought me here returns. He hands me a beer. I drink it. Somehow I end up dancing with him. He’s grabbing me roughly, forcing me against his body as he grinds against my hips. I’m not sure if I’m into it, so I try to back away.
“Where you goin’?” he wonders, pulling me back.
“I want to…” What do I want?
He shakes his head and probes his fingernails into my arms. I feel the skin puncture and the pain spans throughout my entire body. I try to shout, but the sound is lost in the music. He grins, all desire and need, just like every other guy who exists on the planet.
“Come here, baby.” He presses me against his chest, his hand sliding underneath my back, and I find myself wishing he were Ethan so I wouldn’t feel so unsafe. He grabs at my butt, touches me, and just like that a switch flips off inside my head. Like always, I become numb, every emotion draining out of me. Suddenly, it feels like I’m watching the guy as he gropes my ass, feels my breast, kisses my neck, presses our bodies together. I can’t feel a single thing, don’t want to. I don’t deserve to. I’m worthless. A whore, like everyone always tells me.
He starts to lead me through the crowd, to the hallway, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to take me to a room and do whatever he wants to me, when my eyes roll into the back of my head and my legs start to give out as my stomach burns.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I say and groan and the guy scoots back faster than the beat of the song with his hands out in front of him like he’s afraid to touch me.
I take off, shoving through the crowd, and run out the front door, leaving it open as I stumble outside, then hurry down the stairs. One of my shoes gets caught in the bottom step and I can’t get it out, so instead I wiggle my foot out of my shoe. Then I hunch over and fall to my knees in a bed of tulips and bushes. My shoulders jerk as I dry heave, feeling like I need to throw up, but nothing will come out of my mouth. My heart is beating rapidly, slamming against my ribs, and my skin is coated in sweat. I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open and I fall back into the bushes, landing in the moist dirt on my back. I see the stars. They’re gorgeous. I wish I could touch them. It feels like I can.
I lie there forever, feeling my heart beat faster as my stomach vines into painful knots. Then my butt starts ringing, or maybe it’s my head… no, it’s my phone. Yes, definitely my phone. Rolling to my side, I feel the back pocket in my dress and retrieve my phone. I let my thumb fall on the talk button and then put the phone to my ear.
“Hello.” The sound of my voice hurts my head.
“Seriously?” Ethan says, sounding more pissed off than he usually does. “Again?”
“Huh…” I clutch my pulsating head.
“What do you mean, huh?” he snaps. “I can tell you’re drunk again, which means you probably need me to come pick you up from some guy’s house.” He sounds venomously jealous, and in the pit of my stomach, I like it.
“No, not drunk,” I mutter. “I’m out of it.”
“I can tell.”
“I think… I think… I took too much… this time.” It’s becoming harder to breathe, my chest constricting and it’s bearing weight down on my body.
“Too much what?” he asks and I think I hear concern in his voice. Maybe, but I could be wrong.
“The stuff…” I try to snap my fingers, attempting to think of the word, but I can’t tell if I still have fingers. “Those pills I have.”
“What pills?” His voice sounds all high and abnormally off pitch.
“Nothing… never mind… I’m really tired… I’m going to go…” I start to let my arm fall to my side.
“Lila, don’t hang up!” he shouts through the phone and I can hear a lot of banging in the background. “Where are you? At your place?”
“No… I’m in some bushes… and tulips.” I swat my arm at this blurry spot forming above me. “Ethan, it’s really cold.”
“It’s not that cold.” His voice is harsh and makes me feel even colder inside. “Now just tell me where you are and keep your God damn eyes open.”
“Okay…” I blink fiercely, struggling to get my eyelids to stay open. “But I don’t know where I am.”
“What do you mean?” he asks and I hear the engine of his truck roar. “How the hell can you not know where you are?”
“Well… this guy took me somewhere… and I don’t remember where…”
“Can you recognize anything?”
