Chapter 20
Iwish I could say that lying on the floor with my mum was a one-off.
Over the next few weeks, my tolerance of my mum’s patience wears threadbare. She never gets cross with me, and I wonder if it’s because she slapped me that one time. Because I’m far worse now.
I’m a bitch.
I hate this.
Everything hurts. Everything is painful. It’s miserable. And that’s before I let my mind drift to Jeremy.
My naivety thought that in a few weeks, I’d be better. No drugs or alcohol, and then I could get back to life. But I seem to be living my days in the shadows, tormented by a craving that I didn’t even know I had until I opened my eyes.
Now, my every move revolves around what I can do to sneak a drink. Or find a stash or a dealer. Learning how to function is a lot harder than I ever thought it could be.
Wretched.
Sick.
And the worst is that in my addled mind, I’m beginning to question if any of this is worth it or if all of this is just one big mistake. I miss him so much, and he won’t return my calls or texts.
Mum and I fight over this. She wants to cut him out of my life as if he is another thing I’m dependent on, just like the alcohol and drugs. But I can only see the good times and desperately want him back.
Mum’s careful when she leaves me on my own. Only on a good day. Usually, when I’m sleeping.
Because she knows I’m going to try everything I can to get back to him. At least, that’s what rises inside of me today. It changes depending on my mood.
On a good day, I get frustrated that I can’t do more, and we fight because Mum believes I’m not ready. We don’t always share the same opinion, so I sulk in my room.
I don’t have a job or anything to keep my mind busy, and she knows that’s going to be my undoing unless we agree on a plan. But she doesn’t trust me. I know that because I’ve shown her nothing to challenge that.
“Anna, you have a visitor?” she calls upstairs.
Her words jump-start me into action, and I sit up and straighten my bed, fighting to keep the beat of my heart under control.
I hear footsteps on the stairs but refuse to go and look, not wanting to appear too desperate.
But it’s not Jeremy standing at my door. It’s Sammy.
“Hi,” I don’t know what else to say, and I try to swallow down the disappointment.
“Hi.”
We both look around and avoid eye contact. I wonder if this is something Mum asked her to do. They always got on so well — Sammy was part of the family. The thought runs in my mind like it’s always been fact. Only I’m not sure that’s correct right now.
Sadness brews in my gut, and I know I’ve wronged Sammy in so many ways. She keeps looking around the room. There’s a lot of stuff I’ve trashed or thrown out or broken since being back. I’m sure she’s making up her opinion of me. We used to be so judgemental of anyone who did drugs.
I shake my head, trying to rid the memory of what I was like before because that’s how everything is now: before Jeremy’s dad and after.
Before, it was okay.
After is when it went bad.
I can’t define the before and after as Jeremy because that might kill a part of me I can’t live without.
“You’re not wearing your bracelet?” She nods to my wrist. I can’t even remember when I last saw it. I didn’t notice it was missing either.
“It broke,” I lie.
She nods and sits on the edge of the bed.
“How’s university?” I ask, trying to find anything that resembles safe ground.
“Good. Hard.”
Our words are stuck, like we’re not sure what to say to each other. Only that’s not wholly true. I owe her an apology. A big one for many reasons, but they’re all fuzzy in my mind at the moment. It feels like I have so much to apologise for.
The thought sparks a heavy weight — guilt — in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I start, “for a lot of things. I need to work on what I’m sorry for most.”
She doesn’t say anything but offers me a small smile. She looks sceptical.
“I know it’s not a lot. Maybe when I’m better, we can talk properly?”
“Okay.”
She leaves shortly after that.
I should see her visit as a step back to normality, a good thing and one that shows I’m getting better. She’s always been there for me, but I’ve been far from best friend material, and I’m ashamed.
I never wanted to be that type of friend, and yet it was so easy to fall into that trap. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anyone.
My mind begins to whirl, and the pain in my chest grows, attacking me with every breath. It grows and grows until there’s nothing else in my mind other than Jeremy.
I need Jeremy.
I grab my phone and call him. “Come on, come on,” I shout into the phone; although he hasn’t answered any of my past calls, why would he now? The wave of desperation washes through me as the rings sound out in my head, every one a nail in my heart telling me he doesn’t want me anymore. He doesn’t love me.
It’s too much. I can’t do everything all at the same time. I can’t fight the need to throw something down my throat, the emotions wrapped up in my behaviour towards my best friend, and my broken heart. It’s too much. I’m going to drown.
I race downstairs and bolt out the front door. Mum’s been in her studio, and over the last week, she has started to relax and trust that I won’t do something stupid.
Turns out she was wrong.
I run to his house, nothing but desperation chasing at my heels.
Nothing has changed; it looks like it always has. Now I’m here; I can’t leave until I see him, so I use the spare key and creep inside. It’s quiet as I move towards the kitchen. There’s nobody here, although there was. Beer cans and bottles litter the surfaces, so I know he’s still having parties.
Sadness pulls at me as I take in the house.
It used to be a beautiful home, everything in its place. But now, all I see is emptiness — a hollowness to the pretty pieces of furniture and décor that impressed me once.
I keep walking around, lingering in case he turns up. He might be asleep or passed out upstairs, so I check. My hand pushes the door to his room open, the hinge creaking and breaching the room with a shaft of light. But he’s not here.
But there’s something else here that might help.
