Page 17 of Reckoning

It’s certainly not classy.

But I don’t care.

Within these four walls no one is judging me. No one is watching me. I can completely and utterly fall apart and the only thing that witnesses it is the flickering faces of the TV that I keep constantly on like it’s some kind of lightshow because I can’t be in the dark. Not for a second. Not at all.

I kick off my boots, toss my bag, and force myself to go take a shower. By the time I’m out, dried, and wrapped up in the fluffiest bathrobe to exist the food is there, ready and waiting.

I grab the tray, carrying the entire thing over to the soft leather couch and I snuggle down, tucking my feet under me and slowly, deliciously, I devour every mouthful.

My phone buzzes with a notification but I ignore it, sinking back further into couch and I shut my eyes, feeling a moment of peace. A moment of contentment.

I survived another day.

I got through another twenty four hours of pretending that I’m normal. That I’m doing fine. That everything is just dandy.

And then a taste hits the back of my throat.

A metallic, bitter, nasty taste that I know only too well.

My heart suddenly lurches. I let out a cry as my eyes open so quickly.

This can’t be happening.

No way.

My body trembles as I move. Already my muscles feel heavy, weighted, as some awful drug seeps further into my body. I reach out and everything on the tray beside me goes crashing to the floor.

My phone falls with it, landing oh so tauntingly just beyond my reach.

I all but roll off the couch landing in a heap and my hair soaks into the spilt remnants of my milkshake. I throw my hand out, frantically reaching for my phone and just as my hands find it, I hear the sound I’ve been dreading.

The one I knew would come.

Footsteps.

Someone is here. Someone is coming for me.

My fingers slide all along the screen. My eyes keep blinking like they want to close and never open. I don’t know how I do it, if I even do it, but I try to dial Roman’s number and just as it connects my eyes meet those of the hooded man who’s now standing right over me.

I can’t see his face. I can’t make out any features. My vision is blurring. My head feels so heavy and all I want to do right now is just give in, just sleep.

But I know I can’t do that.

If I let the drugs win, then I’ll be powerless, defenceless.

He crouches down, brushing my hair from my face just as my brother speaks through the phone.

“Help.” It’s the only thing I can say. The only word I seem to manage to speak.

And I scream it hoping my brother hears, hoping he understands how scared I am, that I’m in danger, that I need him.

The man tilts his head, taking the phone from my weakening grasp and he hangs up.

I want to fight, I want to lash out, to kick, to scream, to do something.

But I’m so beyond that.

I blink. Then blink again. And that awful darkness takes me like a friend welcoming me back into the pits of hell.

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