“Stars… and…” I trail off, letting the sleepiness overtake me. He says something, but I’m too exhausted to answer.
“Lila!” he yells.
My eyes snap open. “Yeah…”
“Tell me what’s around you.”
“Bushes… and stars… and a building…”
“What does the building look like?”
“Like every other building out there…” My head flops to the side. “There’s this really weird flashing pink bird thingy at the entrance… That could be in my head though.”
“Thank fucking God.” He sounds a little relieved. “I know where you are.” He says a bunch of other stuff, but I can’t tell what he’s saying, so I just drop the phone because it’s too heavy anyway. Then I gaze up at the stars and let myself fall into the darkness and numbness that I’ve become so familiar with. In fact, it’s really starting to feel like home.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, sliding his hand up my thigh. “Your skin’s so soft, too.”
I force a smile, even though the way he’s touching me feels wrong. Everything about the situation feels wrong, but at the same time it feels right, because the way Sean’s looking at me right now makes me feel worshipped and loved. “Thank you,” I say, which makes him grin this adorable grin that makes him look younger than he is.
“You’re welcome,” he says and leans forward, giving me a soft peck on the nose. “You’re amazing,” he whispers against my skin, peppering kisses down to my jawline as his fingers drift up my plaid skirt. “I want to touch you everywhere… kiss you all over.”
I place my hand on his chest, holding him back just a little so that I can look him in the eyes. “Why don’t you ever touch me in public? Is it because you were lying about not being married?” I eye the ring on his finger.
His eyes turn cold, his mouth setting in a firm line as he leans away, leaving his hand on my upper thigh, but his fingers stiffen. “No, I told you I’m not married. It was a gift and you know why we can’t be seen in public. Age matters to people, Lila.”
I run my fingers through his soft hair, worried I’ve pushed him too far. “You’re not that much older than me and it doesn’t matter to me anyway.”
He stares at me like I’m incompetent. “Lila, don’t be stupid. They would rip us apart. Everyone would.” He starts to reach for the door handle of his car. “Maybe I should go.”
“No, don’t.” I grab a handful of his suit jacket and pull him back to me, terrified that he’s going to leave me. “I-I’m sorry I brought it up. Please, just go back to what you were doing.”
He narrows his eyes, looking like he’s deliberating whether he should stay or go, whether he’s too good for me or not. He is. I know that.
“You want me to do back to what I was doing?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he assesses me. There’s something in his eyes that is both thrilling and terrifying and makes my skin tingle in a way that it never has.
I nod, but with a lack of confidence. “Yes.”
He places his hand back on my thigh. He slowly starts to travel upward to the bottom of my skirt, briefly lingering at the hem before slipping his fingers underneath the fabric. I instinctively tense and he seems pleased by it. “Are you sure, Lila?” He reaches the fabric of my panties. “You really want me to go back to what I was doing?”
I open my mouth to say that I’m not sure and that he’s making me feel dirty, but then he forces his fingers inside me with a rough, almost violent movement. I’m not sure what to do because it hurts and feels wrong yet it also feels good.
He starts to move his fingers inside me, almost forcefully. I think about telling him to stop, but the wonderful and horrifying feelings of bliss and need silence my lips. Then he moves his free hand around to the back of my head and grabs violently at my hair.
“Ow, that hurts,” I mutter through a moan with my neck being forced to arch back.
“Good,” he says, his eyes darkening with pleasure. He pulls even harder on my hair and pain and pleasure flood my body.
My feeling become hard to decipher as I reach forward and clutch on to his arms as my body heats up and I can’t breathe. When he pulls his finger out of me, I’m not sure whether I enjoyed it, regretted it, or both. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.
Ethan
At first I think she’s at some guy’s house and even though I don’t want to go to that jealous place inside me, I do. It pisses me off because only a week ago, I was touching her and all was great until she zoned out and it seemed like she didn’t want to do anything with me.
