Chapter 15 #3
My parents hated it. Flat-out refused to call me anything else. And most of my teachers ignored the request. But it didn’t matter. I shed my old name like snakeskin and grew into something new. Something truer.
I made it official at eighteen, using some of the birthday money my parents tossed at me like a consolation prize. They were furious, but I didn’t care. Seeing my real name on a government document made it worth it.
No one knew the old one anymore.
I hesitated now, standing there with flour on my hands and Bodhi watching me like he already knew I’d say yes.
A quiet voice in the back of my mind nudged me forward. He’d seen me at my worst and watched me change in rehab. Had listened without judgement when I told him about my injury. Bodhi had been my grumpy shadow from the moment we met, proof that maybe we weren’t as broken as we thought.
He’d stayed. Always stayed.
And suddenly, I wanted him to know the one secret I’d never willingly given anyone else.
The others were busy ferrying their pizzas to the massive oven in the corner of the kitchen, laughing and arguing about whose looked better.
But Bodhi’s attention never left me. He waited.
Patient and steady. I waved him closer, not wanting any accidental eavesdroppers.
He stepped in without hesitation, leaning down until we were nearly cheek to cheek, and I lowered my voice until it was barely more than a breath.
“Ignatius.”
For a beat, he said nothing. Just stayed there, close enough that I could feel his warmth. Then he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek and straightened. I looked up at him through my lashes, bracing myself. Waiting for the jokes. The teasing. The same reaction I’d been dodging since I was a kid.
It never came.
Instead, he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“I like Iggy more,” he said simply.
My chest loosened, something unknotted that I hadn’t realised was still tight. My mouth split into a grin before I could stop it.
“Me too.”
With everyone settled and happily demolishing their handmade pizzas, I slipped outside for a vape.
I’d managed three generous slices before my stomach waved a white flag.
The kitchen was stifling, heat pouring off the pizza oven like it was trying to recreate the surface of the sun, and I was desperate for air.
Bodhi had offered to come with me, but he was only halfway through his second slice, so I told him to park his ass and enjoy it.
The cool evening breeze was instant relief, drying the sweat that had been gathering at the back of my neck.
Italy was warmer than the UK, but at least out here I could breathe.
The sun had dipped below the skyline hours ago, and with Italians eating late, the Navigli district was alive.
Couples wandered hand in hand along the canal.
Groups of friends clustered outside restaurants, menus held up like sacred texts, debating their options.
I was watching two women leaning into each other outside a gelato shop across the street when the door behind me opened.
Ghost stepped out onto the pavement. He plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and fished a lighter from his pocket. The tip flared orange as he lit it, the glow reflected in the lenses of his square glasses. Smoke curled up towards the stars.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded, taking a drag from my vape. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled slowly.
For a moment, I thought that might be it. I hadn’t really spent time alone with Ghost before. Even when he sat in my chair for makeup, there were always others around.
But then he spoke again.
“I heard Bodhi asking about your hip yesterday.”
My body stiffened before I could stop it.
“You got an injury?”
Sure, I’d opened up to Bodhi two days earlier. Told him everything. But that didn’t mean it was suddenly easy to talk about. The loss. The fracture it had left behind, not just in my body.
“Uh, yeah.” I nudged a stone away with my foot. “I used to do ballet.”
“Damn.” Ghost tilted his head back and blew out a stream of smoke. “Does that mean you don’t dance anymore?”
I wrapped a strand of hair around my finger and tugged. The small sting grounded me, kept the panic from blooming.
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t.”
“I studied sports medicine for a bit before I joined the band.” He pulled off his beanie and dragged a hand through his messy hair. “What happened?”
“Displaced acetabular fracture with a labral tear.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “Yeah, that’d do it. Bet it still hurts.”
I hummed in agreement.
“I’ve got something that might help,” he added casually. “If you need it.”
My head snapped up.
“What?
Ghost took one last drag and dropped the cigarette to the pavement, grinding it out beneath his boot. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small orange bottle.
“I meant to offer yesterday,” he said, like this was nothing. Like he was offering gum. “But Thump showed up with beers and a joint, and it slipped my mind.” He held it out to me. “Brought them tonight so I wouldn’t forget.”
The plastic bottle rattled softly in his palm, and suddenly, the night didn’t feel so cool anymore.
I reached for it with hands that weren’t quite steady.
My fingers curled around the smooth surface, and I had to fight the urge to snatch it from him.
Under the streetlight, the label caught just enough glow for me to read it clearly.
Tramadol. One hundred milligrams.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. My mouth went dry, then inexplicably wet.
It wasn’t the painkiller I was used to, but it was an opioid nonetheless.
“Where—” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Where did you get this?”
“Broke my ankle on tour a few years back,” Ghost said easily. “Never healed right. Doctors keep throwing that stuff at me.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“I don’t really like it,” he went on with a shrug. “Makes me feel foggy. Drowsy. I keep it around just in case, but honestly, it’ll probably do you more good than me.”
I nodded too fast, eyes burning.
I knew I shouldn’t take it. The version of me that wanted to stay clean, that wanted to be better, knew exactly what I should do. Hand it back. Say no. Be honest. Walk away.
But there was another part of me too. Quieter, meaner.
The part that had never really gone away, no matter how many weeks I’d stacked together in recovery.
That part told me to keep it. To slip the bottle into my pocket and save it.
For emergencies. For nights when the pain crawled up my side and settled into my bones.
The ache flared as if on cue, spreading slow and hot through my hip. And it scared me that I couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the craving began. Whether what I wanted was relief or oblivion.
“Well,” I said, my voice thin. “Thank you.”
I tucked the pills into my pocket. They felt impossibly heavy, like they were dragging me downward, anchoring me to the choice I’d just made. The wrong one. Because the right one would’ve been easy to identify, even if it wasn’t easy to do.
But I was still human. And even the demigod Hercules cracked under pressure.
“Just be careful, okay?” he said, pulling a pack of chewing gum from his pocket. “I’ve heard they can be addictive.”
“Yeah,” I croaked. “I will.”
I followed Ghost back inside, telling myself that if I did take them, it wouldn’t mean I’d failed. Not really. I hadn’t broken my sobriety yet. They weren’t Oxy, and this time I’d use the painkillers properly.
Medicinally.
One a day. Two at most.
Just to take the edge off. Just for the pain in my hip.
I slid back into my seat beside Bodhi, trying not to shift when the bottle pressed into my thigh through my shorts. Trying not to think about it at all. He turned to me, smiled, rested his hand on my leg and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Guilt flooded my chest.
When he asked if I was okay, I said yes.
Because lying was just one more thing to add to the list of my sins.