Chapter 23 #2
I slid the keycard against the scanner, waiting for the green light to enter.
The room was pitch black and thick with the smell of sweat and something sickly sweet, like cotton candy. Hallway light spilled in, catching on a faint haze of smoke hanging in the air.
And then I saw him.
Iggy lay sprawled on the bed, naked except for a pair of tight boxer briefs, utterly still. For half a second, my heart dropped straight into my stomach.
Was he breathing?
I took a step forward, panic flooding my veins. Then his head lolled to the side. His mouth curved into a smile that came on too slowly. Too wide.
“Bodhi,” he murmured, voice hazy. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”
I approached the bed slowly, forcing myself not to rush him, not to spook him.
My body shook, legs threatening to buckle with every step.
I didn’t need the light on to know something was wrong.
The stillness, the delayed movements. The loose, syrupy cadence of his voice.
Every instinct I had screamed the same thing.
He was on something.
I flicked on the bedside lamp and sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back a step.
Iggy’s pale skin, usually smooth and unmarked, was crisscrossed with angry red scratches.
Lines down his arms, across his chest and stomach, along his thighs.
None of them were deep enough to break the skin, but they were raw and vivid, the kind that would sting like hell once whatever he’d taken wore off.
He lifted his arms towards me, hands grasping at the air. When he realised I was too far away to reach, they dropped limply back to his sides.
“Bodhi,” he pouted. “Come kiss me.”
I didn’t move, so he did. He rolled onto his front and pushed himself up onto his knees, movements slow and lagging, like I was watching him through thick water.
He crawled to the edge of the bed and straightened, swaying as he tried to balance.
When he tipped forward, I lunged, catching him just in time.
He melted into me with a contented hum, pressing his cheek to my chest. His arms looped around my neck, clinging tight. I couldn’t tell if it was affection or the need for something solid to hold on to. I didn’t care. He was alive and breathing.
But he was nowhere near okay.
I slid my fingers through his hair, damp with sweat and still a mess, and gently tipped his head back so I could see his face. His cheeks were flushed, his green eyes glassy and unfocused. His pupils were pinpricks, tiny and wrong against the colour of his irises.
“Iggy,” I murmured, rubbing slow circles into his back, my hand catching on the raised welts where he’d clawed at himself. “What did you take?”
No answer.
He just nuzzled back into me, breathing me in. Big, greedy inhales of cologne and fabric and me.
“Iggy,” I said again, firmer now, tapping his back to draw him out of wherever he’d drifted. “Please. Tell me what you took.”
He hummed and leaned back, glassy eyes finally finding my face. His hands slid up to cup my cheeks, thumbs brushing under my eyes.
“I missed you, Bodhi,” he whispered, teeth worrying his bottom lip.
My jaw clenched. Part frustration, part fear. The addict in me recognised it instantly. It wasn’t refusal or defiance. Just a brain moving too fast and too slow all at once, thoughts slipping away before they could land.
“Iggy—”
“Kiss me.”
He pulled me in before I could stop him.
The kiss was clumsy and unfocused, nothing like the easy heat we usually shared.
Teeth bumped and lips missed their mark.
It was messy and desperate and wrong. And still, I didn’t pull away.
Because a few hours ago, I’d been standing in the hallway, wondering if I’d ever get to kiss him again at all.
I could still smell the last traces of his peaches-and-cream scent, faint beneath sweat and the stale musk of someone who’d spent the entire day tangled in sheets.
We kissed until my head started to spin, until the fear blurred with something dangerously close to relief.
Only then did I pull back, forcing space between us so I could focus on the thing that actually mattered.
He leaned in again, restless, dazed. I caught his chin between my thumb and forefinger, holding his face still long enough to anchor his attention for half a second.
“Iggy,” I said, louder than before.
His glassy eyes widened, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Tell me what you took.”
He rolled his eyes so slowly it would’ve been funny in any other situation, then slapped my shoulders with lazy impatience.
