Page 38 of Unholy Confessions
Evan laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Montgomery's not here, is she?"
The words hit like a physical blow, mainly because there's truth in them. She hasn't answered my calls, hasn't responded to my texts.
"Besides," Evan continues, dumping a small amount of the powder onto the glass surface of the coffee table, "nobody stays with their high school sweetheart anyway. You think you're gonna be different? You think love conquers all and shit like that?"
He uses a credit card to form the powder into a thin line, his movements practiced and efficient. The sight of it makes my mouth go dry and my pulse quicken, two competing responses warring in my chest.
"This is temporary," he says, rolling up a twenty-dollar bill. "Just something to get you through until you can figure out your next move."
I think about Mom's words, about how you can change no matter when it is, no matter the circumstances. But right now, change feels impossible. Right now, all I can think about is the burning in my veins and the way my skin feels like it's crawling with invisible insects.
"One time," I hear myself saying, and I barely recognize my own voice.
Evan hands me the rolled-up bill, and I take it with fingers that are steadier than they have any right to be. The powder disappears in one quick motion, burning like fire as it hits my sinuses, and then?—
Relief. Pure relief spreads through my body like warm honey, chasing away the shakes and the cold sweat and the gnawing anxiety that's been my constant companion for hours. My heart rate picks up, but in a good way, like I've just stepped onto a stage in front of thousands of screaming fans.
I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment as the drug works its way through my system. For the first time in what feels like days, I can breathe properly. The weight that's been sitting on my chest lifts, and suddenly everything feels lighter again.
"Better?" Evan asks, cleaning up the remaining powder and tucking the baggie back into his pocket.
"Yeah," I say, and I mean it. "Much better."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I know I've crossed a line I can't uncross. This isn't like taking an extra pill or two. This is something else entirely, something that changes the equation in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
I think about Montgomery, about the way she used to look at me like I hung the moon and painted the stars. Would she even recognize the person I'm becoming? Would she want to?
The rational part of my brain, the part that's still clinging to some semblance of the person I used to be, knows that this is the beginning of the end. That I'm choosing the easy path, the one that leads nowhere good. But the larger part of me, doesn't care about consequences.
I was bad for her anyway, for everyone, I tell myself. She deserves someone better, someone who doesn't count pills or snort powder off coffee tables in recording studios. Someone who can give her the life she's dreamed of since we were kids, full of love and stability and all the things I seem incapable of providing.
The studio door opens, and Micah walks back in, carrying several plastic bags that smell amazing. My stomach growls.
"Food's here!" he announces cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to what just transpired in his absence. "Hope you guys are hungry, because I may have gone a little overboard."
Evan and I exchange a look, a silent understanding passing between us. This stays between us, the look says. This is just two friends helping each other get through another night.
"Starving," I say, and for the first time in hours, I actually mean it. The energy coursing through my veins has awakened an appetite I'd forgotten I had. Everything feels sharper, clearer, more intense than it did just minutes ago.
As we dig into the food, spreading containers across the coffee table like we're having some kind of twisted picnic, I try not to think about what I've just done. Try not to think about the fact that I've added another secret to a collection that I'm already struggling to carry.
Instead, I focus on the burn in my sinuses, the way my heart is beating like a drum solo, the confidence flooding my system. For now, this moment, I feel like I can handle anything.
Even if deep down, I know that's just another lie I'm telling myself.
Chapter 20
Montgomery
Skylar left late last night, but she gave me a lot to think about. Which is why I'm tapping my finger against RJ's name on my cell phone. Am I being fair? There are assumptions I have about him, but we haven't actually been able to spend much time together since he came home because of my crazy schedule.
Maybe what I need to do instead of making demands and having suspicions is spend time with him. Ask him to go on a date with me. Like we did before this tour. I don't know what it was about this tour that changed so much between us.
Before I can second-guess myself, I type out a message.
M: Want to go on a day date with me? Like old times?
The response comes back faster than I expected.
