Page 61 of Until You Found Me

He’s still worried that the fragile thread of success he’s managed to build is crumbling. She says it’s only stress and maybe she’s right, but this setback feels monumental and has him craving those blue pills after spending so much time trying to avoid them. The bottle glistens in the late evening sun, catching his attention all over again and in a split second, likely rash decision, he grabs it and heads for the bathroom. Dumps the contents into the toilet and flushes before he has a chance to talk himself out of it.

Regret is instant and harsh. What has he done? He can’t afford more if she changes her mind.

“I’m so proud of you,” she tells him, her eyes shining in a way that proves it’s true. “What do you wanna make for dinner?”

And just like that, they can move on to something mundane as if he didn’t have a panic attack a moment ago.

Logan tries to push his worries about what the future holds to the back burner. For now. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes it is. Lemme go put on some pants…”

“No.” He catches her wrist with a gentle tug. “Like seeing you walking around the house half naked.”

She smirks. “Half-naked pancakes coming right up.”

They make breakfast for dinner and watch TV in bed and it feels normal, perfect, not a hint of pressure to try again and again until he’s finally able to make his body work and if he didn’t know before that he loves her, he certainly does now. The only question is how and when he’ll say it.

Chapter 14

‘Can’t even die without fucking it up, can you?’

The angry, disembodied voice twists her stomach and clenches her nails against white porcelain. When she opens her eyes, Tessa is alone, counting the cracks in the ceiling down to green paint falling off the walls. An ant scurries from a hole in the grout across the edge of the bathtub, pausing to glance at her before disappearing into a puff of smoke.

How did she get here? Why is she dry if she’s bathing? There’s not a drop of water in the tub, but the cold, clammy surface sticks to her naked skin as she scrambles to get out. Her limbs are weighted, her vision hazy, she doesn’t get far before the polka-dotted shower curtain swirls and she vomits a pile of dust over the edge. White and chalky like the pills that used to occupy the bottle on the ground.

Confusion is her default state, and it’s only heightened now. She picks up the bottle and tilts her head, trying to read the label. Every letter is backward or upside down.

What has she done? How could she have…. fuck, she has to get out of here, he’ll find her like this and then she’ll wish the pills worked. She pulls herself out of the tub with a groan, half crawling to the door on lead-filled legs. There are clothes on the floor that belong to her and she pulls them on with considerable effort, having to stop to grip her belly as it rolls and more dust erupts from hergut.

Her urge to run is strong enough that she takes a chance down the hall, hoping he isn’t home yet. Out drinking at the bar, or fucking that woman from work she knows he’s been seeing. If he finds her like this, he’ll finish her off for trying and failing.

‘If you ever think about taking the easy way out, you better hope you succeed or I’ll make you wish you did.’

She sags against the wall, spotting him in a chair with a bottle in his hands, startled to see her.

He scowls, dropping the bottle on the ground where the remaining liquid spills and stalks toward her. ‘Goddamit. You can’t even die without fucking it up, can you?’

“I can’t be here!” Tessa forces her eyes open, gasping for breath on the therapist’s sofa.

Her hand grips Logan’s hard enough that he’ll have marks later. Reflexively, she wrenches it away and back into her own space. Can’t let him touch her after what she’s done. If he comes closer, he’ll see the truth. What would he think then? How could he ever look at her the same or trust her alone?

“It’s alright, you’re safe.” He reaches for her again, but all she sees is the curling fist of another man heading straight for her face.

“No, don’t touch me,” she blurts out, regret pooling in her chest in an instant.

He leans away, failing to keep the hurt off his face.

“I didn’t mean…everything is a mess. I don’t know what I saw.”

“Can you tell me a bit more about what happened after the bathtub? Or during?” Victor pipes in.

“No.” Some things aren’t allowed to make it out of her head, like the bottle of pills. He might lock her away for observationto make sure she doesn’t try again. “I need to go home.”

It’s unsurprising when Victor tries to stop her from leaving. “Sometimes we block things that hurt on purpose in an effort to protect ourselves. I think that could be what’s happening here, but you’re close to a breakthrough.”

“You think I’m lying? Doing this on purpose?”

“No. Self-preservation can be subconscious. It wouldn’t be something you can control. Please stay. Let’s see how far we can get today. What you saw seems important. Does it feel recent?”

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