50. Bailey
fifty
Bailey
It’s been ten days since I’ve had a drink.
I feel like shit. Not drinking might be the only thing worse than having to drink when I don’t want to.
It feels pointless. I just couldn’t carry the guilt that was drowning me.
Images of Liam standing over my casket had me feeling just shitty enough to go to a meeting.
I’ve gone to at least one every day, sometimes two or three depending on how bad I feel.
I don’t want to be here. Old men droning on and on about how good their lives are, about how far they’ve come.
Must be nice. My nerves are livewires ready to be tripped.
Everything irritates me. Even the guy sitting next to me–-his oxygen concentrator sending short bursts of air every few seconds—has my hackles rising, skin crawling.
God forbid the man be allowed to breathe.
I force myself to stay until the meeting ends, not wanting to look like an asshole by leaving midway.
We circle around and hold hands, everyone murmuring a prayer before breaking to chat and smoke.
My hands tremble as I toss my coffee cup in the trash on my way out, but something inside me shifts.
I do feel a little better. Lighter. Like there’s a chance that whatever is working for them could work for me too. That I might some day be able to face the world—sober.
Even when I walk into the meeting house feeling alone, I’m reminded that loneliness isn’t the same as being alone. It’s just a feeling, and feelings pass.
Others have walked this path and made it out the other side. Stronger. Better.
I don’t know if I deserve that, but I keep coming back.
Just in case.
I say my goodbyes and head to my car. The parking lot is still full.
Quiet proof that people from all walks of life end up here.
Addiction doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care who you are.
It just takes.
Choosing its victims like rain chooses to fall.
My mood shifts the second I turn my phone back on.
Notifications flood the screen.
Peyton: Where are you?
Peyton: I thought you went to the noon meeting?
I sigh, shoulders sinking under a weight I’d just managed to shake.
Fuck.
Dread coils in my chest, thick and familiar.
I’m about to lock my phone when I see another message.
Lolly: Hope you had a good meeting. Text me later.
I stare at it.
I’m so tired.
Tired of the games. Tired of her.
Tired of not having a spine when it comes to her.
The thought of upsetting her feels worse than the thought of nothing ever changing between us.
It’s irrational as hell, but it’s true.
I pull into her driveway and realize I never even turned the music on.
My thoughts are loud enough.
I sit for a second, engine off, hands gripping the wheel. Then, I lock the doors and lower my head in defeat as I trudge up her walkway.
The living room is dark. The TV throws a dull, flickering glow across the furniture, stretching shadows into something ominous.
I drop my keys on the table.
The blanket on the couch moves.
“Shit!” I jump, nearly losing my balance. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she says softly.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, forcing a laugh as I sit on the far end of the couch. “I’m just jumpy.”
“It’s okay, babe,” she replies. “I’m sorry I got upset about the meeting. I just,” she pauses, “I miss us.”
“I know,” I say, voice wavering. “I miss us too.”
She means before.
Before I lost Nat.
Cruel memories grip my mind, peeling my eyes wide open so I’m forced to watch the flashing lights, Liam’s face, blood.
“I am still learning how to live, Peyton. Without her. Without alcohol. I’ve made mistakes. A lot of them.”
“I’m sorry,” I add. “For everything. For not being there when you needed me.”
“I know,” she says. “And I know you’re sorry.”
Her face is visible now that my eyes have had time to accommodate, at home now in the dark. Her eyes are puffy and swollen, cheeks stained with streaks of mascara.
Guilt crawls up my throat, seeking purchase. Tight. Suffocating.
“I know that losing Natalie was hard,” she continues. “But it’s been months, Bailey. It’s been months and you’re not any closer to moving on.”
I go still.
Something inside me shifts.
The guilt that just burrowed its way into my throat transforms into anger.
What the fuck did she just say?
“I know she was your friend, but what about me?”
“I’m still here.”
“I’ve needed you.”
“I’ve been here, missing you, and somehow you’re still choosing her.”
She stands and begins pacing the space between us.
Back and forth.
Mimicking the pendulum swinging between my anger and absolute fury.
“It was always her. Always Natalie this, Natalie that.”
“Peyton, what the fuck are you talking about?” My fists clench at my sides. Beads of sweat slowly form at my temples.
