Page 35 of Outspoken

When I asked Mr. Williams about it, he sighed and said flatly, “Miss Burgess, my job is to help you improve, not to give you an easy A. If you got the answers wrong, I can’t lie and say you passed. Your written responses are what really lowered the grade. Do better next time.”

I seriously feel like I’m going crazy. How can I study so hard and feel so confident about my answers, yet they’re all so wrong?

What’s the point of busting my ass with work if I’m doomed to fail college, lose my financial aid, and drop out anyway? I’m seriously thinking of going back to camming, even if it's tough on my mental health. It was something I was actually good at—the only thing I was ever good at.

I know Paige will protest because she knows it can put me in an unsafe headspace, but I don't have to be around people who trigger me when I do it. I could do it when Jackie isn't home, where it's completely safe and there are no drugs. It would get me some decent money and make my life feel less meaningless.

I’ve only resisted logging into my accounts because it feels like a step backward. There’s nothing wrong with camming itself, but it’s connected to a part of my life I’m supposed to be moving on from.

Maybe it would trigger me. I don’t know.

I reach my car in the parking lot next to the office building complex. After unlocking the door, I drop into the driver’s seat. Instead of starting the car, I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest, a certain personal trainer popping into my mind. Thoughts of him continue to irritate and confuse me, just like our conversation a week ago.

I really wish I could be the fantasy Amber that lives in his head—she sounds pretty good. I know I’m not a completely shitty person since I do have some good qualities, but the part of me he glosses over is the addict. The emotionally unstable woman. The 'fuck-up'. I disappoint people, and that’s a huge part of my personality that I'm not sure I can ever change. Until he meets that side of me in person—until I disappoint him or fuck-up like I eventually will—how can I believe that his feelings are real?

Plus, all I’ve done is try to use him. I wanted to work out, but once I was in that gym, I realized my ulterior motive: seeking attention. I wanted his attention because I know he’s a flirt. How crappy is that? I went there to flirt and get his attention because it made me feel better about myself, if only for a moment. A woman who does that isn’t someone you develop feelings for—she’s a red flag you run far, far away from.

If he’d only stop one minute to see me as I am, he’d realize he’s only infatuated. That’s not love. Real love means seeing someone exactly as they are and loving them despite their faults.

I have too many of those for anyone to love me.

Whatever.I think everything with Miguel is finally done. Valentine's Day was a few days ago, so hopefully he went on a date and found someone else to focus his affections on. I’m not going back to the gym, and there’s no reason for us to text or hang out, so…

The darkness and the quiet of my car press in, so I pull my jacket tighter around me. I roll the window down, needing fresh air. That was a mistake because there’s a large trashcan nearby and I gag on the aroma of sewage.

Doesn’t matter. I cry anyway.

I’m glad it all worked out for Eric, but there’s no power in my life greater than addiction. No one could ever love all of me. My best friend and brother are fading into their 'happily ever after'. Work sucks. My career ambitions are dead because nothing sparks joy. And I’m broke AF and about to fail college after just two semesters. Getting excited when a guy wants to give me fifty bucks for my used panties is about all there is for me. That’sdefinitelynot greater than my addiction, only a tiny hit of dopamine.

Addiction always wins, and I should make peace with that. If I don't expect anything from myself, how can I feel disappointed?

The major thing stopping me from slipping into old habits is how much I know it’ll hurt Brody and Paige. Brody knows I fuck up, but he actually has hope that I won’t this time. And Paige hasn’t known me for enough years to see my vicious cycle, so it might really affect her.

God, I’m seriously the worst.

I wipe my cheeks and roll the window up because I’m tired of inhaling rotten eggs and moldy bread. I start the car so I can go home to sleep.

I don’t want to hurt the people I love, but I don’t trust myself not to. And I don’t know how much longer I can fight that whisper in my head that reassures me:

“Life will feel good again if you just swallow one happy little shot; one happy little pill.”

Chapter Ten

Miguel

I'M ON LUNCH BREAK AT work, enjoying a PB and J while staring into space. Mid-chew, a meaty palm lands on my shoulder, forcefully pressing down on me.

A familiar yet hardened voice says, “We need to talk.”

I glance up, swallowing. Brody’s expression is stone cold and his bulky body is rigid. All I can think is,He knows. Fuck. He knows.“Um, yeah, man. Let me finish and—”

“Now.”

I drop the PB and J. It’s probably for the best, since his ominous attitude made me lose my appetite. “Sure. What’s up, Brody?”

He twists the neck of my polo in his fist, tugging up on it. “Outside.”

I quickly stand, kicking the chair back in my rush. It squeaks across the floor, and Brody releases his grip on my shirt.

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