I’m not fast enough to close the distance between us before he does it, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pullingme impossibly closer. I squeeze my eyes shut, a cry ripping from my chest. I call his name, but I don’t think he can hear me. His grip is so tight, painfully so, yet it’s the one I need right now.
Because I don’t want him to let me go.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, burying his nose in my hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you breakfast, Netia.”
I shake my head, trying to convey that it’s okay, that I’m not mad, but the lump in my throat chokes off any attempt at words. It becomes harder for both of us to stand, and we sink to our knees. I can hear the thudding of his heart, and I know—I fucking know it’s worse than I thought.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorry?—”
These two words keep slipping past his lips, and since I can’t find my voice, I pull back, grabbing his face in my hands. He tries to turn away, unwilling to reveal what I can already see in his eyes.
“He’s trying to hurt you,” he mumbles, gripping my shoulders tightly and closing his eyes. “He hurt me, and he’s going to try to hurt you, but I won’t let him.”
“Who?” I ask, my thumbs brushing across his stubble in an attempt to keep him grounded. “Baby, what are you talking about?”
I force his face up, and when he opens his eyes, his gaze darts behind me. Shock paints his features before morphing into pure fear. He yanks himself free from my grip, his back slamming against the wall. “It’s in the room with us. Fuck, it’s in the room?—”
Fear creeps up my spine, chilling me to the core. I turn my head to see what terrifies him, but all I find is empty space.
“I just wanted him to stop making me do that,” he says between sobs, each one shaking his chest. “But he would never stop, and now he’s here, and he wants to hurt you just like he hurt me!”
I rise to my knees, trying to shield him from whatever hallucination haunts him, but he scoots into the corner. Sweat beads drip down his face as he begins to hyperventilate, his hands brushing against the floor, the wall, and his clothes, desperately seeking some sort of purchase.
“Nobody is going to hurt you,” I promise, moving closer, grasping at the fraying edges of my own sanity. I want him to reach for me, to feel the warmth of my presence, to understand he’s not alone. “Just look at me, West. Look?—”
“It’s flying around the room! Why can’t you see that?!” he shouts, the power of his voice echoing through the space. I flinch, my hands shaking as they reach for his face, unwilling to let go.
“What did you take?” I ask, trying my best to keep my tone gentle. “Baby, what was it?”
He stops moving for a moment, his body going rigid. “I—” he trails off, finally locking eyes with me. “I don’t know… I don’t fucking know. Please don’t be mad at me?—”
“I’m not mad,” I interrupt, dispelling any doubts. “Just let me hold you, West. Let me help you feel safe.”
Another heavy sob shakes his chest, and in an instant, he throws himself onto my legs, wrapping his arms around them and pressing his cheek against them. I run my fingers through his hair, leaning in to kiss the top of his head.
“Don’t leave me, please,” he begs, his lips brushing against the fabric of my sweatpants. He cracks, the chips tumbling in a waterfall of sorrow, his body trembling in my arms as I desperately try to hold him together. “I don’t want you to go, Netia.I don’t want you to go.”
“I’m never going to leave you.” The words pour out as though I’ve been holding them back for far too long. I try to convince myself I’m saying this simply because of his condition, but there’s a part of me that knows it’s more authentic—more real.
A crack forms in the wall of my indifference, breaking through years of silence, and in that instant, I vow to hold him until the pain subsides, until the weight of his suffering turns to dust beneath us.
“I’ll try to be better.” His promise is a fragile, rain-soaked whisper, tinged in the despair churning beneath the surface. “I’ll try hard. Just don’t leave me again, baby girl. Don’t leave.”
“I’m here. I won’t leave you, West. Iwon’t.”
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said the same thing, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that with each repetition, I can feel him calming down, his tremors easing. I don’t know how long we’ve been like this—me kneeling on the floor with him resting his head on me, his hands clutching my legs as if terrified I might slip away, tears soaking into my clothes. It feels like forever, and my heart continues to ache for him, even as he slowly drifts into sleep.
The side of my head rests against the cool wall, my hand a constant presence in his hair, massaging his scalp and finding solace in the shared touch.
We’re both anchored here, the thought of leaving a distant echo. I shut my eyes, letting the quiet embrace us, providing him with the warmth and love he needs, realizing, deep down, that the beliefs I once forced myself to hold have now turned to dust.
Afleeting moment of carefree happiness precedes the crash that devours the soul, leaving behind a hollow void. That’s what drugs feel like. Each time I indulge, the amount I need to snort or swallow multiplies, never enough to satisfy the growing demand. I find myself increasing my dose just to feel the same high my body has come to expect.
This time, the euphoria was overwhelming—just like always. For a brief moment, I soared to fucking heaven. But that’s where the trick lies—a person like me was never meant to linger in such a place. I don’t feel at home in heaven. My soul is drawn to hell’s flames.
The impact of the crash was stronger this time. For a brief moment, I felt like I could do anything. I stoppedthinking, stopped breathing, surrendering to the chemicals as they rewired my brain. Then, without warning, I was slammed back into reality from my high, feeling every single inch of the descent.
It’s been a week since I returned to Venetia. A whole week since I last allowed any chemicals into my system. The acid I took had fucked me up so severely—mentally and physically—that I thought I wouldn’t come back from it. The hallucinations blurred the lines between reality and fantasy, making me believe that all the deaths from my nightmares had come to life.