But then I notice the dazed sound of her voice and none of that matters. I’ve heard the distance and dazed sound in London’s voice many times and in my own, too, when I used to get smashed. An alarm goes off in my head and all I can seem to think about is walking away from London the last time, right after the needle entered her arm. Then Lila starts talking about pills and I remember the prescription bottle in the couch cushion. That’s when I really start to freak out. I’m trying not to panic as I try figure out where she is, but she seems to have no idea. Then she mentions the pink bird and a small amount of relief washes over me. I drive by that damn pink bird twice a day to and from work. It’s not too far from my house, only a few minutes away. I keep talking to her to make sure she stays awake, debating whether I should call an ambulance or something.
I can still hear her voice when I spot the pink bird in front of the apartment complex that’s tucked between a house and a gas station. But when I’m pulling in, there’s a thud on the line and then it goes silent. For a split second all I can think about is how I’m never going to see her again, that she’s gone, and I almost become paralyzed. I’ve never felt so much adrenaline rush through my body and my heart starts to slam against the inside of my chest.
“Shit.” I swing a hard left and slam on my brakes, stopping on the curb, the tire ramping up onto it. She said she was in the bushes, but there are bushes everywhere. I hop out of the truck and shout. “Lila!” No one answers. I run around the two-story brick buildings situated inside the fenced parking lot, shouting out her name as I unlock my cell phone screen to call 911. I spot a flashy high-heeled shoe near the bottom of one of the stairways and I pick it up, wondering if it could be Lila’s. It looks like something she probably wouldn’t wear and more like something a stripper would own and there are a lot of those around here.
When I turn around I see feet sticking out of the shrubbery and one of them is missing a shoe. I run over and drop to my knees beside Lila, sprawled out on the ground, taking in the paleness of her skin and the glossiness in her eyes. Suddenly a feeling rushes over me, rams me square in the chest, gut, legs—everywhere. Looking at her, like this, makes the possibility of losing her much more real.
“I feel sick, Ethan,” she murmurs and then rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her head and closing her eyes.
I carefully slide my arm underneath her neck and slant her head up, patting her cheek so she’ll open her eyes. “Lila, what did you take? Can you remember the name?”
“What I always take,” she slurs, blinking her eyes open. “That stuff in my drawer.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “And what’s that?”
“That stuff… you know… those pills that make you all awake… God, Ethan, I can’t… I can’t remember the name of them. It’s a really… really… big word.”
I glance at the dirt and the bushes around us. “Did you throw up?”
“No…” She slowly sighs, her chest rising and falling. “I feel like I need to, though. My stomach hurts really, really bad.”
I help her sit up, holding on to her arms, which have red welts on them that look like marks left from someone’s fingers digging into her skin. “Okay, I’m going to turn you around and I want you to throw up, even if you have to stick your finger down your throat.”
Her head bobs up and down as she nods. “Okay.”
I guide her to the side and help her turn so she’s hunched over on her hands and knees. I keep my arm underneath her stomach, supporting her weight. She stays still for a minute with her mouth open, and then she finally shoves her finger down her throat. I angle my head to the side, staring at the parking lot as she pukes in the bushes. By the time she’s finished, she’s shaking and her skin is sweaty and paler than it already was.
“All right, let’s get you to the hospital,” I say as she sits down and rests her head against my chest.
“No, no hospitals.” She shakes her head and peers up at me. In the glow of the streetlights, her eyes look black, or maybe it’s because her pupils are dilated.
“Yes, to the hospital.” I get to my feet and scoop her up in my arms, bearing her dead weight as she nuzzles her face against my chest.
She gripes about going to the hospital, but only until we make it to the truck. Once I get her in the passenger seat, she relaxes and I buckle her seat belt over her chest. I drive straight to the hospital, knowing that there is no room for mistakes in the state she’s in. It’s why I stopped doing drugs. Why I went back to overthinking everything, even though I didn’t want to. I learned firsthand what can happen. How one slipup can take you away forever, and thinking about the fact that Lila might be reaching that point terrified me more than I would have thought. It scares me to death, the thought that I might lose her. At that moment, I realize that Lila has become more than a friend. Much, much more.
