22. I Can’t Breathe #3
I squeeze my eyes shut, his words hitting me exactly where they shouldn’t.
I think I finally understand what it’s like for addicts.
How they’re able to get hooked on something so toxic that it destroys every other part of their life.
Addiction runs in my family. I’ve spent years wondering how people can keep going back to the thing that’s hurting them.
Turns out it’s easy. All it takes is one thing that makes the rest of the world go quiet for a minute.
One thing that convinces you the damage might be worth it.
“I’m not coming home,” I mutter sharply. “I don’t want to see you.”
“Sweetheart. Please. Will you just come home?”
And then he has the audacity to sweetheart me. What the hell is wrong with him? “Fuck you, Parker. I’m moving the fuck out.”
The silence on the other end is immediate. For a second, I think the call dropped. Then I hear him inhale sharply, like I’ve punched him. “Where are you?”
Finally. He cracks.
“None of your fucking business.” I hear sudden movement from his end of the call. A door opening. His keys jangling. “Don’t do that,” I tell him. “I know what you’re doing. Just stop it.”
“You’re drunk and you aren’t thinking right,” he argues. “I’m coming to get you.”
“No you’re not. I told you I’m not coming home.”
He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice cracks. “Where are you?” There’s actual pain in his voice now. “Let me come get you, sweetheart.”
“No.” The word comes out thin and weak, not nearly as convincing as I wish it did.
“Please.”
“No.”
“Anderson. Angel.” The way he says my name makes my stomach twist. “Do I have to say it?” My breath catches, because I know exactly what he means. I know. I’ve known all fucking night. Maybe I’ve known for weeks. “Say what, Park?”
“I was wrong,” he murmurs. Soft and careful, like he’s handling something fragile.
“I was so fucking wrong, Anders. I…staying away was the wrong thing to do. I know that now.” Instantly, my breath hitches.
“I mean it,” Parker continues. “Baby boy,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost regrettably. “Let me fix things.”
No. No.
I close my eyes and clutch at my chest, walking around to the side of the building until my shoulder hits brick.
The wall is cool against my skin. Everything inside me feels like it’s splintering apart.
I can’t fucking do this. “Don’t…” I let out a rough breath.
“No. It’s not gonna work. I told you I’m done. I’m done waiting for you.”
“I wanna hold you,” Parker whispers anyway. “I haven’t held you in so long and…I need to hold you.”
I could throw up. Or cry. Maybe both. The problem isn’t the apology or the begging, it’s the fact that I can picture it. Hell—I can feel his fucking arms around me. My face buried in his neck. His warm breath in my hair as he kisses the top of my head. “Stop.”
“It’s so cold in this house,” he says quietly. “And all I can think about is how warm you’d feel in my arms. You’ve always been so warm.”
“Stop—”
I hear him take a deep, grounding breath. “I can’t make things right over the phone,” he says, sounding more solid now. More certain. “I’ll drop to my knees and beg if that’s what you want. But I need you to come—”
“Parker, just stop,” I murmur shakily. I don’t even realize I’ve crouched down until my knees hit the pavement. I rest my forehead against the brick wall and clutch my phone tighter.
Hanging up would end this. I know exactly how to make this stop…my thumb is already hovering over the screen. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this. But every time I think about ending the call, something ugly and desperate inside me wants to hear what he’ll say next.
Maybe that’s the tragedy of addiction. You know exactly what’s happening to you, but you just can’t stop chasing the high.
For so long—for so fucking long…I would look up into the night sky and ask my mother why she could have chosen a man like my father.
I know they weren’t good for each other.
That much, I know. But if things had gotten so bad that Luca had to go live with his dad—I would sit on the ledge of my window with my knees to my chest, headphones to the loudest setting, and plead with the stars to give me an answer.
It’s strange…there’s something about night that makes words more true.
Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe the hardest words are the ones we can only say in the dark.
The light is what exposes the truth. The light is what brings danger.
You can lose yourself in the dark. Say whatever the hell you want…
but when the sun comes up, that’s the truest test of faith.
“I can’t breathe, Anders.” Parker’s voice breaks completely, reminding me exactly where I am and who I’m talking to. “I can’t fucking breathe.”
“Just stop.”
“Do you feel it?” he asks. “It feels like…” He lets out a shaky breath and chokes on air. “Something tied around your throat, and it’s so constricting. It’s so hard to breathe and it’s unbearable…”
Somehow, that’s exactly how I feel.
“You are my air, Anderson.” He’s silent for a beat.
“You’re the only thing I can’t seem to exist without.
” Tears slide down my face and I don’t even bother wiping them away, because letting myself feel bad almost seems easier than pretending I don’t.
“No matter how hard I try.” His voice drops lower. “Sertsu ne prikazhesh.”
“Anders!” Charlie.
Just the sound of her voice gives me enough strength to hang up. I shove the phone into my pocket before I can change my mind.
“Hey,” she says softly, hurrying toward me. Her cowgirl hat hangs around her neck now. “Babe.”
“Hey.” I stand up and wipe at my face.
Charlie reaches up and takes over, running her thumbs beneath my eyes. “What happened, love?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just…fuck. I can’t even tell you because you’ll think I’m a psycho.”
“Would you tell me if I told you I just fucked Raúl?”
I stare at her. “What?” I snort. “I’m sorry—you did what?”
She pulls her cowgirl hat back onto her head and straightens her braids. “Well, don’t look at me like that.” She shrugs. “He was a dilf…Mickey Rogers is on a date with some Russian bitch…I felt vulnerable and Raúl was there for me to pick up the pieces.”
Despite myself, I laugh. An actual laugh.
“Oh my God.” I pull her in for a hug and rest my cheek against the top of her ridiculous hat. “Charlotte.”
“Sleep at mine tonight,” she murmurs. “In case Raúl comes back for seconds. He’s still on the prowl, I think.”
Another laugh escapes me. And somehow, it’s exactly the distraction I need. For the rest of the night, I don’t think about Parker. Not once.