“Jesus, Bodhi,” he sighed, like I was the inconvenience here. “I took some Oxy, okay?”
My stomach dropped.
“W–what?”
“You seriously need to chill the fuck out.”
He let go of me and flopped backwards onto the bed before I could react. Iggy shifted until he was propped on his elbows, legs dangling off the edge like he was sunbathing instead of detonating his life.
“I feel fucking amazing,” he murmured, head tipping back. “God, I missed this.”
“Iggy,” I breathed, the tremor in my voice betraying me. “You—you took Oxy?”
He lifted his head and grinned, smug and bright, like a kid who’d gotten away with something.
“Fuck yes.” He stretched out flat on the mattress, arms wide like a crucifix, fingers wiggling in a sloppy parody of jazz hands. “You should join me.”
I choked on air and stumbled back from the bed.
“Yeah,” he went on, nodding towards me like this was the most reasonable suggestion in the world. “I can get us more. We can just . . . ride it out together.”
Then he sat up too fast, the suddenness of it making me flinch. For a moment, it was like he’d snapped back into normal speed. He kicked his legs, grinning, hands gripping the mattress to steady himself.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked, my voice barely holding together.
I knew he was high. I knew his brain wasn’t firing correctly. I knew this wasn’t calculated or cruel. But hearing it still felt like a punch to the chest. Offering drugs like you’d offer candy. Like it meant nothing.
Two people who were supposed to be sober. One already gone, the other standing right on the edge.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.
He slid off the bed and started towards me. I stepped back. He reached for me, and I lifted my hands instinctively, ready to bat him away if he touched me.
I’d thought I could do this. Thought I could walk in here and help him if he needed me to. I’d hoped, stupidly, that after I left this morning, he’d have some kind of revelation. That he’d stop. That he’d choose to get back up and try again.
That it would be simple.
That was how rehab made it sound.
Standing here now, watching him sway towards me, his judgment wrecked, I realised how fucking na?ve I’d been. But fuck, I hadn’t expected to walk in here to help him, only for him to turn around and offer me drugs. To ask me to throw everything away and get high with him.
We’d made a pact. A promise that felt doomed from the start.
To keep each other on the straight and narrow.
And the longer I stayed in the room with him like this, the more I could feel the pull.
The danger of being dragged down into the depths with him, no matter how badly I wanted to believe I was stronger than that.
“Bodhi, come on,” he whined, shuffling another step closer.
My back hit the wall, and panic flared sharp and immediate. I had nowhere left to retreat. My phone was still in my pocket, and I could’ve called Riff. Asked him to come get me and to help Iggy too. Because it wasn’t just me who needed saving right now.
But I couldn’t.
Riff didn’t know about Iggy. And I knew, deep down, that Iggy would hate it if I let anyone see him like this. Messy and stripped bare. Completely out of his right mind.
Iggy took another step forward and pressed his palm flat against the centre of my chest.
“Get high with m—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t finish because I pushed him.
His hand on me, the words, the feeling of being cornered, the fear clawing up my throat, it all collapsed into one blinding moment. My vision went white for half a second, and in that half second, I pushed him. Not violently. Not with intent to hurt. Just enough.
Enough that he went down.
When my sight cleared, he was sitting on the floor, flat on his ass, staring up at me with wide, watery eyes. His lower lip trembled.
“Bodhi—” His voice broke.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I stayed pressed to the wall as I edged towards the door, the space between us stretching wider with every step. It felt like a crack opening in the floor, a deep, bottomless divide I couldn’t cross without losing myself.
My fingers fumbled for the handle as Iggy tried to get up. He slipped, hit the floor again, then dragged himself upright on shaky legs. He reached for me, sobbing now, his body betraying him with every movement.
“Bodhi,” he cried, my name tumbling out over and over like a prayer. “Please—don’t—don’t go.” He grabbed at the dresser for balance. “Don’t leave me.”
I yanked the door open and slipped into the hallway, slamming it shut before he could reach me.
And for the second time that day, I ran from Iggy’s room without looking back.