“Babe?” His voice drifts out from the bedroom, but I don't stop. Because if I stop, I'll break.
The front door clicks quietly shut behind me, and another chapter ends. I'm furious at myself that I was fool enough to think life could be sweet, like some sort of stupid fucking book or movie. But that shit isn't real, because real life is pain, and lies.
And I know that now, once and for all.
P R E S E N T
The warmth is the first thing that floods my conscious as I wake, and it takes me a second to realize it's his arms, wrapped tightly around me. I close my eyes for a second, and let myself sink back into him and his heat before they snap back open again.
I don't panic immediately, and I don't jump out of bed, or run shrieking from the room. No, the regret comes slow, creeping through the feeling of warmth and the feeling of safety in his arms. Those things are a façade anyways; I know that from what happened before. This good feeling; this feeling like nothing else matters in the world but his arms around me, is a fallacy.
Because I've been there; I've seen through the curtain at what lies behind it. I've seen that life moves forward over broken glass, and no amount of this “feeling” I'm currently wrapped in will protect me against that.
Because eventually, with everything, the bottom drops out; that's just life.
Get up. I don't want to, but I know I have to. I'm slinking out of bed, trying not to disturb him as I slip away. This fantasy ends right here and right now.
I close my eyes and shake my head slowly, cringing at the feeling of emptiness that accompanies leaving those arms and that protection. Jesus, I can't believe I let that happen. That is not what we're here for. I'm not here to seek lovey-dovey feelings or rehash the past with Bryce.
We're here to save Logan, and I can't believe we've let that take second place to this.
There's one last lingering look as I pull clothes on. One last look at the teasing glimpse of happiness that isn't and won’t ever be real.
And then I’m out the door.
Just one more door in a long, storied history of doors closing behind me.
18
Bryce
P A S T
The office is mostly quiet this late, and I'm hurrying through paperwork bullshit when the call comes like a jarring last annoyance.
Shit, now what.
Tonight's a big night. Tonight, we cut out the bullshit. Tonight we're going to celebrate, and then we're coming clean with Logan.
Oh, and hoping he doesn't kill me. Fingers crossed.
I yank the phone off my desk and frown as I answer without looking at who's calling; “What is it,” I say hurriedly, anger and annoyance lacing my voice.
There's silence for a second, and the voice comes through, broken and scared; “Dude...I'm-” His voice cracks; “I'm in trouble, man.”
The anger drops from my face, replaced by worry as I hear the hurt and fear in Danny's voice. Danny, the kid I'm sponsoring from N.A.
Fuck, not tonight.
But, that’s what I’m here for. You Don't get clean without help, and this kid needs all the fucking help in the world. Nineteen and a full-blown addict; it's a fucked up, broken world we live in.
“Hey, hey, I'm here, Danny. Where are you, buddy?”
“I- I'm home.” I can hear him crying on the other end of the line; “I'm- I'm gonna use, man. I know it.”
I swear under my breath, darkness clouding my face; the kid's been clean for just over a week now.
“I'm coming over, Danny. Just stay put and don't you fuckin touch it, you understand?”
He's pacing when I come in, chewing his nails so much they're bleeding.
“How’re we doing, Danny?”
He looks up, as if just realizing that I've walked into his apartment; “I- I almost did it,” He says with a shaky voice, his eyes darting back to the kit and the baggie on the kitchen counter; “I had it all loaded up and against the vein, man.” He's white and shaking; the demons clawing him back down.
“Did you?”
He shakes his head; “No.”
“Good,” I let go of the breath I didn't even realize I was holding; “That's real good, man. You were strong.”
I pat his shoulder as I push past him and grab the needle, his kit, and the rest of his stash.
“Hey, where-”
“I'm taking this,” I say evenly, leveling my eyes at him and my look saying I'm not going to fuck around here with this. I'm throwing this shit out the first chance I get.
He wants to protest. After all this, he wants to yell at me; I can see it, and I know the feeling all too well. That's the addiction, raging for a fix, raging against the injustice of being told to go fuck itself.
I give Danny one more hard look and he nods; “OK. Yeah, OK.”
“Anything else here?”
He shakes his head; “No, man. That's all of it.”