Read Online White Space Season 1 by Platt + Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Platt + Wright
Ads: Link
she remembered a dream she’d had, vivid as daylight. Someone at the school had started shooting kids. A bullet went through the wall between the classrooms and struck Sarah, killing her instantly.
The dream on its own might not have meant much. However, she had the dream again every night for the next two weeks. Every night.
She wanted to tell Sarah about the dream, and to warn her.
But what could she say that wouldn’t make her sister think she was using again?
When Cassidy was using, she’d had several instances where she dreamed something that was going to happen. They were little things, usually, but accurate enough to make shit weird. So she told Sarah. But she’d been so manic when she told Sarah, that Sarah came down hard on her, knowing that she was using.
There was no way Cassidy could tell Sarah about these dreams without her sister thinking she was using again. And besides, she hadn’t had any of her weird prophetic dreams since she’d stopped using. In all likelihood, she figured these were just regular dreams, fueled by a preoccupation of Cassidy’s fears of responsibility for others.
So she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to see that familiar look of disappointment in her twin’s eyes.
She could take that look from her mom, her friends, her lovers, and co-workers, but not from Sarah. She didn’t care if everyone in her life thought she was the black sheep of the family, the “bad sister,” and the “fuck-up,” but letting Sarah down was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She owed her sister too much.
And yet, in not telling her sister of the dreams, she had done just that. She let her down. And now Sarah was dead.
Cassidy began to cry harder.
Emma saw and felt Cassidy’s tears. She put a hand on Cassidy’s face, wiping a tear away, saying in a soft voice, “It’ll be okay, Aunt Cassidy.”
Cassidy squeezed her eyes, and Emma, tighter, wishing she could believe the child.
* *
Emma fell asleep in Cassidy’s arms, and Cassidy found her mind glazing over from the soft glow of the TV cartoons, and returning to a familiar place.
She couldn’t take this much more. The familiar itch began to gnaw at her brain, telling her how to make everything okay.
The pills.
Once an addict, always an addict.
For the first time in who knew how long, Cassidy needed the drugs. Not wanted the drugs; she always wanted the drugs. She was a fucking addict, always would be. And life for an addict was one day at a time. But now, she needed them. Again.
The addict lived in the back of her brain; nested like a parasite crouching in the dark, waiting for its host to grow less vigilant, more complacent, no longer willing to do the hard work of digging the well and dipping the bucket into the pure water.
Cassidy had a friend, Gina, who had been her N.A. sponsor. She’d been hooked on the hardcore shit, heroin, and was sober for four years. But sure as shit, three months ago, she went back out and started to use. One month ago, she was dead.
Once an addict, always an addict.
There is no starting over. The addict in the back of your brain can nudge its way to the front whenever the fuck it wants. It drives the bus when it decides to get behind the goddamn wheel, or when life makes it an offer it can’t refuse.
Cassidy would never be cured, could never afford to walk away from the things that got her sober and kept her clean.
Like Sarah.
And Emma.
And the three of them together.
Once an addict, always an addict.
Cassidy could picture the look in her new sponsor’s eyes when she called in the morning to tell Roberta she’d relapsed. She could hear Roberta’s voice saying she’d already buried too many friends, and didn’t want to bury another.
No, she didn’t have to relapse.
Except she did.
Once an addict, always an addict.
The addict inside her was working hard, hungry for its first pill in three years, seven months, and 16 days. Each of those days filled with emotions which
The dream on its own might not have meant much. However, she had the dream again every night for the next two weeks. Every night.
She wanted to tell Sarah about the dream, and to warn her.
But what could she say that wouldn’t make her sister think she was using again?
When Cassidy was using, she’d had several instances where she dreamed something that was going to happen. They were little things, usually, but accurate enough to make shit weird. So she told Sarah. But she’d been so manic when she told Sarah, that Sarah came down hard on her, knowing that she was using.
There was no way Cassidy could tell Sarah about these dreams without her sister thinking she was using again. And besides, she hadn’t had any of her weird prophetic dreams since she’d stopped using. In all likelihood, she figured these were just regular dreams, fueled by a preoccupation of Cassidy’s fears of responsibility for others.
So she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to see that familiar look of disappointment in her twin’s eyes.
She could take that look from her mom, her friends, her lovers, and co-workers, but not from Sarah. She didn’t care if everyone in her life thought she was the black sheep of the family, the “bad sister,” and the “fuck-up,” but letting Sarah down was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She owed her sister too much.
And yet, in not telling her sister of the dreams, she had done just that. She let her down. And now Sarah was dead.
Cassidy began to cry harder.
Emma saw and felt Cassidy’s tears. She put a hand on Cassidy’s face, wiping a tear away, saying in a soft voice, “It’ll be okay, Aunt Cassidy.”
Cassidy squeezed her eyes, and Emma, tighter, wishing she could believe the child.
* *
Emma fell asleep in Cassidy’s arms, and Cassidy found her mind glazing over from the soft glow of the TV cartoons, and returning to a familiar place.
She couldn’t take this much more. The familiar itch began to gnaw at her brain, telling her how to make everything okay.
The pills.
Once an addict, always an addict.
For the first time in who knew how long, Cassidy needed the drugs. Not wanted the drugs; she always wanted the drugs. She was a fucking addict, always would be. And life for an addict was one day at a time. But now, she needed them. Again.
The addict lived in the back of her brain; nested like a parasite crouching in the dark, waiting for its host to grow less vigilant, more complacent, no longer willing to do the hard work of digging the well and dipping the bucket into the pure water.
Cassidy had a friend, Gina, who had been her N.A. sponsor. She’d been hooked on the hardcore shit, heroin, and was sober for four years. But sure as shit, three months ago, she went back out and started to use. One month ago, she was dead.
Once an addict, always an addict.
There is no starting over. The addict in the back of your brain can nudge its way to the front whenever the fuck it wants. It drives the bus when it decides to get behind the goddamn wheel, or when life makes it an offer it can’t refuse.
Cassidy would never be cured, could never afford to walk away from the things that got her sober and kept her clean.
Like Sarah.
And Emma.
And the three of them together.
Once an addict, always an addict.
Cassidy could picture the look in her new sponsor’s eyes when she called in the morning to tell Roberta she’d relapsed. She could hear Roberta’s voice saying she’d already buried too many friends, and didn’t want to bury another.
No, she didn’t have to relapse.
Except she did.
Once an addict, always an addict.
The addict inside her was working hard, hungry for its first pill in three years, seven months, and 16 days. Each of those days filled with emotions which
Similar Books