As soon as the thought hits, it’s all I can think of. I race to his nightstand and pull the drawer open, searching through the contents. It’s empty, but I can’t get rid of the thought in my head. It worms its way in and won’t leave. I pull open every drawer in his room, but it’s clean.
“Arghh!” I look around the room, the sense of being out of control now digging into me, draining any strength I have right from me.
The bathroom has a medicine cabinet, and my hands shake as I scratch at the corner to pull it open. Three bottles of prescription drugs, all with Penelope’s name, sit looking at me. They are all half-filled, and I snatch one and give it a shake.
The relief explodes inside of me, and it’s like I can breathe again.
I twist the bottle open, tip a few out into the palm of my hand, put them straight into my mouth, and swallow.
My eyes close for a moment as I bask in the relief.
The bottle slides into my coat pocket, and I leave, jogging down the stairs.
But as I head to leave, Penelope opens the front door.
“What are you doing here?” She looks right at me.
“I um, was just,” I point towards the stairs as if that’s enough of an explanation.
“You know, I thought you were better than this. We let you into our lives, and you repay us by breaking his heart.” She bustles past me, carrying several shopping bags into the front room. “I misjudged you, Anna. I thought you’d be good for him, but you turned on him when he needed you most. Cruel.” Her words hold spite and tear at my already fragile heart. I should be able to stand up to her and explain why she is part of the problem, enabling him to do whatever he likes and that her own addictions have seeped into our lives. But I stay quiet, stunned into silence.
“He’s better off without you. Don’t come back.”
“I didn’t break up with him, Mrs Archer. I just wanted to do the right thing for both of us.”
She looks me up and down. Even now, after everything I’ve seen, she makes me uncomfortable, as if I still need to make a good impression on her.
Stupid.
“Leave!” she screams at me, and I jump, stumbling backwards.
I pick myself up and shove my hand into my pocket, feeling for the bottle like it’s a lifeline, and I’m lost at sea.
I don’t need to run home. I walk, confused that I’m conflicted about my actions and angry with myself.
Before I reach the front door, I grab the bottle and take another two pills, and then shove the bottle into my sock, making sure my jeans cover them. It’s uncomfortable, but I know Mum will take one look at me and want to search my pockets. She won’t believe anything I have to say, and I don’t blame her.
“Where have you been? Sammy left, and the next thing I know, you’d vanished.”
“I’m sorry.” I rush past her into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
“Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“Out where? Come on, I thought we were over this.”
“I’m sorry, over what, the interrogations? I don’t think you’ll ever be over that. And what gives you the right? You’re pushing me too hard. I can’t do it all, Mother.”
“Well, too bad. You are, and you’ve been doing fine. The only problems stem from that boy.”
I launch the glass across the room. “That boy has a name — Jeremy. And I happen to love him, so get over it. Are we done?” I stand and put my hands on my hips, waiting for her to stop the hovering.
Instead, she steps closer, inspecting my face.
“What did you take?”
“Nothing. You’ve seen to that.”
“I’m not a fool, Anna. Your pupils are dilated.” I shake my head and walk past her. She grabs my arm and shoves her hand into my pocket. I let her, knowing she won’t find anything.
I smile at her when she goes for the other pocket and comes up empty.
After going to my room, I move the bottle under my pillow, needing to keep it close.
She wakes me in the middle of the night by tossing my pillows across the room and finding the bottle. She rushes to the bathroom and tips the contents down the toilet.
“No!” I scream at her, feeling sheer panic at my lifeline being washed away. I dissolve onto the floor, the damaged pieces of my will crumbling all over again.
I thought I’d fooled her. I should have known she wouldn’t leave it alone.
We don’t speak for the next couple days, and she doesn’t leave the house, either. I’m locked away, back in my self-inflicted torture. All the progress lost for a quick fix that didn’t even get me high or give me any sense of happiness.
And Jeremy hasn’t called. Maybe his mother didn’t mention my little visit. He’s cut me out of his life, just like he begged me not to do.
And with every day, I sink deeper, drifting further away from the reality of my life.
Lost.
I know that I need to try and separate my feelings around addiction and my feelings towards Jeremy, but I can’t. They are a tangled mix inside my head.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking, maybe we should go away. To Cornwall, go a few weeks early? Get away. Escape any temptation.” Mum’s standing at the threshold of my door. We’ve been walking on eggshells for the last few weeks, but it’s easing, and tendrils of strength creep around me, making me more stable. Perhaps.
Mum had mentioned going to see someone — a therapist — to talk through my troubles. It sounds like something I should do, but it makes me feel cold, telling a stranger what I’m thinking.
I look up at her face and try to see if there’s a catch coming. “Um, maybe.”
“You need this, Anna. It will be good for you. Change of scenery.”
I can see why she might think that. It used to be my favourite place. And maybe it can be again. After last year, I should be looking for ways to make it up to her.
I nod and try for a smile.
“Great. It’s sorted, then. We can leave on the weekend.” She smiles, and the relief is clear on her face — she was hoping I’d agree.
If the one thing I can do while going through this is make her happy, I’ll do it. I can see that while I might hate her at the moment, everything she’s doing is for my benefit. And I’m starting to see that because I’ve realised I can’t do this on my own.
Being away might work. It might help ease the pain that won’t leave me, although will it be healing, or will I just end up mourning what I’ve lost even more?