My fist tightened around them, but I didn’t attempt to take them. I shook my head over and over until he gripped my hair painfully, yanking my head back with jarring force. “Take the pills, Maddox. It’s the same thing you're given every day.”
When I still didn’t comply, he grabbed the bottle from his desk. He squeezed my jaw until I opened, thrusting the pills into my mouth. “Swallow them.” He didn’t give me a choice, holding my nose and mouth until I swallowed.
“Good, Maddox.” He sounded so fucking pleased I wanted to scream. “Now, why don’t you tell me what has you so upset.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I spat, my panic giving way to anger.
The sadistic smile that crawled its way onto his face made me regret my choice of words as a cold chill set throughout my body.
An hour later, I left his office with tears running down my face, the pill bottle in my hand, and in so much pain, walking was agony.
I wanted to die, and the pills taunted me, but I was too afraid of the consequences if I didn’t succeed.
Instead, over the next few months, the pills became a crutch. My way to deal with the hell I was subjected to.
So did sex. Because I was no longer the innocent little boy, I used what was taken from me as a way to regain control. To use my body on my terms.
I was as aware then as I am now that nothing I was doing could be construed as healthy, but I saw no other choice. I still see no other choice. I was in quicksand, trying not to sink in the muck and the mire that wanted to drag me into its depths. I should’ve known it was a battle I could not win.
My hands shake as I grab the whiskey bottle from the middle of the table, turning it up until the last drop hits my tongue. As it burns its way to the pit of my stomach, anger—so much suppressed rage burns its way to the surface. The guilt and shame of what I endured eats away at me.
I grip my hair tightly in my fist with a roar as I throw the bottle across the room, watching the glass shatter to the floor. Bile rises in my throat,and I force the putrid flavor back down as I lean over with my hands propped on my thighs. My lungs squeeze as I struggle to breathe.
I have never told anyone about Murphey O’Dell. I never meant for it to make it to the pages. Never intended for the lock to be broken. It wasn’t a conscious decision I don’t think. Maybe it was. I don’t even know anymore, but it was a secret I intended to carry to my grave. I’ve shoved those memories into the farthest recesses of my mind, vaulted under locked and key. But now Pandora’s Box has been opened, and the agony and pain are as unbearable as they were all those years ago.
I go to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes. I don’t look in the mirror, knowing the demons that riddle my mind and soul will be more apparent.
I step into the shower for the second time in a few hours to, once again,wash the filth away. I stand beneath the freezing spray as it runs over my body,wishing it could wash my sins away.
My eyes sting as the over-chlorinated water runs into them, but I don’t dare close them, knowing what awaits me in the darkness.
Logic holds no place where a broken spirit resides. Where a soul has been made black, not by your own actions but the actions of others.
I don’t shirk my responsibility in the darkness that consumes me. I’ve made plenty of mistakes. My choices have never been driven by wisdom or selflessness. The black hollowness that consumes me belongs to me. Consequences of my actions.
But the biggest seed was sown into my soul by someone that was sworn to do no harm. Someone that gained my trust that was already so tentative and fragile during a time in my life when I desperately needed a friend. Someone to confide in.
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told myself that I didn’t do anything wrong—that I didn’t deserve what was done to me, the voice in my head says I caused it. I was weak to my thoughts and emotions. I trusted too easily. That weakness left me vulnerable to predators.
“Fuck,” I cry out as tears stream down my face. I scrub my skin until it's raw and burning, then I scrub some more.
This life I’ve lived was always doomed. I’ve already lived beyond what’s tolerable. I’ve tried hard to cling to the love of my friends and fight for them. But I am so goddamn exhausted, tired of this war that will never fucking end. That I will never win.
Truth alone
Present Day
Another hit runs through my veins like fire. I release the tourniquet and relish the burn. I sink into the chair, praying for the relief it brings to come quickly. To rescue me from the images I cannot get to stop replaying in my mind.
The images are soon replaced by other memories. Thoughts of all the fuck ups in my life. Of every time I let something terrible dictate my decisions and actions.
I suppose that’s what I’m doing now. Holed up in this hotel to get high, running away from the people that love me because I couldn’t handle the news. Because when something bad happens in my life, it’s never just one thing. And more often than not, I’m the cause of it in the first place.
All of this started with my overdose months ago. It was stupid, I know. I realize how much it terrified my friends.
It’s why I’ve tried to create separation these last few months. It’s been a dick move and a contradicting one considering how Quinn slipped into my life. Still,I wanted them to stop worrying about me.
When the guys came into the hospital room, I felt like shit. But I remember the look on Ryder and Heaven’s faces when they walked into the hospital room most vividly. I smiled and joked, but the absolute terror in Ryder’s face nearly killed me. I was afraid I’d broken my best friend. It has never been their job to take care of me. It’s not their job to worry about me, but there they were with so much worry radiating off of them, it was suffocating.