“What am I talking about?” she snaps. “I’m talking about the fact that I am still sharing you with her.”
Each word hits harder than the last.
She increases her strides, turning sharply each time she reaches the end of her chosen path. Retracing her steps like that particular six feet of flooring is the only space within which she feels comfortable enough to speak her truth.
“No one was ever good enough for her. No one. Miss Perfect.”
“Upset with me? No problem, you’d just go hang out with Nat. I mean, come on, Bailey. You know that isn’t how relationships work.”
“You don’t fucking abandon your girlfriend for your best buddy ole’ pal.”
“Peyton,” I begin quietly, something sharp underneath the calm. An underlying tone of warning paints the walls and air around us. “You need to think very carefully about what you’re saying right now.”
“Because if you keep going… there’s no coming back from this.”
She laughs. Broken, bitter.
“She had the fucking audacity to ask me to drive her home that night, Bailey. And for what exactly? So she could drink? So it would be easier for her to hang all over you?”
My stomach drops.
“What are you saying, Peyton?” I whisper. My gaze following her pacing form like I’m watching a fucked up tennis match.
“When?” I press. “When did Nat ask you for a ride home?”
My mind is reeling. Fucking whirring with more scenarios than I can make sense of.
Nausea comes in waves, my stomach rebelling in response to the onslaught of information.
I watch as she continues putting one foot in front of the other. Pace. Turn. Pace. Turn. She runs her hands through her hair and wipes her eyes.
She stops pacing. Looks at me.
“When do you think?”
Blood turns to ice in my veins, a terrifying cold washing over me.
“When” I repeat.
“I just needed a break from her, Bailey. She was always around. Always calling or texting.”
“So I told Kyle she was into him.”
The room tilts, the walls threaten to crush me.
“It was perfect. I get rid of her, and she finds someone else. A win-win.”
I step closer.
“What did you do?” I growl. Voice low. Dangerous.
“I asked him to take her home so I didn’t have to!” she snaps, running both hands through her hair in annoyance.
We’re standing face-to-face now. Her eyes wide, angry.
“Peyton,” I say in an eerily calm tone that’s in complete opposition to the visceral reaction I’m having to this revelation.
“You told her you would take her home, and then handed her over to someone I told you I didn’t trust.”
I grab her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
“You left her with a stranger. No ride. No back-up.”
My grip tightens.
She winces.
“And for what? So you could drink? So you could get rid of her?”
Her breaths come quicker.
“I didn’t know, Bailey. I had no way of knowing what would happen. I didn’t want her to die, I just… I just wanted us back.”
A memory of that night crashes in.
Nat thanking Peyton.
Through me.
“I thought she wanted you,” she continues. “The way you looked at her—”
Something in me snaps.
For a second I see it. I feel my hands around her throat, squeezing until the light in her eyes is snuffed out the same way Nat’s was.
I step back. Fists clenched at my sides.
I have to leave.
Now.
I have to get the fuck out of here.
I back away from her and grab my keys, slamming the door shut behind me.
My stomach churns as the thick night air hits me. I swallow down the bile and sprint to my car.
I start the Jeep and peel out of her driveway, not even bothering to look in the rearview mirror. Nothing worth seeing ever again.
My breathing is labored. I can’t fill my lungs with enough oxygen to function but I keep. Fucking. Going.
I’m on autopilot. I don’t even know which direction I’m heading until a familiar area comes into view. I snatch my phone out of my pocket and dial Liam. He picks up on the first ring.
“Bays? What’s going on?”
I need to tell him. I need to tell him what I know but the words won’t form. My mouth is dry, tongue stuck in place, refusing to function. A whimper escapes and somehow he hears it over the rumble of the car.
“Bailey. Wherever you are, I need you to head toward my house. Can you do that for me? Take a deep breath in, Bailey. Breathe in, and don’t stop listening to the sound of my voice, okay?
I’m here. I know you’re listening and I understand that maybe you can’t answer me but I’m here for you.
Stay on the phone. Don’t stop driving until you’re in my driveway.
Are you hearing me, Bays? It’s me. Liam.
Your best friend. I’m not hanging up. Just let me be here for you.
Let me be your strength right now. I’ll hold you together until it’s time to fall apart, okay? ”
“Okay,” I choke out.