Chapter Six
Lila
I wake up unable to remember what happened the night before. I should be okay with the confusion, since I’m used to it, but for some reason I feel more dirty and ashamed than I normally do.
The scent of cologne flowing from the blanket that’s over me is familiar. I’ve smelled it before and it comforts me. I force my eyes open and instantly recognize the band posters and drum set in the corner of the room. I sigh with relief. I’m in Ethan’s room, lying in his bed.
“Thank God,” I mutter, gradually sitting up and my stomach muscles constrict in protest. I wrap my arm around my stomach and realize that I’m wearing one of Ethan’s shirts.
Holy crap, did I sleep with him? I run my hands through my tangled hair, sifting through my hazy memories. But the only things I can remember are stars, bushes, beeping machines, and the smell of cleaner.
“Feeling better?” The sound of Ethan’s voice makes me jump and my stomach churns from the motion.
“Ah…” I moan, hunching over and clutching my tender stomach with my gaze fixed on the comforter in front of me. “What the heck happened last night?”
I hear him walk toward the bed and then the mattress bows as he sits down on the foot of it, making sure to keep some space between us. “You can’t remember anything at all?”
I shake my head, still looking down, feeling mortified for reasons I can’t explain. Then I notice the hospital band on my wrist. “No… I can remember wandering around the apartment complex… Then this guy took me somewhere…” I pause, daring to peer up. “And then all I can remember are stars and the smell of cleaner.”
He’s wearing a black-and-red T-shirt, his hair is damp, like he just got out of the shower, and there are holes in his jeans. “You pretty much overdosed,” he says, cautiously watching me.
He thrums his fingers on his knees, considering something. “You know, I’ve never been one for pressing people about their problems.” He slides his knee on the bed, turning sideways so he’s facing me. “I’ve never been a big fan of talking about my own shit and so I usually avoid trying to make people talk about theirs unless they’re being stupid and right now every single part of me is screaming at me to make you tell me what happened.” He pauses and I start to speak, but he talks over me. “And don’t try to tell me that you’re taking that prescription because of a doctor’s orders. You told me last night on the way to the hospital that you’ve pretty much been abusing them since you were fourteen, something I probably should have just told the doctors, but I didn’t want to get you into trouble.” He stops and waits for something. A thanks? An explanation? The truth? I honestly don’t know and I don’t want to tell him anything either.
“I don’t know what to say.” I shut my eyes and summon a deep breath, chanting in my head not to cry. But I feel disembodied from my emotions and my stomach feels like I’ve done an infinite amount of sit-ups. All I want to do is lie down, sleep, and forget that all of this happened.
“How about the truth?” Ethan states cautiously, sounding less angry, and I feel him shift closer to me on the bed. “You know I get the whole substance-abuse thing.”
My eyelids snap open at his awful accusation. “I don’t have a substance-abuse problem,” I say, seething and tossing the blankets off me. “It’s a prescription. Doctor’s orders.” I swing my legs over the bed and push to my feet. A rush of blood flees from my head and my knees instantly buckle. I reach for the metal bedpost as I collapse, but Ethan jumps up and catches me in his arms right before I hit the floor.
I blow out a breath, looking at the wall beside me as he holds my weight up. I feel like an idiot. “Let me go. I can walk.”
“You’re supposed to be resting.” He helps me back to the bed and I begrudgingly sit down. “Doctor’s orders.”
I press my lips together, shaking my head. “Ethan, please just don’t. I don’t need this from you right now.”
