Page 72 of Losing Faith

“The truth.” He gently shoves my arm.

“I want one.” I keep my eyes on the bottle, the despair eating at me.

Beside me, Sire is so still; I’m sure he’s holding his breath. “So what are you going to do?”

I recognize the sponsor talk from a mile away, but it’s not what I want to hear right now. I’m sure it’s what I need, but I want the bad influence. I want someone to indulge me. Someone I can blame all of my faults on, so I can hate them rather than myself.

“We both know what choice you need to make, Lis. Walk over to that trash can and throw them away.Right now.”

I rise to my feet at the urgency in his voice, dragging myself to the trash. Snapping the cap off, the soft light from the lamppost above me illuminates the five pills. I close my eyes as I imagine myself picking one up and placing it on my tongue.

The rush of adrenaline I’ll feel as my mouth salivates just before I swallow it. I’ll lay right here on the grass as I wait for the high to come and numb me. I’ll let it drift me where it pleases. The warm sun will wake me and I’llstillfeel good. I won’t wake up the way I did this morning.

When the high wears off and the guilt begins to eat at me, I’ll swallow the rest of them and go out as peacefully as I know. It’ll be painless. Easy even, and I won’t feel the way I do now. I’ll be free.

Opening my eyes, I look back down at the pills and wait for the guilt to come. That voice telling me why this is bad, but it doesn’t and it scares me, so bad I drop the pills.

Taking a step back, my eyes land on one that landed on the ground. I stare at it for a beat, willing myself to step on it, to pick it up and put it in the trash, or simply walk the hell away, but I can’t.

Leaning over, I pluck it off the ground and pretend to throw it away before burying my hands in my pocket and squeezing it in my palm.

Sire keeps his eyes on me as I make my way back to him, a smile on his face. “You’re stronger than you think.”

No, I’m really not.

I settle in the grass beside him, but when he looks up in a hurry I turn to him. He’s still looking up at the sky, and when I glance up, my eyes land on an airplane. A smile grows on my face as I turn to him.

“I call it,” I voice before he can but by the smile on his face, I know he let me have it.

When we learned about shooting stars and making wishes on them, we would fight for every star we thought we saw in the sky. Being that the city had so much light pollution, we couldn’t see shit, but our mom told us we could pretend airplanes were shooting stars. Every single plane we saw at night, one of us would call it before making a wish.

It probably sounds silly, but when he wished on a plane to be adopted and then got his wish, we never stopped believing in it.

I close my eyes as I tilt my head up to the plane.I wish for a reason to fight.

I keep my eyes shut as the plane gets quieter with distance.

When my phone vibrates, I slightly jump out of my thoughts. Pulling it out of my pocket, my eyes land on a text from Jackson. I stifle a laugh at the picture of Isabelle. Her shirt is tied with something, making it look like a crop top; her hair in a loose knot on the top of her head. She makes a kissy face in the mirror and behind her, Jackson rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, the knot in my throat is gone as I read over his messages.

JJ

She said she wants to be like you. I’ll be starting a petition for you to only wear hoodies when you’re near her. She forgets she’s five and not twenty five.

She did not say she wants to be like me.

His text bubbles disappear and after a minute, a video pops up. He keeps the camera pointed at Isa who’s still admiring her reflection.

“Remind me why are you wearing that?” Jackson asks from the couch behind her.

Isabelle fixes her bun. “I’m changing my style, so we need to go shopping.” She tucks her shirt further, showing more of her belly and I can hear Jackson’s faint sigh.

“Who inspired this new style?”

She smiles brighter in the mirror as she tucks her hands in her baggy pants. “Uh, Lissy.” She voices as if it were no brainer. “She’s so cool. I want to be like her with her cool big clothes and tattoos.”

“Oh, are those drawings on your arm tattoos?” Her dad sounds worried and I stifle a laugh as I notice the maker all up her left arm.

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