Chapter 23 #2
“It’s not that simple,” I snap, heat flaring instantly. “You don’t know what withdrawal feels like. You don’t know what happens when you’re already that deep. You don’t fucking know—”
“No, I don’t,” she says, still soft. Still maddeningly steady. “Help me understand. We can talk about it.”
The coke surges again, turning every thought sharp and hostile, like it wants blood. I stand abruptly, pacing. My skin feels too tight, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
“You’re acting like it’s just—just some switch,” I spit. “Like I can wake up and decide, Oh, Emma doesn’t like it, guess I’ll stop. That’s not how this works. Come on, you’re smart. You know that.”
She frowns. “Jude, please sit.”
“I—fuck, Em, I can’t—just—” My voice cracks, everything inside me moving too fast, pressing inward.
“Sit,” she says again. Same tone. It holds no judgment or anger. It’s her professional voice. Like I’m a patient.
I breathe once. Twice. Then I ease back onto the couch.
Her hand finds mine, and this time, I don’t pull away. She studies me again, eyes too analytical for my liking right now. “You’re high,” she says gently. “Aren’t you?”
I close my eyes. “Obviously.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For not lying.”
And suddenly, I’m the one unraveling.
The buzz is still ripping through me, tightening every muscle, making my skin prickle with agitation. I rake a hand through my hair, tugging at it because everything inside me feels unstable, uncontained.
“I didn’t want you to see that shit,” I mutter. “Not ever.”
Emma swallows. “But I did. And I’m not ignorant of what you’re doing.”
That lands annoyingly painful.
She squeezes my hand—just enough to keep me from standing again. “Jude,” she says softly, “I’m not judging you. I’m not angry.” Her breath trembles. “I’m scared.”
The word slices clean through whatever the coke tried to turn me into. My jaw tightens. My chest aches. “Em…” My voice splinters. “I’m—I’m managing it.”
She shakes her head gently. “You’re not. I saw you. I saw Micah.” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I saw how easy it was. How normal it looked for you.”
I flinch. “I know what I’m doing,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.
“I know,” she says quietly. Like she’s soothing a feral animal.
I love her. I’m not a mean person.
So why am I being like this?
I stand again, pacing across the studio. My fingers flex at my sides like they need to grab something, or hit something, just to bleed the electricity out of me.
“Jude,” she calls gently.
I stop.
Sunlight spills across the paint-splattered floor. Brushes in jars. Half-finished canvases. The little couch where she curls up with her clients. Everything about this space is calm.
And I am the opposite of calm.
A malfunctioning nerve ending in a room full of peace.
She looks at me with so much understanding that it makes me nearly fall to my knees. “Come back,” she whispers.
I swallow hard and sit again because my body obeys her in ways I can’t explain. My pulse is still racing, but the anger is burning out. My leg still bounces, but my hand finds hers again, needing the grounding.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I just—” My throat tightens. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes soften. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve worked with people with addictions before.”
I look away, jaw clenched. Shame crawls under my skin.
She shifts closer, her knee brushing mine. “I didn’t run seven years ago, Jude. You did.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll get you out of this...somehow.”
I exhale shakily, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Alright,” I breathe.
A heavy and intimate silence settles between us. Once, we knew each other by heart. Now we sit side by side like strangers, bound only by the echo of what we used to be. She grew up. I broke into pieces.
Her expression softens, but it’s edged with that stubborn determination she’s always had. “I want you to come see your parents,” she whispers.
My stomach knots. “Emma…” My whole body goes rigid. “I haven’t—” The words break off. “It’s been three years.”
“I know.” Her voice is gentle. “And they miss you, Jude. So much.”
A sharp ache blooms in my chest. “I don’t know if I can face them like this.”
“You don’t have to be ready,” she says. “Just willing.”
I shake my head, fingers twisting together. The thought terrifies me. The disappointment. The hurt. The way my mom used to look at me like I held her world...before I dropped it.
Her hand slides over mine again. “Pick me up later,” she murmurs. “We’ll go together.”
“Emma…” It’s half protest, half plea.
“I’m not asking you to fix everything in one day,” she says. “I’m just asking you to show up. This is part of the healing process. If you have any hope to get better...you need to face this.”
I know she’s right, and that she’s trying to stitch together every broken place she can reach. My voice comes out low. “Okay.” A beat. “Yeah. Okay.”
Her smile is small, sad, and hopeful. “Good.”
And even though my skin crawls with discomfort, something inside me loosens, as if a door I welded shut is creaking open at last. She touches my cheek, and my entire body responds. I turn into her palm without thinking, eyes closing for half a second.