“Please don’t what? Talk about what I saw last night? Because I’m not going to do that. It fucking scared the shit out of me, Lila… seeing you trashed out of your mind like that.” His eyes are wide and filled with panic as he sits down on the bed again, leaving a little less space between us as he roughly rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks stressed out and exhausted. “And as much as I hate to push you to talk about it, I feel like I have to. I can’t… I don’t want anything…” He’s fumbling over his words and it seems to be frustrating him. He’s acting very out of character and I wonder if something else is wrong.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I mutter, frowning down at my lap. “I’m not your girlfriend or anything—you don’t owe me anything. You should have just told the hospital I tried to kill myself. Then they could be dealing with me and you wouldn’t have to.”
He pauses, contemplating what I said. “You’re my friend and that’s equally as important, if not more important… You’re important…” His forehead creases as he says it, like he’s confused himself as much as he’s confused me. He starts to reach for me, as if he’s going to put his hand on my cheek, but then pulls his hand back.
I cover my mouth and shake my head as tears start to form in the corners of my eyes. “I can’t.”
He raises his eyebrows inquiringly. “Can’t what?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about stuff like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.” I wave my hand down in front of my terrible state. “All messed up and not put together.”
His head cocks to the side as he crooks his eyebrow. “Lila, I’ve told you some of my fucked-up stories about drugs and sex and you’ve seen where I live—you know what kind of a home I was raised in and what my parents did to each other. Messed up is nothing new to me.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I say exasperatedly as I gather my hair around the nape of my neck. “I’m not supposed to be this way, or at least no one’s supposed to know that I’m like this.”
“You keep saying like this but I’m still trying to figure out like what?” His eyes scroll over my body carefully, as if he’s searching for visible wounds. And there are a few, on my ankles and waist and even a very faint one on my wrist, but most people never notice them. “As far as I can tell, the only thing you’re acting like is someone who needs to talk about their problems.” He’s being nice and it’s only making me feel worse.
“It’d be easier if you just yelled at me,” I say, releasing my hair and spanning my arms out to the side. “Or left me alone. That’s what you usually do.”
“Easy is overrated,” he replies. “And I can’t leave you alone this time. Not about this. I’ll hate myself if I do.”
“Ethan, please just take me home,” I plead, wrapping my arms around myself. “I just need to go home.”
“No,” he responds stubbornly. “I’m not going to just let you run home and pop a pill. You need help.”
My body and mind are yearning for a pill and only one thing is going to make it better. I keep running my fingers through my hair, trying to subdue the anxiety overcoming me. When I raise my head back up, I force a neutral expression on my face. “Look, Ethan, I appreciate your help and everything last night, but seriously I’m okay. I just need to go home and get something to eat and shower and I’ll be better.”
“Pftt, don’t try to bullshit me,” he says callously, folding his arms and leaning against the footboard. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“You’re not a bullshitter,” I argue, slamming my hands down on the mattress, wanting to scream at him. “At all.”
“I was once,” he reminds me. “Over stuff just like this. It’s what people with addictions do. You’ll do whatever you can—say whatever it takes—to get to the next high.”
My mouth plummets to a frown and I clasp my hands out in front of me, desperation coursing through my body more toxically than the pills do. “Ethan, please, pretty please just take me home and forget about this.” My voice is high and pleading. “Then you don’t have to deal with it.”
He considers what I said, then gets to his feet, and I think I’ve won. “No, I’m not going to just forget.” He backs for the door and grabs the doorknob as he steps out of the room. “You know where the shower is when you’re ready to take one.”
“I don’t have any clothes!” I shout and then throw a pillow at him, feeling the angry monster inside of me surfacing. I’m plummeting into a dark hole filled with every negative thing that makes up my life and I don’t have any pills on me to bring me back up to the light. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I care about you,” he says matter-of-factly and then he shuts the door.
No one’s ever said they care about me, not even my sister, Abby, and his words should make me feel better. But they don’t. If anything, the craving and hunger for another pill amplifies, ripping through my body, leaving abrasions that only a dose will heal. Because I don’t deserve for him to care about me. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to myself. Everything—where I am and who I am—is all my fault.
