Chapter 24 #2
The door slides open behind us softly, and Emma steps out with two mugs of tea, eyes flickering between us.
Dad gives her a small nod, a thank you without saying it.
He squeezes my shoulder once more, then steps back toward the door.
“I’ll let you two talk,” he says quietly, and disappears inside. The sliding door shuts behind him.
Emma stands beside me, her mug warming her hands, her gaze soft but definitely analytical. She finally speaks. “You’re doing good, Jude.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” She shifts closer, close enough that her coat brushes my arm. “You came home. You talked to them. You let them see you. That’s huge.”
I swallow, looking anywhere but her. She reaches to steady the mug in my hand, and her fingers graze mine. She pauses.
I freeze.
Her eyes flick down to see that my hand is trembling.
Fuck.
I try to curl my fingers tighter around the mug, hide it, something, but it’s too late. The coke still has me buzzing, crashing, clawing at my nerves. Or maybe it’s the emotions. Or both.
She looks up at me slowly, eyes softening.
I look away immediately, heat crawling up my neck. Shame. Need. Panic. All of it tangling together until I can barely breathe. “I’m fine,” I lie.
Her voice drops even softer. “You’re shaking.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She lets out another heavy breath. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
I flinch.
She studies my face, and something in her expression shifts. Understanding. “I’ll be right inside,” she says quietly. “Take a minute.” Her hand traces along my arm before she turns and slips inside. But as soon as the door closes, the craving slams into me like a wave.
My fingers twitch. I need something. Anything.
Coke or oxy is fine for moments like this, but now that I’ve fallen for heroin and meth, I can’t.
..I can’t go without them. No matter how hard I fucking try.
I never understood how it all worked back when adults told us kids to stay away from drugs.
I never knew that once I injected, I’d have to do it once or twice a day.
Just to breathe.
My hands are already in my hoodie pocket before I realize I’ve moved.
The baggie’s still there. My stomach twists with disgust and relief all at once.
I head inside, avoiding the living room, veering straight down the hallway until I reach the bathroom.
I shut the door quietly. Lock it. And the second the lock clicks, my facade cracks.
I sag against the sink, gripping the porcelain so hard my knuckles go white. My breath shudders out of me, uneven, desperate. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Fuck.”
I pull out the small bag, my hands trembling so badly I nearly drop it.
A soft, broken laugh escapes me. I can face an arena.
I can face the tabloids talking about my shitty life.
But this? This is the thing that owns me.
I empty a small line onto the counter. It looks pathetic.
But my body reacts like it’s salvation. I lean down, inhaling sharply, letting the burn hit fast. The rush slams through me, sharp and hot, numbing the ache in my chest, quieting the panic. But the relief is only temporary.
I’ve killed people. I’ve been drugged. I’ve been assaulted. If they knew everything I’ve done…
When I look up, my reflection stares back, and his skin is pale, his eyes glossy, and his jaw tight as shit. The man staring back doesn’t look like a son or a boyfriend. He honestly doesn’t even look like someone worth coming home for.
I press both hands to the counter, shoulders shaking. “You’re a fucking mess,” I whisper to him.
By the time we all say goodnight, my mom is wiping her eyes again, hugging me so tight I can barely breathe. My dad keeps a steady hand on her back, like he’s holding her together. “You come back soon,” she whispers against my chest. “Please.”
I nod because I can’t say much without my voice cracking. “Yeah. I...I will.”
Dad pulls me into a rough, quick hug. “Drive safe,” he murmurs.
Emma waves goodbye, and I’m reminded of how much my parents adore her. Of course they do. She’s everything good in a world that keeps kicking me in the ribs.
We walk to my car in silence. Once we’re inside, I grip the steering wheel a little too hard. But Emma doesn’t pry. She buckles her seatbelt and keeps her hands folded gently in her lap, like she can feel I’m on the edge and knows better than to push me.
Good girl.
The drive is quiet, headlights cutting through the dark coastal road. Halfway back to her place, she finally speaks. “I’m really proud of you,” she says softly, without looking at me. “Tonight...that was brave.”
I swallow, throat thick. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“A lot of brave things don’t.”
The words hit me harder than she realizes. When we pull into her neighborhood, the tension in my body spikes. My brain is already screaming for more. And the problem is...the heroin waiting at my place is the only thing that will truly quiet it.
She notices me hesitating when I shift into park. “You okay?” she asks softly.
I nod, even though it’s a lie. “Yeah.”
She pauses, then: “Do you...want to come in?”
She’s hopeful but cautious. Like she doesn’t want to overwhelm me.
I stare at her front door, and at the warm orange glow of her porch light. It’s safe and inviting, and it makes my chest twist. My mind spins.
I need to use.
I need it soon.
But I also need her.
“I can stay for a little bit,” I say, my voice rough.
Her whole face softens into a sweet, relieved smile that punches me right in the ribs. “Okay,” she whispers.
She reaches across the console and takes my hand.
My fingers twitch, but I let her. As she opens her door, she glances back with that almost playful tilt of her head—the one she used to have in high school, handing me coffee on my roof after sleepless nights studying.
We’d always climb out of my bedroom window and watch the way the wind swayed through the coastal pines.
“Do you want chocolate croissants?” she asks, voice hopeful.
A small, involuntary smile tugs at my mouth. It’s barely there, but it’s genuine. “Yeah,” I murmur. “That actually sounds amazing.”