“I’m glad you came,” she whispers.
I open my eyes, throat tight. “I’d come running every time you called.”
Her smile trembles. A single tear slips free, but it isn’t the painful kind.
The restaurant Nolan picked in Portland is really fucking bright. My skin is already itching from the comedown by the time Micah and I step inside. The clink of dishes, conversation, and the scrape of silverware are so loud and annoying.
Micah runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. He’s crashing, too. I almost had another bump in the car before we came in. Honestly, I should have. Fuck me.
We spot Nolan and Adriana at a corner booth. Nolan looks like he’s been waiting long enough to be pissed about it. Adriana looks like she’s wildly pleased to see me.
Great.
“We’re on time,” I mutter as we approach, even though we’re absolutely not.
Nolan doesn’t bother standing. “You sure? Because I’ve been sitting here long enough to memorize the wine list.”
I grit my teeth but slide into the booth. “Traffic.”
Adriana leans forward, smiling that slow, venomous smile. “I’ve missed you, Jude. My hotel room here is lonely.”
Her hand casually lands on my forearm.
My stomach flips in that way it does when rage gets tangled up with revulsion. I fight the urge to rip it away from her.
Micah kicks my ankle under the table.
A quiet don’t start.
I pull my arm back more casually and reach for the glass of water in front of me. My fingertips tremble just enough to piss me off. The crash is making me hot under my skin, prickly, restless. It feels like my heart is punching my ribs from the inside.
Nolan slides a printed itinerary onto the table.
“NYC in two weeks. Friday afternoon flight. Check into the hotel. Saturday morning interview with Rowan Hart. Saturday night, you’ll meet up with Finnick and Kami to perform three songs at a private event.
They’ll be happy to see you boys.” He pauses, eyes flicking up to mine.
“And the label dinner afterward. Obviously.”
Obviously. Have to show them that we’re making progress since I broke some fucker’s nose last month.
I nod once because if I speak, I might say something that’ll get Micah and me in deeper shit.
Adriana folds her hands like she’s some fancy bitch.
I know better, though. We’ve shared hotel rooms before where we’d do drugs and fuck for days.
I’ve been around her enough to know her more intimately than most, and she is definitely trash.
She grins. “You’ll need to look...stable on camera this time.”
I blink slowly and give a slight nod.
Micah jumps in before I can snap. “We’re good. We’ve been good. Lying pretty low, enjoying being by the beach.”
Adriana’s eyes slide to mine, dripping with amusement. “Have you?”
I feel my pulse spike. I press my palms against my thighs under the table, nails biting through denim. I can still taste the bitterness of the coke drip at the back of my throat, and the crash is turning everything into static.
“Do you need something, Adriana?” I ask, voice low.
She tilts her head. “Just making sure you’re...focused.”
Nolan clears his throat. “Let’s keep it professional, boys.”
Hypocrite.
He leans back. “This trip is easy. In and out. Smile for the camera, shake hands, sing the songs. Don’t make me fix anything. No fucking outbursts.” His gaze pins me. “Understand?”
I chew my lip. Emma’s face flashes in my mind. And then I’m back here, across from the two people who ruined my life, pretending everything is fine. I force a nod.
Halfway through the meal, Adriana sets her hand on my thigh, sliding up towards my crotch. Micah stiffens beside me. My vision goes white-hot for a second. I shove back from the booth hard enough that the table shakes.
“I need a smoke.”
Nolan doesn’t stop me. Adriana just smirks like she enjoys toying with me. Stupid cunt.
I walk out of the restaurant, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache, and push through the door into the sunlight. The crisp air smacks me sharply in the face. I dig a cigarette from my pocket and light it, my hands still not entirely steady. I text Emma before I can think about it.
You still making me do this tonight?
Just seeing her name on my screen pulls me back from the edge.
Micah steps outside a minute later, rubbing his temples. “You almost lost it in there, dude.”
“I know.”
“You want another bump?” he asks quietly.
I inhale smoke and shake my head. “Yeah, after lunch. I want to go back to the house and relax. Emma’s forcing me to go visit my parents later.”
His eyes widen. “Jesus. How long has it been?”
I exhale, blowing out a puff of smoke. “About three years.”
“Damn,” he mumbles. “I really hope it goes well for you. I just talked to my dad yesterday. I don’t know what I’d do without my parents. I’m happy you’re doing this.”
I don’t say anything. I just stare ahead at the passing cars on the street.
“I see why you love her, that’s for sure.”