I sit on the bed for a while, stewing in my own anger as I stare out the window, rocking my body, trying to still the nervous energy inside me. It’s a sunny day, the sky blue and clear and breathtaking. I should be out suntanning by the pool, but no, I’m stuck in here, feeling like I’m going to rip my hair out. And the longer I sit, the more desperate I become until finally I get up from the bed. Fighting the pain in my stomach, legs, and head, I search his room for my clothes. I find them draped over the stool in back of the drum set.
“Jackpot,” I say and wind around the drums, picking up my white dress, and then I frown. It’s caked in mud and some sort of gross green stuff and it smells like puke. I tap my fingers on the sides of my legs, trying to figure out what to do. Half my instincts are screeching at me not to put the filthy dress on and go out into public looking so disheveled, but the other half of my instincts, the ones connected to the pills, are conflicting with how I was brought up.
I ball my hands into fists, gritting my teeth, constraining a scream, and then slip Ethan’s shirt off. I put the dress on, and then pull the shirt back on. I comb my fingers through my hair and then glance in the mirror. I look like death: pale skin, bloodshot eyes, and makeup smeared everywhere. Again, I’m torn. Run to what I need or hide what I am?
Turning in a circle, I search the floor for my shoes. I look under the bed, in the closet, near the dresser, but they’re nowhere to be found. I give up and head for the door. There’s only one way to get out of Ethan’s house without jumping out a window or off a balcony and that’s to walk through the living and out the front door. I wonder if he’s in there, if he’ll argue with me again. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m a grown woman and I can walk out of a house if I want to.
I straighten my shoulders, open the door, and step out into the hall. There’s music playing from the stereo in the living room, so I’m surprised when I walk in the room and he’s not in there. He isn’t in the kitchen either. For a second I wonder where he is, but then I realize it doesn’t really matter. All that does matter is that I’m free to leave without further confrontation.
I open the door, step outside, and blink fiercely against the sunlight. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I hurry down the stairs and walk swiftly for the bus stop. I know I look crazy, with no shoes on, a baggy T-shirt over my dress, and my hair and makeup all ratty. But for the first time in my life I don’t care about my looks. All I care about is getting home, so I can sedate the hungry beast waking up inside my chest.
Ethan
I’m wondering if I’m seriously in over my head. I realized this when she admitted to me last night while she was in the hospital waiting to get her stomach pumped that she’s been taking the pills since she was fourteen to numb her pain from something. I probably should have just told the doctors the truth and that she was an addict or even that she was suicidal, but I was afraid she’d get in trouble. Plus, she’d thrown up quite a few times by the time we got there, so there was little proof of what happened left in her. All she had to do was dazzle them with a smile and feed them a bullshit lie of mixing too much wine with a little too many pills and they let her go. Although, I wonder if they really believed her, or if the insanely busy emergency room aided her easy release.
Part of me wishes I would have spoken up. Then maybe they could have assisted her with the approaching withdrawals. When my dad came off of them things got really intense and the medication he’d been taking was dangerous to quit cold turkey so he had to come off it in low doses. My mom helped him through it, battling with him every single God damn day when he’d ask for more, and only giving him a little, slowing weaning him off them. And I start to wonder if that’s what I’m facing—if this is how it’ll be when Lila comes off the pills she’s been taking. If so, can I do it? Can I help her get better? Especially if she doesn’t want to? Part of me wants to just walk away and leave the drama behind, but the feelings I have for Lila, the ones I realized I had when I saw her on the ground like that, beg me to help her.
But I’m not a fan of drama and helping with other people’s problems, partly because it’s overwhelming and partly because I’m worried I’ll mess up, like I did with London. And Lila’s is an addiction. I’ve seen it many times. Felt it. Had it consume every single cell in my body, mind, and fucking soul. I had to get over it myself and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And I did drugs for only a year. Lila’s been popping pills for over six years. That’s a fucking deep addiction. Plus, I know nothing about what’s even behind her addiction. What I do know is the wounds behind the addiction are even harder to heal.