She beams, warm like a California sunrise. Something I don’t deserve but want anyway. She squeezes my hand once before letting go. “Come on,” she says softly. “I’ll heat some up. I made them the other night.”
I sink into her couch, letting my limbs relax. Soon, she rounds the corner with a grin.
“Hot and fresh,” she announces softly, nudging my knee as she sits beside me, offering a plate. Steam curls upward. Chocolate oozes from the sides.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I mutter, trying to stay present.
She laughs, and it does something stupid to my chest.
I bite into the croissant, chocolate hitting my tongue. Eyes closed, I savor it.
“Good?” she asks.
“Insane,” I say, around another bite. “Thank you.”
Her lips curve, but before she can answer, my phone buzzes. I ignore it. Again. She glances down, not long enough to be rude, but enough to notice. Fuck.
ADRIANA
Are you home? I’m bored and alone, and I want you. I’ve been imagining your hands on me all day. Thinking about driving to that little town of yours. ;)
A wave of dread sinks into me. This is who I’ve been. Who I might still be. I rub my face, exhale through my teeth, and type back:
I’m out.
Two words. Final. I don’t imagine her reaction. I don’t let myself imagine the fallout. I set the phone down. Emma’s eyes are soft but perceptive.
“Everything okay?” she asks gently.
“Yeah,” I lie, forcing a shrug. “Just...band stuff.”
She nods, letting it go. Offers another warm croissant. It reminds me of the nights when we smoked weed and baked an entire cake. We’d damn near eat the entire thing.
“You really like them?” she asks.
I smile. “They’re perfect. Everything you do is.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and suddenly, we’re closer. Her fingertips brush the corner of my mouth, wiping a streak of melted chocolate.
“You, uh...missed a spot,” she whispers.
My heart slams against my ribs. I catch her wrist gently, holding her hand there a moment too long. “Emma…”
She leans in, slow enough that I could stop her. I don’t. I lean my forehead to hers, inhaling the chocolate on her breath. Then we’re kissing. It’s light at first, then deepens. I cup her jaw, desperately, greedily.
Her hand slides into my hair, her mouth soft and sweet as sin. But underneath the warmth, the craving hits. My muscles tighten. My nerves flare. I’m trembling inside, trying to hold together two truths: her and the high clawing at me.
She shifts closer, chest pressing against mine. I groan, swallowed by the mix of desire and withdrawal. Her mouth opens under mine, and I snap.
I drag her in, hands grabbing her waist, her shirt, anything I can hold. My reaction is instant and overwhelming, my body responding out of hunger. I kiss her harder than I mean to.
She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it nearly turns me feral.
She doesn’t know. She has no idea why I’m shaking.
I pull back slightly, chest heaving.
“Jude…” she whispers, searching my face. “Are you alright?”
Every part of me is trembling. The comedown is clawing at my spine. The high that gave me a sliver of clarity fades fast. “I’m fine,” I rasp, strained. “Just...it’s been a long day.”
Her thumb gently brushes my cheek. My throat tightens.
I lean in, desperate for distraction, anything to quiet the crawling under my skin.
I wish her touch ruined me more than heroin ever could.
But it doesn’t. Her hand slides under my shirt.
I shudder violently, not in pleasure, but in withdrawal. I pull back again, hands trembling.
“I can’t,” I rasp.
She shakes her head. “Why? What’s—”
“I—” My voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”
I stand too fast, pulse slamming so hard that I feel dizzy. I grip the couch arm to steady myself. Emma watches, wide-eyed and calm, trying to help. It makes everything worse.
“Hey,” she says, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
The craving gnaws at me with dull teeth. It’s not a sharp pain, exactly, but horrible all the same. “I can’t...I can’t do this right now,” I whisper, voice tight.
Her breath stutters. Not angry, just scared. “Do what?”
“Be here. I—messing up coming here. I shouldn’t have—”
She frowns. “No, it’s okay.”
My hands are trembling worse, so I shove them in my pockets. She tries to step closer, but I flinch. It’s barely a twitch, but her face falls like I slapped her.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, barely audible. Then I turn.
I hear her breath hitch behind me, like she’s choking back a sob. It’s the worst sound in the world.
I make it down the walkway on autopilot. My vision blurs, and I scrub angrily at my eyes. By the time I slide into my car, my hands are shaking so hard I drop the keys twice.
I slam the door and let out a guttural, cracked sound. “Fuck.”
My fist connects with the steering wheel.
Once. Twice. Again. The horn blares with every hit, loud and useless.
My chest caves in. I rest my forehead against the wheel, and the tears come.
Shame. Need. Fear. Everything is spilling out at once.
My phone buzzes again, and I don’t want to look. But I do anyway.
ADRIANA
Out? Where are you? Get back to the house.
My stomach rolls. I close my eyes. I hate myself. I hate that I’m driving away from the only person who makes me feel safe. And I hate that I’ve already had sex with Emma, knowing damn well the snake still has its fangs in me.
Emma knows that.
Still...it hurts.
I love her.
I love her I love her I love her…
I start the car, and the Audi rumbles beneath me. My hands won’t stop shaking. I wipe my face with my sleeve, drag in a broken breath, and pull out onto the dark road.
I’m going home to the only thing I know will silence this.
Even if it fucking kills me.