Shock and pain register on her face, but she’ll get over it. She’ll move on quickly enough.In the end, she’ll thank me.
She turns on her heels, running back inside. The moment she’s out of sight, I collapse into the chair and let my head fall into my hands, knowing I’ve broken the most important thing in my life.
I’ve lost myself
Present day
I lean back in the chair on the balcony overlooking the river as I exhale, watching the smoke swirl around me. I’m antsy, irritable, and just tired. Everyone inside is enjoying themselves while I sit out here alone. They don’t need me and my dark shadows ruining another night for them. And it will be destroyed. I do not doubt that.
My phone rings, distracting me from my dark thoughts. I squeeze my eyes tight at the name that illuminates the screen. The only person in the world I cannot bullshit when I sayI’m fine.
“Hello,” I answer as if it’s any other call on any other day. Like I haven’t been avoiding for weeks.
“’Bout fuckin’ time, asshole,” my best friend calls out through the line. “Was wondering when you were going to stop avoiding me, mate.”
Precisely as I said, he knows me too well. It’s exactly why I’ve been avoidingmost of his calls, but tonight I need to hear his voice. Selfish on my part because I already know this conversation won’t end with his mind being put at ease.
“Just been trying to deal, Ry,” I reply with a long exhale of cigarette smoke.
“Is that what you’re doing, Madsy? Because I don’t think you’d be avoiding me if you were. How are you handling it?”
What a loaded question. If I say I’m okay, he’ll know I’m lying. If I admit I’m anything but, he’ll worry. Although I suppose he’ll do that either way.
Instead, I do what I’ve always done. I deflect. “How are you, Ry?”
“Not gonna lie, mate. This shit is hard as fuck. Thought it would be easier by now.”
“It never gets easier, Ry. You just have to remember why you’re doing it.”
We’ve both been through hell the last few weeks. As literal as you can get. Going through detox and withdrawals is a bitch. You’d think it would be enough to stop someone from ever picking up a bottle or looking at a line ever again, but it’s seldom the case. I am the prime example of that.
“I’m proud of you, Ry,” I tell him honestly with a catch in my voice. “So fucking proud. You’ve manned up for your girl and your kid. Can’t do better than that.”
“Mads, you’re not doing well, are you?”
My eyes snap shut. I wish he didn’t know me so well. As well as anyone can know me considering I’ve got more secrets than the Pentagon. “I—no, I’m not, Ry. Got a lot of shit on my mind. Too much, too fast, too loud. Don’t think this is going to take.”
“You’ve done it before, Maddox. You can do it again.”
“I don’t think so, Ry. Still not sure I want to. Only reason I’ve gone along with it this long is that… I just—I need to breathe, Ry. I can’t do that when I feel like a boulder is sitting on my chest.”
“Maybe you should see a therapist, Mads. I know you don’t like them, but—”
“Bastian’s had me seeing one for a few weeks now,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
“They don’t help if you don’t talk about it. I get it. You know I get it, but when I finally started talking about it, it finally started feeling like I could deal with it.”
“Fuck that,” I hiss, getting agitated. “I will never talk to another psychiatrist.” If I’ve learned anything over the years, I know those bastards are the lowest of low.
“They’re not all assholes, Mads.”
“Yeah, well, this one wants me to write everything down in a journal to help me remember shit I’ve been trying to forget for years.” Like I need help remembering my life. I never forget anything. Not a face, a date, a smell. Everything stays with me just as fresh and vivid as the day it happened. Doesn’t matter if it was twenty years ago or—last night.
My eyes betray me, drifting to gaze through the balcony’s glass that overlooks the main living area of the loft. Long, blond, curly hair a couple of shades lighter than my sister-in-law’s—fuck, that’s still weird to think of Verity as my sister-in-law—and the same whiskey-colored eyes meet mine. Red and glassy from crying, making me feel worse than I already do. The disappointment and sadness I see in them feel like a knife to my gut. I wish I could tell her I didn’t mean what I said, but I can’t.
“Where’d ya go, mate?”
“What?” I ask, realizing he’s been talking.
