Chapter 24 #2
They didn’t let me sleep all day or waste time staring at the ceiling.
I had to go to meetings, sit through therapy, and participate in a bunch of exercises I wanted nothing to do with—because, as far as I was concerned, I didn’t have a problem in the first place.
What I wanted was to get the fuck out, crawl into bed, rot in peace, and have a fucking drink.
And a smoke.
And maybe a bump.
Go out. Pretend I was fine.
My mom kept me there for an extra four weeks, backed by the staff, who claimed I was uncooperative and emotionally unavailable. By the time I got out, the semester was already halfway over, and I was forced into weekly therapy with someone I hadn’t picked and didn’t plan to speak to.
I did my best to ignore her—dodged her calls, blocked her number more than once.
Eventually, I took off to New York. I could’ve stayed there, wasting away, if Holly hadn’t begged me to come back to LA.
I was still technically enrolled, even though I had no intention of showing up to class.
Why would I? I just needed a little more time.
Then maybe I’d finally find the courage to be done.
I’d tried. I really had. Every night, I stood in the bathroom, lights dimmed, hands shaking. The bottles waited for me on the counter—full, silent, patient. But I always backed down. Took one more drink. One more bump. Left it to chance.
Maybe it could just happen. Maybe one night, my heart would give out and spare me the decision.
Until then, I partied. And I partied hard. Every day of the goddamn week.
I’d wake sometime in the afternoon, dizzy and dry-mouthed. Shower or throw up—whichever came first. Take a bump, crack open a beer, and head out before I had time to think too much.
I had gathered enough friends to always have somewhere to be, someone to call—even if Holly kept pushing me toward a safer crowd. But being around those people only made things worse. They looked at me like I was broken.
With the others, I could disappear into the noise. They didn’t give a shit about me, and that was exactly how I liked it.
Hell, if I brought them over, I didn’t even have to be alone.
The music blasted through the walls, voices rose and clashed, bodies moved around me in a blur of heat and sound.
The louder the party, the less I had to feel.
The less I had to hear that ache grinding inside me, chewing through whatever was left.
I’d become an expert at compartmentalizing.
I shoved all my feelings into a box, slammed the lid shut, and slipped into the role everyone wanted—Fun Noah. Charming Noah. Give me enough bumps, and I could light up a room, make anyone feel like they mattered, keep the party going like I didn’t have a single ghost breathing down my neck.
So what if the next morning sucked?
So what if I couldn’t stop thinking about dying?
I never told Holly what really happened that day. The official story was that my mom walked in on a party and shipped me off to rehab. That’s what Ilana heard too. I hadn’t even texted her since.
By October, this had just…become my normal.
Ignore my mom’s calls. Drinks. Couple of lines.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
It didn’t feel great.
In fact, it didn’t even feel good. It just made me feel like trash.
Every drip down my throat. Every nosebleed. Every ear infection. Every time my dad’s face showed up in my mind, soft and tired, reminding me this didn’t have to define me—that I could still walk away, that feeling grew.
But it was too late for that. Too late for change.
So I buried it, just like I buried everything else.
I was staring at my phone, bleary-eyed, thumb hovering over some old text thread I couldn’t bring myself to open, when a new text came through from Holly.
Holly
I’m on my way to the kappa sig thing
are you coming?
Couldn’t think of anything less appealing. But sure, why not? I had ignored five of her calls already and canceled plans. I’d made a rule to at least show up once a week—just enough to keep her appeased.
The least I could do was show up for the one person in this world who—for whatever reason—still thought I was worth something.
My dad’s one-year anniversary was coming up in two days.
Would that be poetic?
Maybe we could share the same one.
Me
text me the address
After I got dressed, I checked my pockets and found them empty.
That was weird.
Bedside table. Bathroom drawers. Wallet. Nothing.
Guess I ran out last night. Or maybe someone stole what I had left.
I shrugged. Wouldn’t be the first time. Definitely wouldn’t be the last.
Either way, I had to go out tonight. Anthony was around, and he’d have to do a drive-through delivery. That was the new plan.
I lit a joint, leaned against the doorframe, and let the smoke fill my lungs before heading out. When the car pulled up in front of the packed house, I sat for a moment, eyes on the glowing windows, pulse already picking up.
Time to turn the charm back on, Noah. Can’t let anyone see the real mess now, can we?
I shoved my way inside, already scanning for something to drink—anything to make this whole thing remotely tolerable.
It was the same as always—a too-hot, overcrowded house, pulsing with people either hunting for something quick and dirty or hopelessly chasing true love.
Only one of those groups ever walked away satisfied.
Frat parties never changed. Just lukewarm beer in flimsy plastic cups and cheap music vibrating through the floorboards. If you wanted anything stronger, you either had to be sleeping with one of the brothers in the house or come prepared.
Pushing past a group of strangers, I was nearly at the kitchen—otherwise known as the shrine of the sacred keg—when someone called my name.
I turned, already halfway checked out, and spotted Colin, one of my old teammates.
Grinning wide, he was already stepping in with an outstretched hand. “Hey, man. Haven’t seen you in forever! I didn’t know you were back in school.”
Debatable. Technically, I was enrolled, but I hadn’t actually shown up to any of the classes I’d blindly signed up for.
Still, I clasped his hand and pulled him into a half-hug. “Yeah, just getting my bearings. How’ve you been?”
I wasn’t really in the mood for pre-beer small talk, but Colin was cool. He’d never been anything but decent to me. In another life, maybe we could’ve been best friends.
“Great,” he said. “We won a tournament today.”
“Congrats.” Still doing the volleyball thing. Cute.
“Thanks. It was a good game. I’m actually here with a few guys from the team—you should come say hi,” he offered, already waving me forward.
Seriously?
I gave him a tight smile and followed, dragging my feet a little. This was what I got for being nice. Should’ve pretended I didn’t hear him and kept walking. Now I was about to get trapped in a conversation about volleyball—of all fucking things—while my hands were already starting to tremble.
I needed a drink. Or a smoke. Or a goddamn miracle to get me through the next ten minutes until Anthony texted that he was nearby. If I could just slip outside, light up, buy some time—
Colin stepped aside to let me catch up, guiding me toward his friends.
His friends.
Holy. Fucking. Mother of Jesus.
My breath caught as I laid eyes on one of them. The bigger one.
Who the hell was that?