Page 129 of Off The Ice

But after a life spent obsessing over what substances another person put inside their body, old habits died hard.

When I was with Liam, it was different. I felt at ease, relaxed. I knew he would take care of me. But the moment I was left on my own, my brain spiraled back into old habits.

Was she at home drinking now? Was she okay? How long until she was back in the hospital?

It made me scattered in a way that started to interfere with my life. Which I guess is why I showed up to work absolutely fumbling my way through the morning.

My bag flung across my left arm was overflowing as a result of me shoving stuff in it rather than taking the time to organize it. My left arm was occupied, cradling my coffee and water bottle while trying to grab my lanyard out of my bag.

All in all, I looked like an utter disaster as I tumbled toward school.

“Do you need a hand?” Marissa asked, coming up from behind.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Here, I got the door.” She laughed easily, badging us inside and letting me go ahead of her.

“Thanks,” I told her genuinely, slightly surprised by the smile on her face.

It wasn’t the usual subtle sneer or look of judgment that I’d grown so used to seeing on her. The one that made me squirm under her gaze and try to shrink into myself.

Today, she simply smiled at me. No condescension. No assessing glares.

We walked in together, and I tried to walk ahead to avoid any awkward interactions, but she fell in step with me.

“I just wanted to say, about the other day—”

I froze.

I’d spent my life typically ignoring the aftermath of arguments. I simply followed suit, however they chose to interact with me afterward.

My mom would usually pretend it didn’t happen, and we’d go back to normal. Dave was pretty similar.

To be honest, it was easier. Less awkward. Less embarrassing. It made it so you didn’t have to dig up the ugly feelings all over again. It was simply swept under the rug.

Marissa, however, didn’t seem like that type of person. I should’ve known, given her history of blunt comments.

“Oh, it’s okay,” I said, trying to escape from whatever this conversation would entail.

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “I think I’ve been a little unfair to you. I don’t know why. I mean, I don’t even really know you.”

I paused to look at her.

She let out a small laugh. “Maybe I’m just getting cranky in my old age,” she joked, even though she couldn’t have been more than her early thirties at the most. “But I think, sometimes, it’s hard watching someone who seems like they have it all togetherwhen I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water most days.”

“Trust me, I understand that feeling more than you know,” I huffed.

“I’m sure you do,” she said. “Everyone has shit in their lives they deal with, right? I guess I just never thought about yours when you come in all sunshine and rainbows every day.”

I stared at her, shocked by the words coming out of the mouth of the woman who had barely tolerated me for the past few months.

“What I really wanted to say was, I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch. I really don’t mean to be.”

“Oh.” I exhaled shakily. “It’s okay. Really.”

“You’re not a very good liar, did you know that?” She laughed gently.

I blushed, shrugging my shoulders.

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