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Authors: B.K. Rivers
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towel slipping lower and lower when I throw the bottle of pills at him. I throw it hard and true, but he ducks out of the way, the bottle missing his face by inches. It flies across the room, lands in the tub, and the top pops off, spilling pills all over the ceramic surface. Jordan dives for the pills, slamming his cast on the edge of the tub, not caring that his hand is broken. He scoops up the pills like they’re bits of priceless gold. Though I guess to him they probably are. I watch in awe at how he cares more about those damn pills than what they are doing to him.
“Look at you. You’re a mess, diving for pain pills in my tub. I’m such an idiot thinking I could ever help you.” I turn away and shut myself in my bedroom. He’s in so deep I don’t know if he’ll ever get out. And as much as I wanted to be the one to get him through this, I’m not capable of it. I’m not strong enough to do what he needs. Tears spring to the corners of my eyes and before long I find myself slipping into darkness, letting sleep take me.
Chapter 12
I awake to darkness, and as I stretch in my bed my hand lands on something that crinkles with pressure. My fingers find it, a piece of paper, and I sit up and fumble with my bedside lamp. When my eyes adjust to the lamplight, I see it’s a note from Jordan. It’s handwritten, his scrawl tilts slightly to the right and surprisingly the penmanship is tidy and precise. It reads:
Jemma,
Your gran and I spoke at lengths over dinner—which was very good, by the way—about me being here at her house. It’s obvious she’s not thrilled that I’m here, and after the bathroom incident earlier, I’m guessing you’re not either. To be honest, I’m in this weird spot in my life right now and don’t know where I belong. Obviously I don’t belong with my band since they’re taking a break from me. And I obviously don’t belong here. That leaves me in this void, a black hole of unknown.
I suppose I could just call a cab or something, I’ve got enough money to pay for one, but that begs the question of where will I go. You’d think that I would have spent my money on houses or fancy cars over the years, but I’ve been stupid and reckless. Sure, I still have more than I need, but I have nothing to show for all I’ve done, other than marks on my body.
So, in the end, you win. I’ve flushed the pain pills and have agreed to get clean and stay sober. I can’t promise an easy road. It will be filled with potholes and mountains. But I will try. God, I will try.
Yours,
Jordan
My hands are shaking by the time I finish reading his letter, and I don’t know whether to feel happy or…what else is there? Nothing. There’s nothing. I don’t feel anything and that scares me.
I reach for my phone but it’s not on my nightstand where I normally keep it. I must have left it downstairs in the kitchen. I quietly walk down the stairs into the kitchen and find it in my purse. It’s funny how dependent you become on such a small thing. Without it, I hardly know what time it is anymore. The screen reads 4:37 a.m. and there’s a text from Trish asking for more details. She won’t be up for another couple hours so I’ll text her later. She would kill me for waking her up this early on a Sunday.
My stomach gurgles, and since I slept the night away I decide to fix a nice breakfast of bacon, eggs, and waffles. The salty smell of cooking bacon brings Gran to the kitchen with an easy grin spread across her face. She wraps her arm around my waist and kisses my cheek, such a warm and familiar embrace.
“You’re up early,” she says as she hobbles over to the kitchen table. “I should have woken you for dinner last night, but it seemed you needed the sleep.”
I simply nod and continue cooking the waffles. By the time the batter is gone, I have a stack of waffles we’ll never be able to finish. Gran and I sit together eating our breakfast and
“Look at you. You’re a mess, diving for pain pills in my tub. I’m such an idiot thinking I could ever help you.” I turn away and shut myself in my bedroom. He’s in so deep I don’t know if he’ll ever get out. And as much as I wanted to be the one to get him through this, I’m not capable of it. I’m not strong enough to do what he needs. Tears spring to the corners of my eyes and before long I find myself slipping into darkness, letting sleep take me.
Chapter 12
I awake to darkness, and as I stretch in my bed my hand lands on something that crinkles with pressure. My fingers find it, a piece of paper, and I sit up and fumble with my bedside lamp. When my eyes adjust to the lamplight, I see it’s a note from Jordan. It’s handwritten, his scrawl tilts slightly to the right and surprisingly the penmanship is tidy and precise. It reads:
Jemma,
Your gran and I spoke at lengths over dinner—which was very good, by the way—about me being here at her house. It’s obvious she’s not thrilled that I’m here, and after the bathroom incident earlier, I’m guessing you’re not either. To be honest, I’m in this weird spot in my life right now and don’t know where I belong. Obviously I don’t belong with my band since they’re taking a break from me. And I obviously don’t belong here. That leaves me in this void, a black hole of unknown.
I suppose I could just call a cab or something, I’ve got enough money to pay for one, but that begs the question of where will I go. You’d think that I would have spent my money on houses or fancy cars over the years, but I’ve been stupid and reckless. Sure, I still have more than I need, but I have nothing to show for all I’ve done, other than marks on my body.
So, in the end, you win. I’ve flushed the pain pills and have agreed to get clean and stay sober. I can’t promise an easy road. It will be filled with potholes and mountains. But I will try. God, I will try.
Yours,
Jordan
My hands are shaking by the time I finish reading his letter, and I don’t know whether to feel happy or…what else is there? Nothing. There’s nothing. I don’t feel anything and that scares me.
I reach for my phone but it’s not on my nightstand where I normally keep it. I must have left it downstairs in the kitchen. I quietly walk down the stairs into the kitchen and find it in my purse. It’s funny how dependent you become on such a small thing. Without it, I hardly know what time it is anymore. The screen reads 4:37 a.m. and there’s a text from Trish asking for more details. She won’t be up for another couple hours so I’ll text her later. She would kill me for waking her up this early on a Sunday.
My stomach gurgles, and since I slept the night away I decide to fix a nice breakfast of bacon, eggs, and waffles. The salty smell of cooking bacon brings Gran to the kitchen with an easy grin spread across her face. She wraps her arm around my waist and kisses my cheek, such a warm and familiar embrace.
“You’re up early,” she says as she hobbles over to the kitchen table. “I should have woken you for dinner last night, but it seemed you needed the sleep.”
I simply nod and continue cooking the waffles. By the time the batter is gone, I have a stack of waffles we’ll never be able to finish. Gran and I sit together eating our breakfast and
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