My fingers are numb but I refuse to loosen my grip on the steering wheel. My eyes sting with the threat of tears, but I push them back. I push them down because Liam said that he’ll hold me together. He’ll stay with me. He’ll stay with me until I get to him.
How far am I? How far am I from my safe place?
His voice comes through the speakers again.
“Bays, I just wanted you to know that I’m still here. Whatever happened, I’ve got you. I will stand beside you no matter the cost. You’re my best friend, Bailey. You’re all I have left. I need you to focus on getting here. Just get to me, Bailey.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, remember that time we snuck in the back door of the movie theater and watched five movies back to back? Oh my god, Nat was so paranoid we were going to get caught. She got bubble guts halfway through one and was gone for almost thirty minutes. One of the best days of my life. Seriously. In retrospect, it’s kind of fucked up that we didn’t wonder if she’d been caught and escorted out.
We just kept shoving snacks in our faces and living our best lives. ”
The corners of my mouth turn up. My lips quiver but my vision is still clear. No threat of a downpour.
The night sky a subtle promise of a new day. Hope. There’s hope on the other side. I just need to get to Liam. I need to get home.
“I’m guessing you’re going down that long ass road where the Starbucks is on your right and fifteen banks and churches are passing on your left. That means you’re close. You’re doing great, Bays. Just keep breathing. There’s a La Croix and a pillow-top mattress waiting here for you.”
I cling to his words, wrapping me so tightly that I’m unable to fall apart.
“Okay, if you’re passing that flashy car lot with those spooky purple lights that look like an alien abduction might be ongoing, you’re about one minute away. Don’t even look at the cars. We can’t afford ‘em. It’ll just hurt your feelings. Ask me how I know.”
I smile at that. He’s loving me the best way he knows how—and it’s more than enough.
“Alright, street’s coming up on your right. Blue sign, hard to see—Cherry Street. Turn there, you’ll recognize it. I’m the fourth house on the left. I’m outside, porch lights are on so you can’t miss it.”
The turn comes faster than I expect.
My blinker clicks on, the loud ticking too sharp in the quiet. I slow at the last second, tires screeching as I make the turn. The Jeep glides over the pavement, proof I’m barely in control.
“Turned,” I whisper.
“I know. I see your headlights. Good job, Bays. Keep coming.”
The tightness in my chest returns, sharper now—unforgiving.
I follow the curve of the street, counting under my breath.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
I stop when Liam comes into view.
He’s at the edge of his driveway, warm light from the porch spilling over him, casting the type of shadows that are inviting, familiar. He’s barefoot in sweatpants and a hoodie he threw on. Crooked and twisted at an awkward angle like he ran out the second he knew I was close.
Like I matter more than comfort. More than sleep.
“That’s me,” he murmurs softly. “You made it.”
I stop fighting, allowing my vision to blur as I come to a stop halfway up the drive.
I don’t remember putting it in park, but the engine dies and the lights dim.
All I know to do is move.
I fumble for the door, stumbling out on unsteady legs. The ground tilts under me like I’ve forgotten how to stand. My phone slips from my grip, landing with a clatter somewhere in the dark. I don’t stop to find it.
I don’t stop until I’m in front of him.
Terrified. Ashamed.
“Oh Bays,” his voice softens. “Come here.”
My hands grab the front of his hoodie, my grip tight. I fist the fabric like he might disappear if I let go.
A sob rips from me. “I’m so sorry,” I cry. “Liam I’m so fucking sorry.”
Tears fall in a deluge—violent, uncontrollable. I collapse into him, shivering hard. Every bit of my strength dissolves as he holds me.
“I’ve got you,” he says, pulling me closer to him. Solid. Steady. “I’ve got you, Bays. You’re okay. You made it.”
I tremble in his arms, words finally clawing their way out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Hey, man. Look at me.” He grabs the back of my neck, forcing my gaze to meet his. “I’m always here for you, Bailey. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“I can’t,” I choke.
The rest of the words collapse under the weight of everything I can’t say.
“You don’t have to,” he murmurs gently. “Not right now. You don’t have to explain.”
His hand moves slowly over my back, a reminder that I’m not alone.
“Just breathe, Bays. I’m not going anywhere. You’re okay”
And, for the first time since I barreled out of Peyton’s apartment, I believe it.