Page 68 of First Verse

Don’t do it.

No one will know.

You’ll know.

You need this.

Feeling like a passenger in my body, I watch myself rip open the box and pull out the gauze to reveal the treasure at the bottom.

Two small, circular pills.

White noise fills my head.

I’m not shaking anymore.

The pills hit my palm.

I stare at them until my vision blurs.

Something wet hits my mouth.

I lick tears from my lips.

“No,” I whisper. “Please.”

Who I’m asking for help?

There’s no help here.

Only the memory of Evangeline pulling away from me. Laughter around me, never touching me. Never mine. The cold dark. Her face wearing a thousand expressions across a lifetime. Lust and longing and hope and disgust and fear. Anger.Hurt.

River’s resentment.

My parents’ sad, worried eyes.

Shame. Guilt. Self-loathing.

It’s too much.

It’s all too fucking much.

Pointless.

Hopeless.

I lurch to my feet and turn on the tap, then toss the pills into my mouth and scoop a palmful of water to swallow them. Knowing what’s coming relaxes muscles all over my body. I slump against the vanity and make the mistake of looking at my reflection.

“You made it fourteen days.” I laugh, low and bitter, at the flushed, sweaty, tear-eyed man in the mirror. “You’re pathetic. A coward and a failure. And you’re a fucking drug addict.”

Tears distort my sight.

The man in the mirror melts away to nothing.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

evangeline

What if I told you

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