15. Chapter 15 #3
I glance over my shoulder to see Jenna jogging toward me, her brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, cheeks flushed from the cold and the rush of closing. She’s smiling, like she always is. “Thought you already left,” I say, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets.
“Not without you,” she replies easily, falling into step beside me. “You still owe me for covering your tables last week.”
I huff out a laugh. “I bought you drinks.”
“Not the same,” she counters, bumping her shoulder into mine.
I don’t argue.
We walk the few blocks back to my place, her talking about something that happened earlier in the night, some customer who tipped in coins and attitude. I listen just enough to respond at the right moments, but my mind is already somewhere else.
Counting the minutes.
By the time we reach my apartment, I’m already feeling it under my skin. That low, restless itch that starts in my veins and spreads outward, vibrating everything. I unlock the door and push it open, stepping into the dim, cramped space that smells faintly like stale smoke and takeout.
“Home sweet home,” I mutter.
Jenna laughs softly as she kicks off her shoes, already making herself comfortable. “Still better than my place,” she says, dropping onto the couch. “I feel like Sebastian is a serial killer. Having roommates can be cool and all sometimes. But boy, if you get a weird one, it sucks ass.”
I snort at that, throwing my phone on the couch beside her. “Order some pizza,” I tell her, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her soft lips. “I’m gonna shower.”
She grins up at me, already reaching for the remote. “Take your time.”
“And hey,” I add, nodding toward the small stash on the table. “You can smoke if you want.”
Her brown eyes light up a little. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I give her a half-smile, then turn and head for the bathroom, closing the door behind me and sliding the lock into place. The second it clicks, everything shifts.
The quiet closes in.
The itch suddenly calms. It’s this weird thing that happens when you know you’re about to get your dose. Your body will relax, because your brain tells it, relief is coming.
I lean over the sink for a second, gripping the edge as I stare at my reflection. I look…fine. Tired, maybe. A little worn out. But as a bartender, always staying up late, it makes sense that I’d look this way. Nothing anyone would clock as falling apart.
A sigh leaves me. I told her I was attending meetings and trying to get clean. My jaw tightens as I look away. Then I move. My hands don’t shake as I pull everything out and set it up with ease.
Just enough. That’s the rule. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to smooth everything out so no one notices. So I can sit on that couch and laugh at whatever stupid show she’s watching and pretend I’m fucking okay. I tie off my arm, my breath already slowing as anticipation creeps in.
The needle slides in, and everything goes quiet.
My head tips back, eyes rolling as the warmth spreads fast and heavy through my veins, drowning out the noise, the itch, the constant fucking need that’s been ripping me apart from the inside since I was nineteen.
Ugh, fuck. Relief.
I exhale slowly, my body going loose as I ride it out for a second longer, just long enough to settle into it without letting it take me under completely. I tell myself that I’m in control, but I know I’m not. Not really. But at least I’m not nodding out.
I clean up quickly, washing my hands, splashing water on my face like that’s enough to erase what I just did.
And for the next ten minutes, I stand under the hot water with my eyes closed, feeling the water glide over my body.
The heroin seeps through my veins, slow and syrupy, dragging me into a tired kind of heavy. Just the way I like it.
Just the way I need it.
By the time I unlock the door, my expression is neutral again.
My body is loose in a way that could pass for relaxed and entirely normal.
I step back into the living room, and Jenna is curled up on the couch, laughing at something on the TV.
Jersey Shore. It’s loud, chaotic, and ridiculous.
She’s got a slice of pizza in one hand, and a joint in the other, smoke curling into the air with the window cracked beside her.
“There you are,” she says, glancing over at me with a grin. “You’re missing the drama.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” I murmur, dropping down beside her.
She hands me the joint without asking.
I take it, bringing it to my lips, inhaling deeply, layering one high over the other until it all blends together.
Jenna shifts closer when I lean back, tucking herself into my side. My arm comes up automatically, draping over her shoulders as my fingers slide into her hair, brushing through it in slow, absent strokes.
She hums softly, content. Five months. That’s how long this has been. Five months of easy laughter, late nights, shared shifts, quiet mornings when she decides to stay over.
She’s a good girl. She's sweet, patient, and wants to have all of the things someday. A house, education, marriage, kids. Honestly, the kind of girl who could save my life if I let her. My chest tightens a little at the thought. Because she’s not going to be the one to save me.
I know that. I think I’ve always known that.
I’ve been running away from that night for years.
My parents don’t even know what drove me to do this. I don’t want anyone to ever know.
My gaze drifts to the TV, watching the flashing lights of a club.
Jenna shifts again, pressing closer, her fingers curling lightly into my shirt. “Comfy?” she asks in her cute voice.
I glance down at her. “Yeah,” I say quietly. And I mean it, for this moment, when I’m a version of me that can exist only with heroin crawling through my blood. I’m not getting better. I’m just getting better at hiding it. And I don’t think anyone is going to be able to pull me out of this.
~*~
My eyes open, and the ceiling above me snaps back into place, the warmth of Heather’s body grounding me, her breathing still soft and steady in front of me.
But my chest feels annoyingly tight. Like that version of me is still sitting somewhere just under the surface, waiting to take over and destroy everything good in my life.
He’s an asshole, like that. He ruined everything with Jenna, when one night, four months later, she came into my apartment to find me fucking dying on my living room floor.
I broke her heart that day.
I tighten my hold on Heather without thinking, pressing my face into her shoulder again. I’m not there anymore. I’m not hurting this woman. Not now. Not fucking ever.
I’ve never even told Jude what happened and why I started doing drugs in the first place. What I’ve been running away from all these years, hoping to some fucking god that it will never come back to bite me. Especially now, with this beautiful woman who’s changing my life.