“I answered. You don’t listen.”
“Whatever,” I grumble with an eye roll. He’s working my last nerve. I think I realize now why we’ve never spent a lot of time around each other. A few hours at a time, at most. “I don’t even know why I keep you around.”
“Because I’m the only one that knows all your dirt.” His face lights with an almost malicious smirk,and I swear it changes for a split second. I have the urge to punch him again, but I ignore it.
“Half of my goddamn dirt is your fault.” My fist slams on the table, rattling the unstable surface.
“Name one thing that is my fault,” he responds with wide eyes, baiting me.
“Zoey.” I dare him to deny it.
Of course, he accepts that dare. “Isn’t part of recovery accepting responsibility?”
My jaw drops at this asshole. “You’re the one that put the GHB in her drink.” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “You are the one that kept feeding me the drugs all night.”
“And you are the one that handed her the drink and took the drugs. You asked me to help you forget,so that’s what I did. I provided the means. You’re the one who executed the plan.”
“Are you kidding me?” I stand abruptly, knocking the chair to the floor. The already weak back falls to pieces on the floor.
I begin to pace erratically around the room, nearly knocking Bastian’s bike to the ground. I step around the drip from the ceiling and the puddle forming on the floor from the rain outside. “She could’ve died because of you.” I grip my hair tightly, pulling at the roots until my hands come away with fists full of hair.
“Again, you’re the one who gave her the drink, buddy, and you are the one who ran.”
“Because you told me to!” I yell.
He tuts atme while shaking his head in disappointment. “You ever told anyone this story?”
“Just Quinn.” I stop my pacing to look at him. “Why?”
“I was going to suggest you share your brilliant theory in your little book.” He points at the notebook I’ve been filling with a smirk. “Sure, they’d love to hear you blame someone they don’t even know exists.”
“Zoey saw you,” I grit out as I begin to pace again, stepping around the puddle.
“You sure about that?” His grin is wide and patronizing,and I want to knock it right off his smarmy face.
But for some reason, I suddenly can’t step over the puddle that’s been growing. I look at it and back to him as frustration begins to rattle me.
“For fuck’s sake, Maddox. It’s not fucking real.”
“If it’s not real, then how do you know what I’m looking at?” I challenge.
“Because you’ve been avoiding stepping in that spot for twenty minutes. Not to mention you keep staring at it like itwillattack you. Just step over it.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose with a shaky hand. “I can’t.”
“You’ve lost it. Like you’ve completely lost it this time.” He guffaws at me like I’m the most hilarious thing he’s seen all week. “You have really fallen down the rabbit hole. Seen any talking caterpillars. Oh wait, you probably shared his bong.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
But he’s right. I’ve had some pretty bad moments in the past. Paralyzing anxiety. Moments when the noise is so loud I can’t think. Seeing things that I know aren’t there. Losing time. All of it has been hell. Trying to ignore the shit when I’m around everyone, so they don’t know, is enough to cause a panic attack on its own.
I blame my past. All the times I slipped into my own head to escape the sadness, the pain, the guilt, and the humiliation, began to take on a life of its own when I was around sixteen or seventeen I think. Although, at this point, I don’t even know if that’s right anymore.
But I’ve alwaysknownwhat a hallucination was. I’ve always known what was real and what wasn’t. I’ve also never felt so compelled by one as I do right now by this puddle that I’m being told isn’t real.
And even if it is, why the hell can’t I step over it? It’s just a fucking puddle, so why was it controlling me?
“It’s not real. It’s not real,” I whisper over and over, hoping to get logic and reality to take over. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that when I open them, it will be gone. Except it’s not. And now it doesn’t just look like water.
