Page 70 of The Plan

I keep my head under the hot water, trying to let it wash my thoughts out, but it’s no use. I feel my heart racing and that familiar feeling of heaviness dawns on me. I clench my jaw, waiting for it to pass, but the urge lasts what feels like forever.

I know I shouldn’t. I know better, but I let myself think of how that drink would feel. The hot water washes down my back, and I imagine it's a sip of alcohol burning its way down my throat before it settles in the pit of my stomach, and after a few beats, it’ll burn there, too.

After another sip, each of my fucked-up thoughts will leave. I’ll finish the cup, then a few more. It’ll feel good, but Oxy will feel better. I feel myself clenching my jaw, but it’s true, and there's no point in denying it.

The surge of euphoria that’ll come with it. I tilt my head back, soaking in the memory of the feeling, and God do I fucking want it right now. It’ll be so damn easy. An hour of uninterrupted blissfulness. Nothing left to bother me. No unwanted thoughts to eat at me. I’d be perfectly detached.

I need a fucking meeting.I need to get high more, though. Right?

“No.” I pull myself out, and I don’t want to, but I do. I turn the shower to the coldest setting and force myself under it. I didn’t get the cold shower thing at first, but Kayden, my sponsor, told me it had something to do with increasing levels of beta-something, which binds some shit the same way as drugs.

It doesn’t feel like I’m on drugs, which is what I feel like I need, but I stay under the freezing water. “Forty-seven more days,” I remind myself. “I’ve been sober for three hundred and eighteen days. I’ll finally make a year sober in forty-seven.” I keep repeating that, trying to remind myself of what I’ve been working for.

“One year sober. That’s the goal.” I keep telling myself as the cold water starts to become uncomfortably freezing, but I stay under. “I relapsed after being sober for six years.” I feel my heart sink at the reminder. “For the last four years, I haven’t been able to make a year sober, but I will in forty-seven days.”

I repeat that all one more time before getting out of the shower. I walk into my closet to get dressed, but as I pass Vid, I stop for a second to watch her.She’s okay.I take in a deep breath and nod slowly.She’s okay, and you’re sober. It’s okay.

I nod again, agreeing with myself as I walk into my closet. As I’m pulling my pants up, I hear Vidia mumbling, and I peek into my room. She’s still sleeping, but her eyes are scrunched.

I watch her for a few beats, and she turns a bit. I go further into the closet for a shirt. Once I do, I pick out a hat, but then there's a scream from my room, and my blood runs cold.

I drop the hat and rush out of the closet. “NO!” I run to the bed as Vidia continues screaming, but when I look over her, she’s still sleeping. I feel my heart pounding against my chest as she shakes her head softly but screams bloody fucking murder.

“Vidia.” I soothe her hair, trying to wake her up softly. I know what it feels like to be jumped out of a nightmare, and waking her up softly is better, but she’s stuck. “Vidia, wake up, my love.” I shake her and soothe her hair again, and she’s sweating like crazy. Like she’s running for her damn life.

“Fuck, Vid. Come on, wake up.” I shake her a bit harder, and she jolts before jumping awake and gasping for air.

“No! Please!” She scooches away and grabs her neck as she gasps for air.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s me.” I sit on the bed and move closer to her. She looks around frantically, and as her eyes land on me, she becomes more aware that she’s awake and tries to calm down.

“You’re okay,” I reassure her. “Take slower breaths, Vid.” If she keeps breathing like that, she'll start hyperventilating and panicking even more. I take her hand in mine and draw shapes in the palm of her hand, trying to keep her with me.

She closes her eyes and nods softly, trying to focus on her breathing. After a few minutes, she’s a lot more calm. I reach over to the mini fridge beside my bed and hand her a water bottle. She thanks me before taking it and downs half of it.

“What was it about?”

She looks over at me and closes the water bottle before shaking her head dismissively.Fair enough.I give her a nod and run a hand through my damp hair, and it still feels cool from my freezing shower.

She’s picking at her nail polish, and I study her for a beat. “I just had a really bad urge to get in my car and drive to Fairwood side.” Her eyes cut to mine, and we both know what that side of town is like. I’ve gotten Oxy from a… friend over there a few times in the last few years, and I’ve only used it once. Every other time, I’ve turned to alcohol to drown out this feeling.

Her eyes fill with more concern than whatever her nightmare was about. “Sire—”

“I’ll get in my Range Rover since no one seems to recognize me in that car. I’ll get them in powder instead of pills so I can quickly take a hit before changing my mind.” I admit how I’ll go through with throwing my life away again, but I don’t look up at her and shake my head to myself instead. I feel the bed dip as she leans over to take my hand.

“It was a memory,” she starts, and I turn to her. “I heard Mami yelling for me in the middle of the night, so I went to her room. I heard things falling like they were fighting, and I knocked on the door because he got mad when I didn’t knock.”

I watch her with careful eyes as she swallows like her mouth is suddenly dry. “She yelled for me to come in, so I opened the door softly, and just as I did, he grabbed her by the neck.” Her eyes are distant, like she’s stuck in the memory.

She moves her hand to her neck like she’s still in the dream. “I tried to help her, and he pushed me. That’s when the dream switched to when I tripped. In an instant, I was in my apartment, and he was chasing me. He was choking me like he didn’t know the strength of his own hands.”

He did. He knew, and he was trying to hurt her, but I don’t tell her that. That son of a bitch is apparently still alive. He’s hangingby a thread, but he’s fucking hanging. I went to the hospital to pay him a visit, and he was in a coma.

I heard the nurses saying he flatlined twice, and I know it’s their job, but I’d pay any money for them to let him croak. It would be easy to finish what I started, but he has cops on him twenty-four hours. They’ll be gone, they’ll be distracted or go on a bathroom break, and he’ll get what he deserves. I’ll make sure of it.

“That’s when I stabbed him.” I look back at Vid; her voice is above a whisper, but she gasps when the words are spoken and covers her mouth.

“You were trying to stay alive, Vid,” I remind her because she says it like she feels guilty for defending herself.

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